Tragg held up his hand. “Forget it,” he said; “you win.”
The telephone jangled sharply.
Della Street picked up the instrument, said, “Just a minute.” Then she said to Mason, “The operator says she has an important message sent at double urgent rates.”
“Who’s it from?” Mason asked.
“Just a minute,” Della Street said, her pencil flying over her notebook as the message was read over the telephone.
“Yes, I have it,” Della Street said.
Della Street looked up at Mason and said, “Answering your question as to whom the message is from, it seems to be from Harmon Haslett. The message is from the Azores. It states that he was shipwrecked; that after swimming for hours in a life jacket he was picked up by the crew of a small fishing boat which had no wireless; that he has just been landed at the Azores; that he has heard news that you are involved in a suit concerning the contents of his will; that he is taking the first jet available and will be here sometime tomorrow.”
Lieutenant Tragg said, “Well, I’ll... be... damned!”
Mason said to Della Street, “Don’t tell Gertie anything about this.”
“Why?”
“You know how romantic Gertie is. Fancy how she will start anticipating what’s going to happen when Harmon Haslett meets his sweetheart of twenty years ago, the mother of his illegitimate child — a woman, incidentally, whom he had never forgotten — a son that he didn’t know he had, whose existence he only suspected.”
“And the queenly Ellen Adair,” Della Street said. “What will happen to her composure?”
Mason turned to Lieutenant Tragg. “If you’ll get busy on that fatal bullet and rounding up Jarmen Dayton’s gun. Lieutenant, there’s just a possibility that Ellen Adair will be released from custody by the time Harmon Haslett gets here.”
“You do put me in the damnedest situations.” Tragg grinned and then, after a moment, asked, “Are you going to give out the terms of this message to the press?”
“No,” Mason said, “you are. This is part of the credit you get in return for your cooperation.”
Tragg hesitated a moment, then extended his right hand. “Sometimes you make me mad. Perry,” he said, “but right now I’m moving you to the head of the table.”
Chapter Nineteen
Promptly at ten o’clock Judge Elwell opened the door from his chambers and ascended the bench.
“Everyone stand,” the bailiff said.
The packed courtroom stood at breathless attention.
Judge Elwell seated himself. The bailiff rapped with his gavel. “Be seated. Court is now in session.”
Judge Elwell said, “The People versus Ellen Calvert, alias Ellen Adair.
“The Court feels that, in view of the action which the Court is about to take, there should be a statement of facts so that there will be no misunderstanding as to the reason for the Court’s action or what is being done.
“When the police entered the room in which the murder had been committed, they were confronted with windows which were closed and locked, drapes which were fully drawn. In order to preserve the evidence as they found it, the police sealed these windows, and it appeared that the windows were never raised until yesterday when, at the suggestion of counsel for the defense, the window on the west was raised and it immediately became apparent that some object, presumably a bullet, had left a hole in the lower part of the screen, a part concealed by the lower sash of the closed window.
“A search of the premises outside the window — a search facilitated by digging up the surface of the soil in a long strip, then subjecting that soil to a gold-mining process — disclosed what police now feel certain is the fatal bullet.
“A new suspect has entered the case — the private detective from Cloverville named Jarmen Dayton. The fatal bullet found by police apparently came from his gun.
“A search warrant issued out of this Court, and under which the baggage of Jarmen Dayton was searched, brought about the disclosure of documents in the handwriting of the decedent, Agnes Burlington, and .35 mm shots which apparently were taken from the possession of the decedent at the time of the murder.
“Under the circumstances, this Court feels that it has no alternative except to dismiss the case against Ellen Adair.
“While in a preliminary examination of this sort the Court usually confines itself to reviewing the evidence to see if there is sufficient evidence to justify binding the defendant over for trial and does not concern itself with the question of guilt or innocence of the defendant, the Court, in this case, is so convinced that the murder of Agnes Burlington was the result of the criminal activities of persons other than the defendant that there is no alternative except to dismiss the case. The Court, therefore, dismisses the case against Ellen Calvert, alias Ellen Adair, and she is released from custody.”
A wild tumult of applause broke out in the courtroom. In vain, Judge Elwell tried to control the audience; then, with a faint smile, he arose from the bench.
It was at that time that the door from the corridor burst open and a tall man came racing down the aisle.
Ellen Adair, standing in queenly dignity, smiling faintly at the enthusiastic audience, suddenly stiffened to attention; her eyes widened as the man pushed his way through the crowd down the aisle and reached her side.
“Ellen!” he exclaimed.
Ellen tried to keep her voice calm, but there was a faint tremor. “Hello, Harmon,” she said.
Harmon hesitated for a moment, then suddenly, as his eyes fastened on Wight Baird, who had come to stand by his mother’s side, said, “You don’t need to tell me, Ellen. He’s the spitting image of his grandfather, Ezekiel Haslett.”
Ellen let out a long breath. “I think,” she said, “he needs a father’s discipline.”
It was at that point that Harmon Haslett reached out, took Ellen Adair in his arms, and held her close while the flashlights of newspaper photographers flooded the courtroom with brilliance.
Mason grinned at Della Street.
“I think,” the lawyer said, “this is where we came in.”