“Now then, do you have in your office a so-called comparison microscope?”
“Yes, sir, I do.”
“This is a microscope used in matching bullets?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did you compare the fatal bullet, which has been introduced in evidence, with any of the bullets you recovered from the Bancroft property?”
“Yes, sir, I compared them all.”
“With what result?”
“I found two bullets in good enough shape to make a comparison.”
“With what result?”
“Both of those bullets had been fired from the same gun which had fired the fatal bullet.”
“Did you make photographs showing the fatal bullet superimposed upon these recovered bullets?”
“I did, yes, sir. Here are the photographs showing how the striations match perfectly. The fatal bullet is the one above and the recovered bullets are those below.”
“Each of these three photographs represents a different recovered bullet?”
“That is right. The top bullet in each photograph is the fatal bullet, or rather the top portion of the fatal bullet. The lower bullet is in each case the lower portion of one of the three recovered bullets.”
“We ask that these three photographs be received in evidence,” Hastings said.
“No objection,” Mason said.
Hastings turned to Mason with a triumphant smile. “Would you care to cross-examine?” he asked.
“Oh,” Mason said casually, “I have a few questions.”
Mason advanced to stand in front of the sheriff.
“You have stated that the so-called blackmail note was written on this Monarch Ten portable which you found in the room of the decedent?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The entire note was written on that typewriter?”
“I can’t swear to every single letter of every single word, because I’m a law enforcement officer and not an expert on questioned documents, but I did find a couple of defective type faces on that typewriter and I found those same defects on those same letters in the note, so on the strength of that I know the note was written on that typewriter.”
“What time was it when you got to the yacht, Jinesa? That is, you yourself, personally?” Mason asked.
“Three-fifty-five p.m.,” the sheriff said.
“The Coast Guard cutter was standing by?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You had previously been notified by telephone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And had proceeded immediately to the place where the yacht was found?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now, was the yacht aground at the time it was discovered?”
The sheriff stroked his chin. “Frankly, I don’t know,” he said. “I think it was. It was floating when I arrived. The tide, I believe, was going out then.”
“Was the boat anchored?”
“There was an anchor out, yes.”
“With how much chain?”
“Well, with not very much chain. Only a few feet.”
“What do you mean by a few feet, eight feet? Ten feet? Twenty feet?”
“I would say somewhere around fifteen to twenty feet, yes.”
“And you moved the yacht?”
“I ordered it moved so we could get our paraphernalia and equipment aboard. We had to.”
“Did you mark the exact place where the yacht was when you found it?”
“Well, not the exact place, no. Of course, I know approximately.”
“But with twenty feet of anchor chain out you couldn’t tow the yacht.”
“We picked up the anchor and dropped it aboard the yacht.”
“And then towed it.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t know the exact place where the yacht was located?”
“I know approximately.”
“But not exactly.”
“Well, I couldn’t put it right back in exactly the same place, no.”
“What was the tide at that time?”
“I don’t know for sure. It was going out, but I think it was high, pretty high.”
“Did you ever return to that place at low tide to search the ground adjacent to the place where the yacht was found?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because nobody had been aboard that boat for some time. It had floated with the tide. It floated in there and to a point where the anchor engaged the bottom of the bay.”
“How do you know?”
“Because of various and sundry discoveries we made. The dinghy was still fastened to the yacht and the anchor had been just dragging along at the end of about fifteen or twenty feet of chain.”
“How do you know that?”
“By circumstantial evidence.”
“How do you know the yacht hadn’t been taken to that point and anchored there?”
“There was no reason to anchor it there.”
“But someone might have had some reason to anchor it there?”
“We made a careful search of the shore line. We found no indications that any boat had landed. We decided the yacht had drifted with a dragging anchor line to the place where it finally came to rest at high tide.”
“That was just your conclusion?”
“From circumstantial evidence, yes.”
“You don’t know now exactly where you found the boat?”
“Certainly I do. We found it out about three hundred and fifty yards from—”
“Did you measure it?” Mason interrupted.
“No.”
“When you say about three hundred and fifty yards you’re making just an estimate?”
“Yes.”
“You couldn’t go back and pinpoint the exact location of that place?”
“No, I have already said that.”
“Do you know how long the boat had been there when you found it?”
“It had drifted in on the high tide. I assume that it had probably drifted in on the tide the night before.”
“What is the basis of that assumption, Sheriff?”
“We know almost exactly when Gilly met his death. He had been seen on the club landing. He had been taken aboard the yacht. He had eaten canned beans at his apartment. Death had been within approximately two hours of the time he had his last meal. The yacht had evidently been drifting aimlessly with the tide. There was virtually no wind.”
Mason said, “Let’s just check those tides, Sheriff. I show you a tide table. You will note it shows that high tide on the tenth actually took place on the early morning of the eleventh, at one-fifteen a.m.”
“That is correct.”
“The next high tide was at two-thirty-two on the afternoon of the eleventh.”
“That’s right, yes, sir.”
“And you found the boat at low tide?”
“The tide was dropping very rapidly. It was not quite low tide.”
“And you promptly hooked onto the boat and towed it in to the float?”
“After I got there I ordered it towed in to where we could go to work on it, yes.”
“That’s all,” Mason said.
Hastings said, “If the Court please, I am now going to call another witness, Stilson L Kelsey. This man is partially hostile. I cannot vouch for him but I want his testimony because it is vital.”
“Very well,” Judge Hobart said. “Mr Kelsey to the stand.”
Kelsey presented a somewhat different appearance from the man Mason had seen at Eve Amory’s apartment. He had had a haircut, his suit was new, his shoes were new. He had an air of complete assurance.
“What is your name?” the district attorney asked.
“Stilson L Kelsey.”
“What is your occupation?”
“I refuse to answer.”
“On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that the answer will incriminate me.”