"Yes," said the telephone clerk.

Perry Mason rang Della Street. "Della," he said, "I left a message for C. Phillip Montaine at his hotel, saying that if he would meet me at my office at seventhirty tomorrow night I would arrange a complete property settlement between Rhoda and Carl. I don't know whether he will get that message. Will you ring him this evening and make sure?"

"Yes, chief," she said. "You won't be coming to the office?"

"No."

"Listen, chief," she told him, "Carl Montaine can't come to your office. The district attorney is keeping him in custody, isn't he?"

Perry Mason chuckled.

"That's right, Della."

"But you want C. Phillip Montaine to be here anyway, is that it?"

"Yes."

"Okay," she said. "I'll see that he gets the message."

That night the city editor of the Chronicle, examining the transcript of proceedings for the day, with the eagle eye of a newspaper man who had seen Perry Mason in action and who knew that lawyer's masterly technique of placing bombs in the prosecution's case timed to explode with deadly effect at the most inopportune moments, was impressed by the peculiar phraseology of Perry Mason's questions concerning the doorbell. He sent two of his best reporters out with instructions to corner the attorney and get an interview from him in regard to the significance of that particular phase of the case. The reporters, however, scoured the city and were unsuccessful. Not until court convened the next morning did Perry Mason put in a public appearance. Then, freshly shaven, with a certain jauntiness in his manner, he stepped through the swinging doors of the courtroom, precisely five seconds before court was called to order.

Judge Markham, taking his place on the bench, observed that the jurors were all present, the defendant was in court, and instructed Mrs. Crandall to once more take the witness stand for crossexamination.

Perry Mason addressed himself to the court. "Your Honor," he said, "it was agreed between counsel yesterday that the doorbell taken from the apartment where Gregory Moxley met his death would be received in evidence. I desire to crossexamine this witness concerning the sound of that doorbell, and have had an electrician prepare a set of dry batteries, properly wired with clamps which can be adjusted to the bell, so that I can ring the bell itself in court, so as to test the recollection of the witness as to the manner in which it was rung. The Court will remember that yesterday the husband of this witness testified generally to the sound of the bell as having been 'an entirely different type of bell. In the first place, there was more of a whirring sound to it. In the second place, it rang at longer intervals than a telephone bell rings.

"I have quoted, your Honor, from the testimony of Mr. Crandall, as it has been written up by the court reporter. Obviously, such testimony is merely the conclusion of a witness, and, in view of the fact that Mrs. Crandall has given similar testimony, I feel that I should be able to crossexamine these witnesses with the doorbell itself in evidence. In view of the fact that the bell has been brought to court, I ask permission of the Court to have this witness step down from the stand long enough to enable the prosecution to introduce its evidence, identifying the doorbell and making it available for such tests."

Judge Markham glanced at John Lucas. "Any objections?" he asked.

John Lucas made a throwing gesture with his arms spreading them wide apart as though baring his breast to the inspection of the jury. His manner was aggressively frank. "Certainly not," he said. "We are only too glad to put our evidence in in such a manner that it will assist counsel for the defense in his crossexamination of our witnesses. We want counsel to have every possible opportunity for crossexamination." With a smirk, he sat down.

Judge Markham nodded to Mrs. Crandall. "Just step down for a moment, Mrs. Crandall," he said, and then nodded to John Lucas. "Very well, Counselor," he said in a voice sufficiently uncordial to apprise Lucas that further attempts to grandstand in front of the jury would meet with judicial rebuff, "proceed to introduce the doorbell in evidence."

"Call Sidney Otis," said Lucas.

The big electrician lumbered forward, glanced at Perry Mason, then glanced hurriedly away. He held his eyes downcast while he raised his hand, listened to the oath being administered. Then he sat on the edge of the witness chair and looked expectantly at John Lucas.

"Your name?" asked John Lucas.

"Sidney Otis."

"Where do you reside?"

"Apartment B, Colemont Apartments, 316 Norwalk Avenue."

"What's your occupation?"

"An electrician."

"How old are you?"

"Fortyeight."

"When did you move into the apartment which you now occupy?"

"About the twentieth of June, I think it was."

"You're familiar with the doorbell in the apartment which you occupy, Mr. Otis?"

"Oh, yes."

"As an electrician you have perhaps noticed it more or less particularly?"

"Yes."

"Has the bell been changed or tampered with in any way since you occupied the apartment?"

Sidney Otis squirmed uncomfortably on the witness stand.

"Not since I moved into the apartment," he said.

"You say the bell has not been changed since you moved into the apartment?" John Lucas asked, puzzled.

"That's right."

"Had it, to your own knowledge, been changed or tampered with in any way prior to the time you moved into the apartment?"

"Yes."

John Lucas suddenly snapped to startled, upright rigidity. "What was that?" he demanded.

"I said it had been changed," said Sidney Otis.

"It had what?"

"Been changed."

"How? In what way?" asked John Lucas, his face taking on a slow flush of anger.

"I'm an electrician," said Sidney Otis simply. "When I moved into that apartment I put on a doorbell that I took from my own store."

There was an expression of relief apparent on the face of the deputy district attorney. "Oh, so you wanted to put on one of your own bells, is that it?"

"Yes."

"I see," said Lucas, smiling now, "and the bell that you took out when you installed yours you have kept in your possession, have you?"

"I kept it," said Sidney Otis, "but it wasn't a bell—it was a buzzer."

There was a tense, dramatic silence in the courtroom. Eyes of judge, jurors and spectators turned to the frank, honest face of Sidney Otis, then turned to stare at John Lucas, whose face, flushed and angry red, was twisting with emotion. His hands were gripping the edge of the counsel table so that the skin showed white over his knuckles. "When did you move into this apartment?" he asked ominously.

"About the twentieth or twentyfirst of June somewhere along in there."

"And just before you moved into the apartment, you changed the doorbell?"

"That's right. I took off the buzzer and put on a bell."

Lucas took a deep breath. "Look here," he said. "You're an electrician?"

"Yes, sir."

"Have you had occasion to go in the other apartments in that building?"

"No, sir."

"Then you don't know, as a matter of fact, that there are bells in the other three apartments, and that the very remarkable and single exception was discovered by you when you moved into your apartment and found a buzzer in it?"

"I don't know as I get just what you mean," Sidney Otis said, "but if you mean that my apartment was the only one that had a buzzer in it, you're wrong, because the other upstairs apartment had a buzzer."

"How do you know, if you've never been in the apartment? Did some one tell you?"

"No, sir, but you see, when I was putting on the bell in my apartment I started checking up on the wiring, and while I was doing that I pressed the buttons on the other apartments. I don't know what's on the two downstairs apartments, but on the other upstairs apartment my wife could hear the buzzer sounding when I pressed the button."