“Let’s take the case of Eversel. He is an aviator. He flew low over the yacht. He was armed. He’s an expert shot. But before I go into that, I want to call your attention to a significant item in these photographs. Notice the photograph which was taken by Eversel. I want to call Your Honour’s attention to this little shelf. You will notice a circular object in a case with a cylindrical object near it.”
Runcifer got to his feet and walked quickly to the Justice’s bench to examine what Mason was pointing out.
“That,” Runcifer said, “is a rare coin. Wentworth was a prominent collector of rare coins.”
“Quite possibly,” Mason said. “And with a magnifying glass you can notice certain distinctive marks on this coin. There are two parallel lines with interlacing, diagonal lines in between them.”
The Justice studied it through the magnifying glass. “Just how is that significant, Mr. Mason?” he asked.
“One moment, Your Honour,” Mason said. “Examine this picture of the cabin taken through the skylight by the police after the Pennwent was returned. There is the same shelf. But the objects are missing.”
Scanlon nodded.
“Now then,” Mason said, “we are confronted with this situation. Whatever those objects were, they were on the Pennwent when Eversel took that flashlight photograph. As soon as that photograph was taken, Eversel left the yacht. Wentworth ran back to the after cabin. Miss Farr ran out on deck and joined Anders. The two of them left the yacht together. There’s no evidence showing that Eversel, Anders or Mae Farr ever returned to that yacht.
“But here are two objects clearly shown in one photograph and clearly absent from a subsequent photograph. Why? Where did they go? Who took them?”
Scanlon said, “You have some theory about that, Mr. Mason?”
“I have,” Mason said. “I’d like to call one witness.”
“Well, I don’t know that the State has rested,” Overmeyer said hesitantly in hopeless confusion.
“Oh, what does that matter when we’re trying to clear up this case?” Scanlon said. “Go ahead, Mason. Call whoever you want.”
“Mr. Robert Grastin,” Mason announced.
A tall skinny man with sunken eyes, thin lips and high cheekbones came forward. He was in his early fifties, a man with long arms and legs, quiet and unhurried in his manner. He said, “I hate to disappoint people, but I don’t know one single thing about this case. I don’t know any of the parties.”
Mason said, “That’s quite alright. Just take the stand, and we’ll see what you know, Mr. Grastin.”
Grastin slipped into the witness chair.
Mason said, “I believe the subpoena that was served on you called for you to bring certain records with you.”
“Yes.”
“Now just so the Justice can get the picture,” Mason said, “kindly explain to him who you are and what your occupation is.”
Grastin said, “I am the secretary and treasurer of the Interurban Amateur Athletic League. That is an association of amateur athletes sponsored by an interurban busline for the purpose of promoting civic relations and—”
“And traffic?” Mason interrupted with a smile.
“And traffic,” Grastin admitted. “The theory being that interurban matches are arranged at places which are most advantageously reached by the interurban service. Prizes are awarded. Competition is encouraged, and the line receives a certain amount of advertising.”
“Now then, on the twelfth,” Mason said, “you sponsored certain athletic activities?”
“Yes, sir. On the twelfth, the open tennis tournament reached the stage of finals.”
“And on that day,” Mason asked, “do your records show who won second place in the women’s division?”
“Second place?” Grastin asked.
Mason nodded.
“Just a moment,” Grastin said, and took from his pocket a leather backed notebook filled with typewritten sheets of paper. He ran down the page to which he had opened the book, and said, “Our records show that second place was won by Miss Hazel Tooms who resides in the Balkan Apartments.”
“Exactly,” Mason said. “Now, I am interested in going back over the records of other athletic activities. Do you have an alphabetical index showing the names of winners?”
“We do.”
“That is with you?”
“It’s in my briefcase.”
“Get it, please.”
Grastin walked to his seat in the front of the room, picked up a briefcase, returned with it to the witness stand, and took out a large looseleaf notebook.
“Look under the name of Tooms,” Mason said, “and see what else you find.”
Grastin ran through the pages. Suddenly he said, “Wait a minute. I remember that name now. She’s won quite a few championships; she’s quite an all round athlete.”
“All right,” Mason said. “Just look through your records. Now, what do you find in connection with swimming?”
“In each of the past two years,” Grastin said, “she has won the women’s long distance swimming championship. Last year, she also won the four hundred metre freestyle swimming event for women. In—”
“I think that’s enough,” Mason said. “It’s enough to prove my point in any event. Now, I’m going to show you this photograph, Mr. Grastin, and call your attention to a coin-like object contained in a case and shown on this shelf.” Mason handed him the photograph and pointed. “Please look at it with this magnifying glass. Can you tell what it is?”
Grastin held the magnifying glass in position, then said slowly, “Why, yes. That’s the medal we had struck off for second place in the women’s tennis tournament. That series of lines across it represents a tennis net.”
Mason smiled affably at Justice of the Peace Scanlon and said, “I think, Your Honour, by the time the district attorney’s office puts two and two together, it will have an answer to its question of who killed Penn Wentworth; and it wasn’t Mae Farr.”
Chapter 13
Mason, Della Street, Mae Farr, and Paul Drake sat in Mason’s office. Mae Farr seemed dazed at the swift turn of events. “I don’t see how you figured it out,” she said. “I thought I was up against a certain conviction.”
Mason said, “It was mighty thin ice. Almost as soon as I talked with Hazel Tooms, I sensed she was altogether too eager to get out of the country. My first reaction was that her eagerness was due to the fact that her apartment had been bugged and the police were trying to trap me. When she saw I wasn’t walking into the trap, she tried too hard to get me in.
“Later events caused me to change that opinion. If, then, her anxiety to escape hadn’t been a scheme to trap me, what was the cause? That opened up an interesting field of speculation. I knew that she was an all round athlete. I could tell by looking at her, and she had told me of winning second place in that tennis tournament. I also sensed that she had really cared a great deal for Penn Wentworth, and I believe, though I can’t prove it, that theirs was more than a platonic friendship.
“It was quite obvious to me that Wentworth either must have been shot from an airplane or by someone who had been aboard the Pennwent with him and had been able to swim ashore after the shooting.
“I knew that Marley’s alibi wasn’t cast iron, but he didn’t impress me as being a man who could have swum ashore, landed virtually naked, and made his way back to the hospital without showing some evidence of his experience. Mrs. Wentworth might have done it, but it was quite evident that she was in San Diego. Unless Eversel had shot Wentworth from the airplane, I couldn’t connect him with it. You were out in Marley’s boat. You brought it back. For the reasons I mentioned, I didn’t think you could have done the actual killing.