Mason said, “Because I’m not certain the secretary murdered him.”
“Good Lord, Perry! If he’s lying about Tidings’ having been in the office, and if he impersonated Tidings over the telephone in talking with you…”
“It doesn’t prove a damn thing,” Mason interposed, “except that the secretary had some very definite reason for not wanting anyone to know that Tidings wasn’t there in the office. Suppose, for some reason, it was vital to have it appear Tidings was sitting in his office on Tuesday morning. The secretary did the best he could to create the impression Tidings was there. Then Tidings’ body was found, and the indications pointed to the time of death as Monday night — little things which wouldn’t be significant to a stranger, but which caused the secretary to realize what he was up against.
“You can see what a fix the secretary was in. He didn’t dare to back up and reverse his previous statements, because that would put him in an awful jam. He simply had to go ahead and bluff the thing through.
“Now then, Paul, suppose the secretary isn’t guilty of murder, but merely used a subterfuge to make it appear Tidings was in the office on Tuesday morning. Then suppose I rush in, browbeat Tidings’ secretary with a lot of facts, force him to confess. He confesses that he was lying about Tidings, but advances some logical reason for the lie. Thereupon, the police come down on my client and charge her with murder. My officious interference has wiped out the only defense she could possibly make in front of a jury.”
“What do you mean?”
“An alibi for Tuesday morning and for Tuesday afternoon and evening.”
“What makes you think she has such an alibi?”
“Because,” Mason said, “the shoes and the counterpane were missing.”
“Talk sense, Perry.”