“Yes.”
“Suppose he says the gun wasn’t actually in my bag, but was lying on the street so close to it that he thought that it had been in the bag?”
“That,” Mason said, “would be a break for you.”
“And you’ll remember to ask him particularly about that?”
“Yes.”
“And if they can’t show that the gun was in my bag,” she said, “why then...” Her voice trailed away into silence.
“Then, of course,” Mason said, “we can probably get someone on the jury to believe that the gun had been thrown from the blue sedan which had been parked in front of the house and just happened to be near where your bag struck when it was knocked out of your hand.”
“You can’t tell,” Mrs. Breel said, “but that I might have seen the gun lying there in the street and was running toward it to pick it up when the automobile struck me.”
“Could you,” Mason asked, “remember that that is what happened?”
“No, I can’t remember anything.”