by Ellery Queen
“She went out mysteriously Saturday night,” murmured Ellery, “and again last night, and she came home very late both times.”
“While Rome burns!”
“She’d been drinking Martinis, too.”
“I forgot you’re something of a sleuth. How did you find that out, Queen?”
“I kissed her.”
Judge Martin was startled. ”Kissed her? You?”
“I have my methods,” said Mr. Queen, a whit stiffly. Then he grinned. ”But this time they didn’t work. She wouldn’t tell me what she’d been doing.”
“Odalisque Parfum,” sniffed the old gentleman. ”If Patricia Wright thinks a sweet odeur is going to divert young Bradford . . . He looks undiverted to me this morning. Doesn’t he to you?”
“An immovable young man,” agreed Mr. Queen uneasily.
Judge Martin sighed and glanced over at the row of chairs inside the railing, where Nora sat with her little chin raised high and a pallid face between her mother and father, her gaze fixed beggingly upon her husband’s motionless profile. But if Jim was conscious of her presence, he made no sign. Behind them the courtroom was jammed and whispery.
Mr. Queen was furtively scanning Miss Patricia Wright. Miss Patricia Wright had an Oppenheim air this morning¯slitted eyes, and a certain enigmatic expression about the mouth Mr. Queen had kissed in the interests of science the night before . . . in vain. Perhaps not quite in vain . . .
He became aware that Judge Eli was poking his ribs. ”Get up, get up. You ought to know something about courtroom etiquette! Here comes Newbold.”
“Good luck,” said Ellery absently.
* * *
The first witness Judge Martin called to testify in defense of Jim Haight was Hermione Wright.
Hermy crossed the space before the Bench and mounted the step to the witness chair if not quite like royalty ascending the throne, then at least like royalty ascending the guillotine. On being sworn, she said “I do” in a firm, if tragic, voice.
Clever, thought Ellery. Putting Hermy on the stand. Hermy, mother of Nora. Hermy, who of all persons in the world except Nora should be Jim Haight’s harshest enemy¯Hermy to testify for the man who had tried to kill her daughter!
The courtroom and jury were impressed by the dignity with which Hermy met all their stares. Oh, she was a fighter! And Ellery could detect the pride on the faces of her three daughters, a queer shame on Jim’s, and the faint admiration of Carter Bradford.
The old lawyer led Hermione skillfully through the night of the crime, dwelling chiefly on the “gaiety” of the occasion, how happy everyone had been, how Nora and Jim had danced together like children, and incidentally, how much Frank Lloyd, who had been Bradford’s chief witness to the events of the evening, had had to drink; and the Judge contrived, through Hermy’s helpless, “confused” answers, to leave the impression with the jury that no one there could possibly have said for certain what had happened so far as the cocktails were concerned, let alone Frank Lloyd¯unless it was Mr. Ellery Queen, who’d had only one drink before the fatal toast to 1941.
And then Judge Martin led Hermione around to a conversation she had had with Jim shortly after Jim and Nora returned from their honeymoon¯how Jim had confided in his mother-in-law that Nora and he suspected Nora was going to have a baby, and that Nora wanted it to be kept a secret until they were “sure,” except that Jim said he was so happy he couldn’t keep it in any longer, he had to tell someone, and Hermy wasn’t to let on to Nora that he’d blabbed. And how ecstatic Jim had been at the prospect of being father to Nora’s child¯how it would change his whole life, he said, give him a fresh push toward making a success of himself for Nora and the baby¯how much he loved Nora . . . more every day.
Carter Bradford waived cross-examination with almost a visible kindliness.
But there was a little whiff of applause as Hermy stepped off the witness stand.
Judge Martin called up a roll of character witnesses as long as Judge Newbold’s face. Lorrie Preston and Mr. Gonzales of the bank, Brick Miller the bus driver, Ma Upham, young Manager Louie Cahan of the Bijou, who had been one of Jim’s bachelor cronies, Miss Aikin of the Carnegie Library¯that was a surprise, as Miss Aikin had never been known to say a kind word about anybody, but she managed to say several about Jim Haight despite the technical limitations of “character” testimony¯chiefly, Ellery suspected, because Jim had patronized the Library in the old days and broken not a single one of Miss Aikin’s numerous rules . . . The character witnesses were so many, and so socially diversified, that people were surprised. They hadn’t known Jim Haight had so many friends in town.
But that was exactly the impression Judge Martin was trying to make. And when John F. clambered to the stand and said simply and directly that Jim was a good boy and the Wrights were behind him heart and soul, people remarked how old John F. looked¯”aged a lot these past couple of months, John F. has”¯and a tide of sympathy for the Wrights began to creep up in the courtroom until it was actually lapping Jim Haight’s shoes.
During the days of this character testimony, Carter Bradford maintained a decent respect for the Wrights¯just the proper note of deference and consideration, but a little aloof, as if to say: “I’m not going to badger your people, but don’t expect my relationship with your family to influence my conduct in this courtroom one iota!”
* * *
Then Judge Martin called Lorenzo Grenville.
Lorenzo Grenville was a drippy-eyed little man with hourglass cheeks and a tall Hoover collar, size sixteen, out of which his neck protruded like a withered root.
He identified himself as a handwriting expert.
Mr. Grenville agreed that he had sat in the courtroom from the beginning of the trial, that he had heard the testimony of the People’s experts regarding the authenticity of the handwriting in the three letters alleged to have been written by the defendant; that he had had ample opportunity to examine said letters, also undisputed samples of the defendant’s true handwriting; and that in his “expert” opinion there was grave reason to doubt James Haight’s authorship of the three letters in evidence.
“As a recognized authority in the field of handwriting analysis, you do not believe Mr. Haight wrote the three letters?”
“I do not.” (The Prosecutor leers at the jury, and the jury leers back.)
“Why don’t you believe so, Mr. Grenville?” asked the Judge.
Mr. Grenville went into punctilious detail. Since he drew almost exactly opposite conclusions from the identical data which the jury had heard the People’s experts say proved Jim Haight had written those letters, several jurymen were not unnaturally confused, which contented Judge Martin.
“Any other reasons for believing these letters were not written by the defendant, Mr. Grenville?”
Mr. Grenville had many which, edited, became a question of composition. ”The phrasing is stilted, unnatural, and is not like the defendant’s ordinary letter style at all.” Mr. Grenville cited chapter and verse from Haight letters in evidence.
“Then what is your opinion, Mr. Grenville, as to the authorship of the three letters?”
“I am inclined to consider them forgeries.”
Mr. Queen would have felt reassured, but he happened to know that a certain defendant in another case had written a check which Mr. Lorenzo Grenville just as solemnly testified to be a forgery. There was no slightest doubt in Ellery’s mind about the Haight letters. They had been written by Jim Haight, and that’s all there was to it. He wondered what Judge Martin was up to with the unreliable Mr. Grenville.
He found out at once. ”Is it your considered opinion, Mr. Grenville,” purred Judge Eli, “that it would be easy, or difficult, to forge Mr. Haight’s handwriting?”
“Oh, very easy,” said Mr. Grenville.
“Could you forge Mr. Haight’s handwriting?”
“Certainly.”
“Could you forge Mr. Haight’s handwriting here and now?”
“
Well,” said Mr. Grenville apologetically, “I’d have to study the handwriting a while¯say two minutes!”
Bradford was on his feet with a bellow, and there was a long, inaudible argument before Judge Newbold. Finally, the Court allowed the demonstration, the witness was provided with pen, paper, ink, and a photostatic copy of one of Jim Haight’s acknowledged samples of handwriting¯it happened to be a personal note written to Nora by Jim on the Wrightsville National Bank stationery and dated four years before¯and the courtroom sat on the edge of its collective seat.
Lorenzo Grenville squinted at the photostat for exactly two minutes.
Then, seizing the pen, he dipped it into the ink, and with a casual air wrote swiftly on the blank paper.
“I’d do better,” he said to Judge Martin, “if I had my own pens to work with.”
Judge Martin glanced earnestly at what his witness had written and then, with a smile, passed the sheet around the jury box, together with the photostat of Jim’s undisputed handwriting. From the amazement on the jurors’ faces as they compared the photostat with Grenville’s forgery, Ellery knew the blow had told.
On cross-examination, Carter Bradford had only one question to ask the witness.
“Mr. Grenville, how many years has it taken you to learn the art of forging handwriting?”
It seemed Mr. Grenville had spent his whole life at it.
* * *
Victor Carlatti to the stand. Yes, he is the owner of a roadhouse on Route 16 called the Hot Spot. What sort of establishment is it? A nightclub.
Q.¯Mr. Carlatti, do you know the defendant, James Haight?
A.¯I’ve seen him around.
Q.¯Has he ever visited your nightclub?
A.-Yeah.
Q.¯Drinking?
A.¯Well, a drink or two. Once in a while. It’s legal.
Q.¯Now, Mr. Carlatti, there has been testimony here that James Haight allegedly admitted to Mrs. Haight that he had “lost money gambling” in your establishment. What do you know about this?
A.¯It’s a dirty lie.
Q.¯You mean James Haight has never gambled in your nightclub?
A.¯Sure he never. Nobody ever¯
Q.¯Has the defendant borrowed any money from you?
A.¯He nor nobody else.
Q.¯Does the defendant owe you a single dollar?
A.¯Not a chip.
Q.¯As far as you know, has the defendant ever “lost” any money in your establishment? Gambling or any other way?
A.¯Maybe some broad may have took him to the cleaners while he was feeling happy, but he never shelled out one cent in my place except for drinks.
Q.¯You may cross-examine, Mr. Bradford.
Mr. Bradford murmurs, “With pleasure,” but only Judge Eli hears him, and Judge Eli shrugs ever so slightly and sits down.
Cross-examination by Mr. Bradford:
Q.¯Carlatti, is it against the law to operate a gambling parlor?
A.¯Who says I operate a gambling parlor? Who says?
Q.¯Nobody “says,” Carlatti. Just answer my question.
A.¯It’s a dirty frame. Prove it. Go ahead. I ain’t gonna sit here and take no double-cross¯
Judge Newbold: The witness will refrain from gratuitous remarks, or he will lay himself open to contempt. Answer the question.
A.¯What question, Judge?
Q.¯Never mind. Do you or do you not run roulette, faro, craps, and other gambling games in the back room of your so-called “nightclub”?
A.¯Am I supposed to answer dirty questions like that? It’s an insult, Judge. This kid ain’t dry behind the ears yet, and I ain’t gonna sit here and take¯
Judge Newbold: One more remark like that¯
Judge Martin: It seems to me, Your Honor, that this is improper cross. The question of whether the witness runs a gambling establishment or not was not part of the direct examination.
Judge Newbold: Overruled!
Judge Martin: Exception!
Mr. Bradford: If Jim Haight did owe you money lost at your gambling tables, Carlatti, you’d have to deny it, wouldn’t you, or face prosecution on a charge of running a gambling establishment?
Judge Martin: I move that question be stricken¯
A.¯What is this? All of a sudden all you guys are getting angels. How do you think I been operating¯on my sex appeal? And don’t think no hick judge can scare Vic Carlatti. I got plenty of friends, and they’ll see to it that Vic Carlatti ain’t going to be no fall guy for some old goat of a judge and some stinker of a D.A.¯
Judge Newbold: Mr. Bradford, do you have any further questions of this witness?
Mr. Bradford: I think that will be quite sufficient, Your Honor.
Judge Newbold: Clerk, strike the last question and answer. The jury will disregard it. The spectators will preserve the proper decorum, or the room will be cleared. Witness is held in contempt of court. Bailiff, take charge of the prisoner.
Mr. Carlatti puts up his dukes as the bailiff approaches, roaring: “Where’s my mouthpiece? This ain’t Nazzee Goimany!”
* * *
When Nora took the oath and sat down and began to testify in a choked voice, the court was like a church. She was the priestess, and the people listened to her with the silent unease of a sinning congregation confronted by their sins . . . Surely the woman Jim Haight had tried to do in would be against him?
But Nora was not against Jim. She was for him, every cell in her. Her loyalty filled the courtroom like warm air.
She made a superb witness, defending her husband from every charge. She reiterated her love for him and her unquestioning faith in his innocence. Over and over. While her eyes kept coming back to the object of her testimony, those scant few feet away, who sat with his face lowered, wearing a dull red mask of shame, blinking at the tips of his unpolished shoes.
The idiot might be more cooperative! thought Mr. Queen angrily.
Nora could give no factual evidence to controvert the People’s case. Judge Martin, who had put her on the stand for her psychological value, did not touch upon the two poisoning attempts preceding New Year’s Eve; and in a genuine act of kindness, Carter Bradford waived cross-examination and the opportunity to quiz her on those attempts. Perhaps Bradford felt he would lose more in goodwill by grilling Nora than by letting her go.
Mr. Queen, a notorious skeptic, could not be sure.
* * *
Nora was to have been Judge Martin’s last witness; and indeed he was fumbling with some papers at the defense table, as if undecided whether to proceed or not, when Pat signaled him furiously from inside the railing, and the old gentleman nodded with a guilty, unhappy look and said: “I call Patricia Wright to the stand.”
Mr. Queen sat forward in the grip of a giant tension he could not understand.
Obviously at a loss where to begin, Judge Martin began a cautious reconnaissance, as if seeking a clue. But Pat took the reins out of his hands almost at once. She was irrepressible¯deliberately, Ellery knew; but why? What was she driving at?
As a defense witness, Pat played squarely into the hands of the People.
The more she said, the more damage she did to Jim’s cause. She painted her brother-in-law as a scoundrel, a liar¯told how he had humiliated Nora, stolen her jewelry, squandered her property, neglected her, subjected her to mental torment, quarreled with her incessantly . . .
Before she was half through, the courtroom was sibilating. Judge Martin was perspiring like a coolie and trying frantically to head her off, Nora was gaping at her sister as if she were seeing her for the first time, and Hermy and John F. slumped lower and lower in their seats, like two melting waxworks.
Judge Newbold interrupted Pat during a denunciation of Jim and an avowal of her hatred for him.
“Miss Wright, are you aware that you were called as a witness for the defense?”
Pat snapped: “I’m sorry. Your Honor. But I can’t sit here and see all this hush-hush going on when we all know Jim Haight is guilty¯”
“Young woman¯” began Judge Newbold angrily.
But Pat rushed on. ”And that’s what I told Bill Ketcham only last night¯”
“Whatr The explosion came from Judge Newbold, Eli Martin, and Carter Bradford simultaneously. And for a moment the room was plunged in an abyss of surprise; and then the walls cracked, and Bedlam piled upon Babel, so that Judge Newbold pounded with his third gavel of the trial, and the bailiff ran up and down shushing people, and in the press row someone started to laugh as realization came, infecting the whole row, and the row behind that.
“Your Honor,” said Judge Martin above the din, “I want it to go on record here and now that the statement made by my witness a moment ago comes to me as an absolute shock. I had no faintest idea that¯”
“Just a moment, just a moment, Counsel,” said Judge Newbold in a strangled voice. ”Miss Wright!”
“Yes, Your Honor?” asked Patty in a bewildered way, as if she couldn’t imagine what all the fuss was about.
“Did I hear you correctly? Did you say you told Bill Ketcham something last night?”
“Why, yes, Your Honor,” said Pat respectfully. ”And Bill agreed with me¯”
“I object!” shouted Carter Bradford. ”She’s got it in for me! This is a put-up job¯!”
Miss Wright turned innocent eyes on Mr. Bradford.
“One moment, Mr. Bradford!” Judge Newbold leaned far forward on the Bench. ”Bill Ketcham agreed with you, did he? What did he agree with you about? What else happened last night?”
“Well, Bill said Jim was guilty, all right, and if I’d promise to”¯Pat blushed¯”well, if I’d promise him a certain something, he’d see to it that Jim got what was coming to him. Said he’d talk to the others on the jury, too¯being an insurance man, Bill said, he could sell anything. He said I was his dream girl, and for me he’d climb the highest mountain¯”
“Silence in the court!” bellowed Judge Newbold.
And there was silence.
“Now, Miss Wright,” said Judge Newbold grimly, “are we to understand that you had this conversation last night with the William Ketcham who is Juror Number 7 in this trial?”