and slept like a top last night. I can't remember anything until the alarm went off this morning… I was excited about my marriage… I didn't look under the pillow."
The airplane, which had swept into a landing, taxied up to a stop. Mason, watching the people disembarking from it, said, "Okay, Kent, I believe you. I'm going to see you through. If you've told me the truth, go ahead and tell your story to the officers. If you built this sleepwalking business up, as your wife claims you did in her case, to give you a chance to murder someone you wanted out of the way, say so now."
"No, no, I'm telling you the truth."
Mason raised his hand and called out, "Over this way, Sergeant."
Sergeant Holcomb, flexing his muscles, after emerging from the plane, started at the sound of Mason's voice, then, with Deputy District Attorney Blaine, at his side, came striding toward Mason and Kent. "What is it?" Kent asked in an apprehensive half whisper.
"Stick to your guns," Mason cautioned. "Tell your story to the officers and to the newspapers. We want all the publicity we can get…"
Sergeant Holcomb said belligerently to Perry Mason, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Mason, with an urbane smile and a gesture of his hand said, "Sergeant Holcomb, permit me to present Mr. Peter B. Kent."
CHAPTER XII
PERRY MASON paced the floor of his office, listening to Paul Drake's drawling voice as it droned out a succession of facts. "… Sleepwalking looks like your only defense. There weren't any fingerprints on the handle of the knife, but Duncan now swears it was Kent he saw walking around in the moonlight. Duncan's hostile as hell. Don't ever kid yourself that that old windbag won't do you all the damage he can. I understand that when he first told his story he said he saw a 'figure' sleepwalking. Now he says he knows it was Kent, and the only thing that made him think it was a case of sleepwalking was that Kent wore a long, white nightgown. He…"
Mason whirled to face Drake. "That nightgown sounds fishy," he said, "doesn't Kent wear pajamas?"
Drake shook his head. "Nothing doing, Perry. I thought we could bust Duncan's story with that nightgown business but there's no chance. Kent wears one of those old-fashioned nightgowns."
"I presume the district attorney's office grabbed it as evidence."
"Sure, they have the nightgown that was found on the foot of Kent's bed, presumably the one he wore."
"Any blood stains on it?"
"I can't find out, but I don't think so."
"Wouldn't there have been?"
"The theory of the Prosecution is that since the knife was plunged through the bedclothes, the blankets prevented any blood spurting up on the hands of the murderer or on his clothing."
"That sounds reasonable," Mason said, "reasonable enough to convince a jury, anyway. What time was the murder committed?"
"That's a question. For some reason or other, the district attorney's office is trying to make it a big question, claiming that it's hard to fix the time exactly. They've told the newspaper reporters it was sometime between midnight and four o'clock in the morning. But they've been questioning servants to see if they saw or heard anything around three o'clock."
Mason, standing with his feet planted apart, head thrust forward, scowlingly digested that bit of information. "They're doing that," he said, "to pave the way for Duncan to change his story. I'll bet you twenty bucks that they can fix the time of the murder within an hour, one way or the other, but Duncan said he saw Kent carrying the knife across the patio at quarter past twelve… Paul, did that clock in Duncan's room have a luminous dial?"
"I don't know, why?"
"Because, if it did," Mason said, "they're keeping the time indefinite until they can convince Duncan that it was three o'clock instead of quarter past twelve. A man with poor eyesight, looking at a luminous dial, could easily confuse the two times."
Della Street, looking up from her notebook, said, "Do you think Duncan
The airplane, which had swept into a landing, taxied up to a stop. Mason, watching the people disembarking from it, said, "Okay, Kent, I believe you. I'm going to see you through. If you've told me the truth, go ahead and tell your story to the officers. If you built this sleepwalking business up, as your wife claims you did in her case, to give you a chance to murder someone you wanted out of the way, say so now."
"No, no, I'm telling you the truth."
Mason raised his hand and called out, "Over this way, Sergeant."
Sergeant Holcomb, flexing his muscles, after emerging from the plane, started at the sound of Mason's voice, then, with Deputy District Attorney Blaine, at his side, came striding toward Mason and Kent. "What is it?" Kent asked in an apprehensive half whisper.
"Stick to your guns," Mason cautioned. "Tell your story to the officers and to the newspapers. We want all the publicity we can get…"
Sergeant Holcomb said belligerently to Perry Mason, "What the hell are you doing here?"
Mason, with an urbane smile and a gesture of his hand said, "Sergeant Holcomb, permit me to present Mr. Peter B. Kent."
CHAPTER XII
PERRY MASON paced the floor of his office, listening to Paul Drake's drawling voice as it droned out a succession of facts. "… Sleepwalking looks like your only defense. There weren't any fingerprints on the handle of the knife, but Duncan now swears it was Kent he saw walking around in the moonlight. Duncan's hostile as hell. Don't ever kid yourself that that old windbag won't do you all the damage he can. I understand that when he first told his story he said he saw a 'figure' sleepwalking. Now he says he knows it was Kent, and the only thing that made him think it was a case of sleepwalking was that Kent wore a long, white nightgown. He…"
Mason whirled to face Drake. "That nightgown sounds fishy," he said, "doesn't Kent wear pajamas?"
Drake shook his head. "Nothing doing, Perry. I thought we could bust Duncan's story with that nightgown business but there's no chance. Kent wears one of those old-fashioned nightgowns."
"I presume the district attorney's office grabbed it as evidence."
"Sure, they have the nightgown that was found on the foot of Kent's bed, presumably the one he wore."
"Any blood stains on it?"
"I can't find out, but I don't think so."
"Wouldn't there have been?"
"The theory of the Prosecution is that since the knife was plunged through the bedclothes, the blankets prevented any blood spurting up on the hands of the murderer or on his clothing."
"That sounds reasonable," Mason said, "reasonable enough to convince a jury, anyway. What time was the murder committed?"
"That's a question. For some reason or other, the district attorney's office is trying to make it a big question, claiming that it's hard to fix the time exactly. They've told the newspaper reporters it was sometime between midnight and four o'clock in the morning. But they've been questioning servants to see if they saw or heard anything around three o'clock."
Mason, standing with his feet planted apart, head thrust forward, scowlingly digested that bit of information. "They're doing that," he said, "to pave the way for Duncan to change his story. I'll bet you twenty bucks that they can fix the time of the murder within an hour, one way or the other, but Duncan said he saw Kent carrying the knife across the patio at quarter past twelve… Paul, did that clock in Duncan's room have a luminous dial?"
"I don't know, why?"
"Because, if it did," Mason said, "they're keeping the time indefinite until they can convince Duncan that it was three o'clock instead of quarter past twelve. A man with poor eyesight, looking at a luminous dial, could easily confuse the two times."
Della Street, looking up from her notebook, said, "Do you think Duncan
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