"Just a lucky break," said Perry Mason modestly.
"Lucky nothing," Paul Drake said. "That thing was carefully planned. You had about six strings to your bow. If you had been forced to do it, you could have used the evidence of the Chinese cook to show that the dog did howl. If you had been forced to, you could have put Mae Sibley on the stand and made the whole case a joke. You could have done any one of a dozen things."
Della Street said excitedly, "As soon as I read your argument, I knew the chain of reasoning by which you had realized where the bodies were…"
Abruptly she glanced at Paul Drake and broke off.
"But," said Drake, "there are two or three things about your argument that don't hang together. In the first place, if Thelma Benton had returned to the house with this chap, Carl Trask, and they had murdered Forbes, why wouldn't Wheeler and Doake have seen them drive up?"
"Wheeler and Doake weren't witnesses," said Perry Mason.
"I know that," said the detective. "You saw to that by seeing to it that the district attorney didn't know you had shadows watching the house. If he had known all that those two fellows knew, he would have moved heaven and earth to get them."
"Was it fair to let them get out of the jurisdiction of the court?" asked Della Street dubiously.
Perry Mason stood with his legs wide apart, his shoulders squared, his jaw thrust forward.
"Listen, you two," he said, "I've told you before, and I'm telling you again, that I'm not a judge and I'm not a jury. I'm a lawyer. The district attorney does everything he can to build up a strong case against the defendant. It's up to the lawyer for the defendant to do everything he can to break down the case for the district attorney. Look at that taxicab driver, for instance. You know, and I know, that that taxicab driver couldn't have identified the woman who left that handkerchief in his taxicab; not in a million years. He knew that she used a peculiar type of perfume, and he knew, generally, how she was dressed. He knew something about her build, and that was all he knew. We demonstrated that effectively by having Mae Sibley go to him and show just how fallible a thing his identification was. Yet, the district attorney, with all of the machinery of the state at his back, carried on a subtle campaign of suggestion by which he actually convinced the taxi driver, not only that he could positively identify the woman, but that there was no question but what that woman was the defendant in the action.
"That is the sort of tactics we had to meet in this case. That is the sort of tactics a lawyer for the defense always has to meet. I'm telling you that he's not a judge and he's not a jury; he's merely a partisan, a representative hired by the defendant, with the sanction of the state, whose solemn duty it is to present the case of the defendant in its strongest light.
"That's my creed and that's what I try to do."
"Well," said Drake, "you skated on pretty thin ice in this case, but you certainly got away with it. You're entitled to congratulations. The newspapers are giving you millions of dollars worth of advertisement. You're considered a legal wizard, and, by God, you are!"
He extended his hand, and Mason took it.
"Well," said Drake, "I'll be down in the office for a while, if there's anything else you want to check up on. I suppose you're tired and want to get home and get some rest."
"Things have been coming pretty fast," said Perry Mason, "but I like the excitement."
Drake left the office.
Della Street looked at him with her eyes wide and starry.
"Oh," she said, "I'm so glad. So glad that you got her off. It was wonderful!"
She stared at him for a moment with her lips quivering with words that she could not express, then suddenly flung her arms wide apart, and embraced him once more.
There was the sound of an apologetic cough from the doorway.
Della Street flung back and stared.
Bessie Forbes stood in the doorway.
"Pardon me," she said, "if I intrude. I was liberated and I came at once to your office as soon as I could get my things together."
"That's all right," said Perry Mason, "we're glad…"
There was a wild sound of scrambling motion. The door of the closet slammed open. The police dog catapulted out into the room, with claws scratching and scraping futilely on the hardwood floors. He hit the carpet and launched into speed, dashing directly toward the startled form of Bessie Forbes.
The dog leapt up at her, gave joyous howls. His tongue licked at her face, and she gave a glad cry, stooped and flung her arms about the massive shoulders of the huge police dog.
"Prince!" she said. "Prince!"
"I beg your pardon," said Perry Mason, "but his name is not Prince. Prince is dead."
The woman stared at him with startled, incredulous eyes.
"Down, Prince," she said.
The dog dropped to the floor, where he lay, regarding her with eyes that were limpid with emotion, a tail that thumped ecstatically.
"Where did you get him?" she asked.
"I," said Perry Mason, "could figure out just why it was that the dog howled on the night of October 15th. I couldn't understand why the dog didn't howl on the night of October 16th, if he were still alive. I also could not understand how it happened that a dog that had been living in the house with Thelma Benton for more than a year, could suddenly have gone savage and attacked her so as to badly mangle her right hand.
"After the case was over, I made a round of kennels in the neighborhood. I found a kennel where an owner had exchanged a police dog on the night of October 16th for another police dog that was very similar in appearance. I purchased the dog that had been left."
"But," said Bessie Forbes, "what are you going to do with him?"
"I," Perry Mason said, "am going to give him to you. He needs a good home. I suggest that you take him with you, and I would further suggest that you leave town at once."
He brought the dog's leash and handed it to her.
"Let us know where you are," he said, "so that we can keep in touch with you. You're the beneficiary under a will. But you will be approached and interviewed by newspaper men. They will ask you embarrassing questions. It might be well if you were not available."
She stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then suddenly extended her hand.
"Thank you," she said, then turned abruptly.
"Prince," she said, "on my side."
The dog marched from the office, pacing along at her side, matching step for step with his mistress, his plume elevated, waving proudly in the air.
When the door of the outer office closed, Della Street stared at Perry Mason with sudden consternation.
"But," she said, "the only real argument that you had to convince the jury that Bessie Forbes was not the one who did the shooting was that the dog sprang at her. If Clinton Forbes had substituted dogs…"
Her voice trailed away into silence.
"I have repeatedly told you," said Perry Mason, "that I am not a judge; nor am I a jury. On the other hand, I have never heard the story of Bessie Forbes; nor has any one else. It may have been that anything she did was done in selfdefense. I feel certain that it was. She had to defend herself against a dog and a man. But I acted only as her lawyer."
"But," said Della Street, "they'll get her and try her all over again."
Perry Mason smiled and shook his head.
"Oh, no, they won't," he said. "That's why I wouldn't let them dismiss the case. A dismissal wouldn't have been a bar to another prosecution. Now she has faced a jury and has been once in jeopardy. She can never be tried again for that offense, as long as she lives, regardless of what other evidence might be uncovered."
"You," said Della Street, staring at him, "are a cross between a saint and a devil."
"All men are," said Perry Mason, unperturbed.