“Come on,” Hogan invited. “I understand that I’m appointed on this phase of the case as a disinterested expert. Let’s go.”
They went to Hogan’s office. Hogan said, “I fired two or three test bullets from that Breel gun, Mason. There’s no objection to using any of those, is there?”
“None whatever,” Mason said.
Hogan placed the bullets side by side in a specially constructed holder which enabled them to be rotated slowly. He pushed the holder under the lenses of a double-barreled microscope, focused the eyepiece, and slowly started rotating the bullets. Mason, watching the man’s hand as it slowly turned the screw, saw it pause, turn the screw back for a fraction of a turn, then come to rest. Hogan stared intently through the eyepiece of the microscope. Slowly, he straightened and turned to Sampson. “All right, Sampson,” he said. “These bullets are from the same gun.”
A veritable battery of cameras clicked as Hogan made the announcement. “I presume,” Hogan said, “we’ll want micro-photographs, but they’re a mere formality. The bullets are the same. You can see for yourself.”
Mason grinned and said, “Thanks. I’ll take your word for it, and I’ll trust you to see that the bullets aren’t substituted or switched in any way, Hogan. I’m headed back for my office. I have some work to do.”
Sampson said savagely, “I don’t care what legal hocuspocus you use on those guns, you can’t get away from the blood on her shoe.”
“I’m not trying to,” Mason told him, and left.
At his office, Paul Drake and Della Street were waiting.
“Well?” Della Street asked.