"If the Court please," he thundered, "that is exactly the situation I wish to avoid. A public accusation has been made against the defendant in this case, and the defendant is entitled to an acquittal at the hands of a jury. A dismissal by the prosecution would still leave her with a blot upon her name."

Judge Markham's voice sounded low and eventoned, compared with the vehement eloquence of Perry Mason.

"The motion is once more denied," he said. "The case will continue."

"Now," said Perry Mason, "will you kindly explain how Paula Cartright could write a letter and a telegram on the morning of October 17th of this year, when you know, of your own knowledge, that Paula Cartright was murdered on the evening of October 16th?"

Claude Drumm was on his feet.

"That," he said, "is objected to as argumentative, calling for a conclusion of the witness, not proper crossexamination and assuming a fact not in evidence."

Judge Markham paused for a moment, stared at the white, drawn face of the witness.

"I am going to sustain the objection," he said.

Perry Mason reached for the letter which had been identified as being in the handwriting of Mrs. Cartright, placed it on the table in front of the witness, and pounded it with his fist.

"Didn't you write that letter?" he asked of the witness.

"No!" she flared.

"Isn't it your handwriting?"

"You know that it is not," she said. "The handwriting doesn't resemble mine in the least."

"On the 17th day of October," said Perry Mason, "your right hand was in a bandage, was it not?"

"Yes."

"You had been bitten by a dog."

"Yes. Prince had been poisoned, and when I tried to give him an emetic he accidentally bit my hand."

"Yes," said Perry Mason. "But the fact remains that your right hand was bandaged on the 17th day of October of this year, and remained bandaged for several days thereafter, isn't that right?"

"Yes."

"And you couldn't hold a pen in that hand?"

There was a moment of silence, then the witness said suddenly: "Yes. And that goes to show how false your accusation is that I wrote that letter or that telegram. My hand was crippled so that I couldn't possibly have held a pen in it."

"Were you," snapped Perry Mason, "in Midwick on the 17th day of October of this year?"

The witness hesitated.

"Didn't you," went on Perry Mason without waiting for an answer, "charter an airplane and fly to Midwick on the 17th day of October of this year?"

"Yes," said the witness, "I thought I might find Mrs. Cartright in Midwick, and I went there by plane."

"And didn't you file this telegram at the telegraph office in Midwick while you were there?" asked Perry Mason.

"No," she said, "I have told you that I couldn't have written that telegram."

"Very well," said Perry Mason, "let's go back a moment to this mangled hand of yours. It was so badly mangled you couldn't possibly hold a pen in your right hand?"

"Yes."

"And that was on the 17th day of October of this year?"

"Yes."

"Also on the 18th day of October?"

"Yes."

"Also on the 19th?"

"Yes."

"Very well," said Perry Mason, "isn't it a fact that you kept a diary over the period I have mentioned?"

"Yes," she said swiftly, before she thought, then suddenly caught her breath, bit her lip and said, "No."

"Which is it," said Perry Mason, "yes or no?"

"No," she said.

Perry Mason whipped a torn sheet of paper from his pocket.

"As a matter of fact," he said, "isn't that a sheet of paper which came from a diary which you kept on or about that date — to wit, the 19th of October of this year?"

The witness stared at the torn piece of paper, said nothing.

"And isn't it," said Perry Mason, "a fact that you are ambidextrous; that you were keeping the diary during that time, and that you made entries in it with a pen that was held in your left hand? Isn't it a fact that you have always been able to write with your left hand, and that you do so whenever you wish to disguise your writing? Isn't it a fact that you have in your possession such a diary, from which this is a torn leaf, and that the handwriting on this torn leaf is exactly identical with the handwriting shown on the letter purported to have been written by Paula Cartright, and on the telegram purported to have been filed by her?"

The witness rose to her feet, looked at Judge Markham with glassy eyes, stared at the jury, then parted her white lips and screamed.

Bedlam broke loose in the courtroom. Bailiffs pounded for order. Deputies ran toward the witness.

Claude Drumm was on his feet, frantically shouting a motion for adjournment which was lost in the turmoil of noise.

Perry Mason walked back to the counsel table and sat down.

Deputies reached the side of Thelma Benton. They took her elbows and started to pilot her from the witness stand. She abruptly pitched forward in a dead faint.

The voice of Claude Drumm made itself audible above the confused roar of the courtroom.

"Your Honor," he shouted, "in the name of common decency, in the name of humanity, I demand a continuation of this case, in order to enable this witness to regain some measure of composure and health, before there is any further crossexamination. It is apparent, regardless of the cause, that she is a very sick woman. To continue with such a merciless crossexamination at this time is lacking in decency and humanity!"

Judge Markham slitted his eyes in thought, glanced over at Perry Mason.

Perry Mason's voice was low and calm, and the hubbub in the courtroom quieted so that spectators might hear him.

"May I ask counsel if that is the only reason he is asking for a continuance?" said Perry Mason.

"Certainly," said Claude Drumm.

"May I also ask counsel," said Perry Mason, "in view of the request for a continuance, if he has any other witnesses, or if this is his last witness?"

"This," said Claude Drumm, "is my last witness. I grant counsel the right to cross examine her. The district attorney's office joins with counsel in a desire to find out the true facts of this case.

"But I cannot consent to the continuation of a crossexamination of a woman who is manifestly suffering from such a terrific nerve strain."

"I think, Counselor," said Judge Markham, "that the motion at this time is well taken, at least for a short continuance."

Perry Mason's smile was urbane.

"Your Honor," he said, "the motion for a continuance is no longer necessary. It gives me pleasure to announce that in view of the mental state of the witness, and my desire to complete the case, I am finished with my crossexamination."

He sat down.

Claude Drumm stood by his chair at the counsel table, staring incredulously at Perry Mason.

"You're finished?" he asked.

"Yes," said Perry Mason.

"Under those circumstances," said Claude Drumm, "I am taken by surprise, Your Honor, and I would like to have the case continued until tomorrow morning."

"For what reason?" asked Judge Markham.

"Simply in order to get my mind clear upon certain facts, and to ascertain what course I desire to take," said Claude Drumm.

"But," pointed out Judge Markham, "in response to a question by counsel, you have stated that this was your last witness."

"Very well," said Claude Drumm suddenly. "I rest. Let counsel go ahead with his defense."

Perry Mason bowed to the court and to the jury.

"The defendant," he said, "also rests."

"What?" shouted Claude Drumm. "You are putting on no evidence whatever?"

"The defendant," said Perry Mason with dignity, "rests."

The voice of Judge Markham was calm and judicial.

"Do you gentlemen desire to argue the case?" he asked.

"Yes," said Perry Mason, "I would like to argue the case."