As court convened, there was not a vacant seat anywhere in the room. People were standing along the walls in back of the chairs. There was an atmosphere of tense, hushed expectancy. Only those jurors who had been too conscientious even to glance at the headlines or at photographs published in the newspapers were in any doubt as to what had occurred. Judge Barnes, taking his position on the bench and listening to the bailiff call court to order, glanced at Perry Mason with eyes which held a glint of puzzled admiration. Larry Sampson, his mouth a thin line of grim determination, sat doggedly at his desk. His case was crashing about his ears. But he still had a few cards with which he hoped to trump Mason’s aces. “I’m going to ask Mr. Hogan to take the stand,” Mason said.
Hogan took the witness stand and testified to what he had found. He produced the bullet that had been found embedded in the chair, as well as photographs. “And, in your opinion,” Mason asked, “this bullet was fired from the weapon which the prosecution introduced as an exhibit in this case and which has been referred to as the Breel gun?”
“There’s not the slightest doubt of it,” Hogan said.
“Now then,” Mason went on, “at the time this gun was found in the bag of the defendant, only one shell had been fired, is that right?”
“I can’t answer that,” Hogan said. “I know that when the weapon was turned over to me for examination, only one shell had been fired.”
“Thank you,” Mason said, “That’s all.”
“No cross-examination,” Sampson announced.
“Call Paul Drake to the stand,” Mason said. Paul Drake came forward, was sworn, and took the witness stand. He seemed somewhat ill at ease. “You’re a private detective,” Mason asked, “and, as such, have been employed by me?”
“Yes.”
“Did you have occasion to shadow a woman who was known as Lone Bedford and who purported to be the owner of certain jewelry which Austin Cullens had left with George Trent?” Mason asked.