Mason said, “Your nephew, Harold, apparently has been cutting a wider swath than he’s been given credit for. His mistress had an apartment in the same building with Milicant. Leeds went downstairs to call on Milicant. He’d found out Milicant was going under the name of Conway, and found out about the twenty grand. Harold didn’t know whether it was blackmail or what. He wanted to find out. He’s the witness who saw you leave the room.”
“Harold, eh?”
“It doesn’t seem to surprise you,” Mason said.
Leeds said dryly, “Nothing surprises me. I’ve had too many birthdays.”
“I don’t suppose,” Mason said, “that, under the circumstances, you’d care to go on the witness stand and tell your story.”
Leeds looked at him, steadily, slowly shook his head.
Mason scraped back his chair, and got to his feet. One of the deputy sheriffs reached for the telephone. Mason said, “I’ll see you in court,” and walked across to the barred door. The second deputy opened the door, escorted Mason through the anteroom, and out into the corridor. Leeds, standing behind the screen of the divided table, turned to wait — expectantly facing the door of the elevator which was to take him down to the jail.
Drake was waiting for Mason at his office. It needed but a look at Della Street’s face to tell Mason that the detective had bad news. “What is it, Paul?” he asked.
Drake said, “We’ve located Emily Milicant.”
“Where?”
“San Francisco.”
“What’s she doing there?”
“Hiding out in a hotel.”
“Anyone with her?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Who?”
“Ned Barkler.”
“Oh, oh!” Mason said. He slid his weight to the corner of the desk and lit a cigarette. “Together?”
“In the same hotel, but not living together.”
“How come?” Mason asked.
“Well, when you told me that she’d taken a powder on you and wasn’t in Yuma, we started checking airplanes. She’d been in Yuma all right, and probably mailed you the letter telling you she was going to the Border City Hotel, but after she did that, she went to the telegraph office and asked for messages for Mrs. J. B. Beems. She got a message. We don’t know what it was. Anyway, she took a plane for San Francisco as soon as she read the telegram. Barkler was waiting for her there.”
“They’re still there?” Mason asked.
“No,” Drake said. “That’s the bad part of it. The police located her about the same time my men did.”
“The same time,” Mason echoed.
“Uh-huh,” Drake said. “To me, Perry, it stinks. I think my telephone line has been tapped. It looks as though they’ve moved in on us. Every move we make is being watched.”
Mason’s face darkened. “By God,” he said, “I’ll bust those guys wide open!”
“I didn’t know my line was tapped. I’ve got the lowdown on yours,” Drake went on. “There was a stakeout where your telephone conversations were being recorded on dictaphone cylinders. We located the room. One of the men left there, and my operatives shadowed him. He’s a detective working under Homicide out of headquarters. You know what that means, Perry. They’re closing in on us.”
Mason said, “By God, they can’t pull that with me. I’ll find out who’s responsible for this and start turning on the heat. They...”
“They don’t care now,” Drake interrupted. “They’ve closed the net. They took Emily Milicant and Ned Barkler into custody, and are bringing them back.”
“On what charge?” Mason asked.
Drake said, “I don’t know, perhaps material witnesses, perhaps as accessories after the fact. They’re gunning for you, Perry, and they’re using big caliber guns. You know what they’ll do to me.”
Mason said grimly, “But they don’t know what I’ll do to them! Right now I could put Emily Milicant on the spot. If I had to, I could just about convict her of the murder of Bill Hogarty, and by letting the D.A. prove Milicant was Hogarty, I could rip their case wide open.”
Della Street said eagerly, “Are you going to do it, Chief?”
Mason, staring moodily at the carpet, shook his head.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Just an old-fashioned custom,” Mason said, “—one that’s almost out of date — that of shooting square with a client.”
Chapter 14
Court convened at ten o’clock.
Late spectators, shuffling into the courtroom, looking in vain for seats, were admonished by a stern bailiff that there was to be no standing room, that only seated spectators could remain. The low-pitched hum of buzzing conversation, the rustling of restless motion on the part of the spectators, combined to furnish a back-drop of sound, against which the whispered conversation of Perry Mason and Della Street blended so perfectly that only their postures showed they were holding an important conference.
“Gertrude Lade understands her part?” Mason asked.
Della Street nodded.
“Did she make any objection?” Mason asked.
“Not a bit,” Della Street said. “She seemed to like the excitement.”
Mason grinned. “Guess she hired out to the right party.”
“I’ll say she did,” Della Street said.
A side door opened, and a deputy sheriff escorted Alden Leeds into the courtroom.
The whispered conversation died to a dead silence, broken only by the breathing of the attentive audience, a breathing which was a sequence of overlapping sounds, without rhythm.
Judge Knox entered the courtroom from his chambers, and the bailiff rapped the court to order.
Bob Kittering, struggling to keep his voice calm as he arose from his chair, said, “If we may have the indulgence of Your Honor, the prosecution would like to remove the fingerprint expert from the stand long enough to interrogate a new witness who knows important facts which were not entirely within the possession of our office yesterday.”
Judge Knox glanced at Perry Mason.
“No objection,” Mason said.
“Very well, so ordered,” Judge Knox observed.
Kittering said, “Call Harold Leeds to the stand.”
Harold Leeds moved forward from the rear of the courtroom. His steps lagged as though his legs recognized all too clearly the nature of the ordeal awaiting at the end of their journey.
“Step right up,” Kittering said. “... That’s better... Hold up your right hand and be sworn. Now give your name, address, and occupation to the clerk. Be seated on this witness chair... Now, Mr. Leeds, your name is Harold Leeds. You are a nephew of the Alden Leeds who is on trial here in this action as a defendant. Is that right?”
“That,” Harold Leeds said moodily, and with his eyes downcast, “is right.”
“Were you acquainted with John Milicant prior to his death?”
“I was.”
“Did John Milicant, at any time, tell you anything concerning his true identity?”
“Yes, he did.”
“What was it?”
Judge Knox said, “Just a minute before you answer that question,” and looked down at Mason as though expecting an objection. When he heard none, he said, “I’m not certain, gentlemen, but what this question plainly calls for hearsay evidence.”
Kittering pulled his brief case toward him, and took out several pages of closely-written, legal foolscap.
“If Your Honor will permit me,” he said, “I would like to be heard on this. While it is true that the question may, in one sense of the word, call for hearsay evidence, in another sense of the word, it is the sort of hearsay evidence which, by law and custom, has been universally accepted in all courts of justice.
“For instance, the question is frequently asked a witness, ‘How old are you?’ And the witness replies, giving his age. Obviously, the question calls for hearsay evidence, and the answer is founded on hearsay. Yet, it is universally accepted as being necessary in the nature of things that such an exception to hearsay evidence should be permitted.