Judge Treadwell’s courtroom was well crowded. Phyllis Leeds, seated within the bar, looking ill at ease, returned Mason’s reassuring smile with a nervous twist of the lips.
She indicated that she wanted to whisper to him, and Mason bent down so his ear was close to her lips. “Why all the people?” she asked.
Mason said, “Newspaper notoriety, money, romance, and a fight. People flock to that combination like flies to a honey jar... Now can you give me a line on the other relatives without seeming to point them out?”
“I think so,” she said. “That’s Jason talking with the lawyer now. The man seated back of him is Uncle Freeman.”
Mason sized them up, and said, “Your Uncle Freeman looks like an opinionated cuss.”
“He is,” she said. “When he once gets an idea in his head, you can’t blast it out with dynamite.”
“We’ll let Judge Treadwell do a little blasting,” Mason said.
“Jason’s just as bad,” she said, “only he’s more clever. He’s a mealy-mouthed hypocrite who always tried to make Uncle Alden feel he loved him — taking him for auto rides and all that... There’s Harold Leeds, Freeman’s boy — the one walking on tiptoe. He does everything that way around home. When he can break away, he’d like to be a real sport; but he doesn’t stand much chance. Freeman keeps him under his thumb, won’t let him have a car, doesn’t approve of...”
She broke off as the bailiff suddenly pounded the courtroom to its feet. The door from chambers opened, and Judge Treadwell, walking with slow dignity, marched up the three carpeted stairs to the platform at the end of the courtroom and took his seat behind the mahogany “bench.” The bailiff mechanically intoned the formula which announced that court was in session, and, a moment later, Judge Treadwell looked down at Perry Mason, and said, “I’d like to ask a few questions of the applicant.”
Mason, on his feet, nodded toward Phyllis Leeds.
“Stand up and be sworn, Miss Leeds,” he said. “... walk right up to that desk. Did Your Honor wish to have counsel examine the witness?”
“No,” Judge Treadwell said. “The court will ask the questions. How old are you, Miss Leeds?”
“Twenty-three,” she answered in a voice high-pitched from nervousness.
“And your uncle is living with you?”
“Yes — that is, he was. I keep house for him, and keep his books.”
“Now, I’d like to know something about the family,” Judge Treadwell said in a conversational voice. “Your uncle, I take it, is not married.”
“No, Your Honor. He’s always been a bachelor.”
“Tell me about the family.”
“There’s Uncle Freeman, a younger brother of Uncle Alden, his son, Harold, and Jason Carrel.”
“Jason is the son of a sister?” Judge Treadwell asked.
“Yes, Your Honor. She’s dead. She was the youngest in the family — that is, of the sisters.”
Judge Treadwell asked kindly, “How do you get along with your uncle, Miss Leeds?”
“Very well,” she said, “but anyone would get along with him. He never loses his temper, is kind, courteous, and considerate.”
“And how about the other members of the family?” Judge Treadwell asked. “How do they...”
Opposing counsel was on his feet. “Your Honor,” he said, “I dislike very much to object to the court’s question.”
Judge Treadwell turned to him. “Don’t do it then,” he said.
“I feel that in the interests of my client I must.”
“You’re representing Freeman Leeds?”
“Yes, Your Honor, Freeman Leeds, Harold Leeds, and Jason Carrel.”
“What’s the ground of your objection?”
“That this is simply an application for a writ of habeas corpus. The petition alleges on information and belief that Alden Leeds is being detained against his will. I propose to show that such is not the case. The man is in the custody of loving relatives, under medical care which is an urgent necessity.”
“You’ll have your opportunity,” Judge Treadwell said, calmly. “Right at the present time, the court is trying to find out something about the family affairs and the general situation of the parties.”
“I understand, Your Honor, and that’s what I object to. I claim that is incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial and not a part of this hearing.”
“Objection overruled,” Judge Treadwell said, and then, as the lawyer remained on his feet, observed mildly, “If you have any other objections to make, make them, and the court will rule. If you have none, sit down.”
The lawyer sat down.
Judge Treadwell turned to Phyllis Leeds. “How about the other members of the family?” he asked. “How do they get along with your uncle?”
“Same objection,” opposing counsel snapped.
“Same ruling,” Judge Treadwell said calmly.
“Why, they get along with Uncle all right — that is, they did until — until Uncle Alden — I hardly know how to express it.”
“Made outside friends?” Judge Treadwell asked.
She nodded her head vigorously.
“I think that’s all,” Judge Treadwell observed. “I notice that the petition alleges that Alden Leeds was taken for an automobile ride by Jason Carrel, and failed to return. I think I’ll ask a few questions of Mr. Carrel. Come forward please.”
Jason Carrel, a thin young man in the thirties with high cheekbones, close-set eyes, and a mop of coal black hair which grew low on his forehead, came forward and was sworn.
“From reading the return to the writ,” Judge Treadwell said, when Carrel had stated his name, age, and residence to the clerk, “I understand you took your uncle for an automobile ride.”
“Yes, Your Honor.”
“What did you do with him?”
“I took him to a sanitarium when he exhibited symptoms of...”
“You’re not a doctor?”
“No.”
“Did you ask your uncle if he wanted to go to a sanitarium?”
“No, I thought...”
“Never mind what you thought The question was whether you asked your uncle.”
“No. I didn’t think he was in any condition to give an answer.”
“He was conscious?”
“Oh, yes.”
“You were talking with him?”
“Yes.”
“And did he make any objection to entering the sanitarium?”
“Yes, he did.”
“And how was the objection overcome?”
“Well, I stated to the doctor that...”
“That’s not the question,” Judge Treadwell interrupted, kindly but firmly. “How was his objection overcome?”
“Two male nurses carried him in.”
“I see,” Judge Treadwell observed in the tone of finality. “I think that’s all.”
“Your Honor, I have a showing I’d like to make,” the lawyer for the relatives said. “I feel that I’m entitled to...”
“Go right ahead with your showing,” Judge Treadwell announced. “Court will hear any witnesses you care to produce — you have Alden Leeds in court?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“The court order was that you produce him here.”
“We understand, Your Honor, but he is physically unable to attend. We have Dr. Londonberry, who is here to testify on that point.”
“Very well,” Judge Treadwell said, “let him testify.”
Dr. Londonberry was in the middle fifties, inclined to flesh. His complexion was ruddy, his gray eyes cold and professional, but his manner was plainly nervous. As he took the witness stand, he adjusted nose spectacles from which hung a wide, black ribbon.
Judge Treadwell leaned forward to appraise him, while the doctor was being qualified as an expert, then settled back in his chair with an air of complete detachment.
“You are acquainted with Alden Leeds?” the lawyer asked.
“I am.”
“When did you first see him?”
“When he was brought to my sanitarium in an automobile driven by Jason Carrel.”
“That was the first time you had seen Alden Leeds?”
“Yes.”
“Now we won’t ask what Jason Carrel told you. We only want to know what you saw and what you did. Please tell the court exactly what happened.”
In the precise, clipped voice of a professional man who is prepared for a grueling cross-examination, Dr. Londonberry said, “I was called to the automobile. I found a man approximately seventy-two years of age, somewhat frail in physical appearance, and apparently suffering from a well-developed psychosis. He was incoherent in his speech, violent in his actions. I immediately noticed a well-defined arcus senilis on the pupil of the right eye — an arcus senilis, I may explain, is due to a hyaline, degeneration of the lamellae and cells of the cornea. It is, in my experience, indicative of the first stages of senile dementia.
“Disregarding, as I am afraid I must, because of the narrow latitude which is permitted me in my testimony, the history of the case and confining my testimony solely to what I myself saw, learned, and did when the patient had entered the hospital, I examined him for consciousness, orientation, hallucinations, delusions, idea association, memory, and judgment. I had already observed his unstable emotions.”
“What did you find?” the lawyer asked.
“I found a case of well-defined senile dementia.”
“And what is your suggestion in regard to this patient?”
“He should be placed under proper care and observation. With the passing of time, he will show a progressive mental deterioration and complete inability to handle his business affairs. He will become increasingly susceptible to blandishments, false friendships, and fraud. The progress of the disease can be stayed somewhat by proper care and treatment, relief from business worries, and particularly from the necessity of making decisions.”
“And it was at your suggestion, Doctor, that the patient was not brought to court this morning?”
“Not only at my suggestion but because of my positive orders. In his present nervous state, the patient would become highly excited if he were brought into a public hearing. I would not care to be responsible for the results following such an appearance. Mr. Leeds is a very sick man mentally.”
“You may cross-examine,” the attorney said to Perry Mason.
Mason sat slumped down in the mahogany swivel chair at the counsel table, his long legs stretched out in front of him, his chin sunk on his chest. He did not look at the witness.
“The patient was incoherent when you first saw him?” he asked, tonelessly.
“Yes.”
“Excited?”
“Yes.”
“Angry?”
“Yes.”
“And from these things you diagnosed a senile dementia?”
“From those things and the other things.”
“Well, let’s take them up in order. These things helped to give you a diagnosis of senile dementia, did they not?”
“Yes.”
“Anger and irritability are symptoms of senile dementia, Doctor?”
“Yes, sir, definitely.”
“And I believe there is another similar disease, isn’t there, Doctor, dementia praecox or schizophrenia?”
“That is not the same as senile dementia.”
“So I understand, Doctor. In cases of dementia praecox, as I understand it, there is a condition of mental ataxia. The patient develops a state of apathy, becomes utterly indifferent to his surroundings, and cares nothing about what is done with him.”
“That is right.”
“Mr. Leeds was not suffering from that disease?”
“Certainly not. I have explained my diagnosis to you.”
“If, on the other hand, you had noted any unnatural apathy of the emotions, you would have suspected dementia praecox?”
“I would have suspected it, yes.”
“Well,” Mason said moodily, still with his chin on his chest, “let’s see where that leaves us, Doctor. A man, aged seventy-two years, goes out riding with his nephew. The nephew abruptly detours him to a sanitarium. Two male nurses come out of the sanitarium and start dragging him out of the car. You appear upon the scene. You find the patient angry and, as you have expressed it, incoherent. Wouldn’t it be natural for a patient to be angry under such circumstances?”
“It depends on the circumstances.”
“But if he hadn’t been angry, you would have immediately diagnosed his condition as a lethargic symptom of mental ataxia, would you not?”
“I don’t think that’s a fair question.”
“Perhaps not,” Mason said, in the manner of one dismissing a subject. “Let’s go on with your diagnosis. You found he was angry at being dragged out of the car. Therefore, you forthwith diagnosed his case as senile dementia, did you not?”
“I did not!” Dr. Londonberry exclaimed indignantly. “I have told you what factors entered into my diagnosis. Your question is a deliberate attempt to distort my testimony.”
“Tut, tut,” Mason said. “Don’t work yourself up, Doctor. It wouldn’t do for you to get angry — let’s see, how old are you?”
“Fifty-six.”
“A bit early for senile dementia to develop, is it not, Doctor?”
“Yes,” the physician snapped.
“Then try and retain your good temper, Doctor, and I will try and be as fair as possible. You stated there were other symptoms. The only other symptom which you noted, I believe, was an arcus senilis.”
“Well, that was sufficient.”
“An arcus senilis, in your opinion, denotes a mental deterioration?”
“It is a symptom, yes.”
“And just what is an arcus senilis, not in technical terms, but describe it.”
“It appears as a crescent-shaped ring in the outer periphery of the cornea.”
Mason suddenly raised his head. “Similar to the white crescent shape in the eye of His Honor, Judge Treadwell?” he asked.
Coincident with the asking of the question, Judge Treadwell leaned across the bench to stare at the witness.
Dr. Londonberry, startled, glanced up at the judge, then suddenly became confused. “Of course,” he said, “an arcus senilis is not in itself indicative of psychosis. It is a symptom.”
“Symptom of what?” Judge Treadwell asked acidly.
“A symptom of physical deterioration which, taken in connection with other symptoms, may indicate a mental deterioration.”
“In other words,” Judge Treadwell said, “if I should be taking a ride in an automobile, and two male nurses dragged me from the car, and I showed intense anger, that, coupled with my arcus senilis, would lead you to believe I was suffering from senile dementia, would it not?”
The witness fidgeted uneasily and said, “I hardly think that’s a fair question, Your Honor.”
“For your information,” Judge Treadwell said, “I have had this arcus senilis for the last twenty-two years, and for your further information, I would be very much inclined to resent a highhanded interference with my liberties by any male nurses at your institution, Doctor.” He turned to Mason. “Are there any other questions, counselor?”
“None, Your Honor.”
Judge Treadwell leaned forward. “The court thinks this examination has gone far enough. The court doesn’t mind stating that this is merely another one of those cases in which a man, somewhat past the prime of life, is very apparently imposed upon by greedy and officious relatives, whose affection is predicated primarily on a financial consideration, and who are impatient that the object of their so-called affection is sufficiently inconsiderate to postpone shuffling the mortal coil, leaving behind, of course, a favorable will.
“Now the court is not in the least impressed with Dr. Londonberry’s reason for not producing Alden Leeds in court. This court is getting more than a little out of patience with persons who feel that a judicial order is of no more importance than a tag for the violation of a parking ordinance. The court is going forthwith to Dr. Londonberry’s sanitarium and examine the patient. If the court feels there is any necessity for doing so, the court will retain some reputable psychiatrist to pass upon the condition of Alden Leeds. If it appears that Alden Leeds is in the possession of his mental faculties to the extent usually found in a man of his years, the court is going to take drastic action for the flagrant and deliberate disregard of the court’s order to produce the said Alden Leeds in court at this hour.
“Gentlemen, court will take a recess until two o’clock this afternoon. We will depart forthwith for Dr. Londonberry’s sanitarium. The court will ask the bailiff to see that the sheriff’s office furnishes transportation for Dr. Londonberry and the parties in the case. The court specifically warns anyone that any attempt to communicate with the sanitarium and prepare the persons in charge for the tour of inspection which is to be made will be considered as contempt of court.”
“But, Your Honor,” counsel shouted in protest. “This man is...”
“Sit down,” Judge Treadwell said. “The court has made its order. Court is adjourned until two o’clock this afternoon.”
The bailiff banged his gavel. Judge Treadwell marched with judicial dignity down the steps of the rostrum and through the door into chambers.
Some thirty minutes later, Mason parked his car in front of the sanitarium. The sheriff’s car with Judge Treadwell, Freeman Leeds, Jason Carrel, Dr. Londonberry, and the attorney was waiting at the curb.
“Very well,” Judge Treadwell said, “it appearing that the interested parties are here, we will now enter the sanitarium. Lead the way, Doctor, and please remember that we wish to drop in on the patient unannounced. I wish to see conditions as they are.”
They entered the sanitarium.
Dr. Londonberry, as ruffled and indignant as a wet cat, led the way down a long corridor. A nurse, in a white, starched uniform came forward. “The key to thirty-five please,” Dr. Londonberry said.
“You keep that door locked?” Judge Treadwell asked.
“Yes, we do,” Dr. Londonberry said. “All he has to do is press a button when he wants anything. With patients of this sort, it’s imperative to keep them quiet.”
“Very well,” Judge Treadwell said. “We’ll see what the patient has to say for himself.”
The nurse produced a key. Dr. Londonberry took it, fitted it to the lock in the door, flung it open, and stood to one side.
“Some visitors for you, Mr. Leeds,” he said. “I think you had better come first, Miss Leeds.” He bowed to Phyllis, then turned back, and stiffened in surprise.
There was no one in the room.
For several silent seconds, the little group stood there, staring at a cheerful room containing an immaculate hospital bed with snowy white linen, a reclining chair, a white enameled bedroom table, and a dresser with a mirror. A bathroom door, standing open, disclosed a white tile floor, a porcelain washstand with a medicine cabinet and mirror on the wall. Part of a bathtub was visible just beyond the open door.
Dr. Londonberry strode across the room, pushed open the bathroom door, looked inside, then turned swiftly on his heel, and, completely disregarding the group, pushed his way through them to stand in the corridor and summon the nurse.
“Where’s the patient in thirty-five?” he asked.
She stared at the room in surprise. “Why, he was there less than an hour ago.”
Judge Treadwell crossed the room to stare at the window around which an ornamental, iron grille work shut off a little balcony some four feet wide.
Dr. Londonberry said, somewhat hastily, “That’s a precaution we take with most of the rooms on the ground floor. It keeps the patient from escaping.”
“It evidently didn’t keep this one,” Judge Treadwell said dryly.
“I beg your pardon,” Dr. Londonberry observed, opening the window and shaking the iron grating. “The patient didn’t leave by this window... Where are his clothes, nurse?”
“In the locker room, locker thirty-five.”
“Get them,” Dr. Londonberry said.
Judge Treadwell observed almost tonelessly, “I take it, this patient isn’t wandering around clad in a nightgown.”
“He was wearing pajamas, a dressing gown, and slippers,” Dr. Londonberry said.
He opened the bottom dresser drawer. It was empty save for some towels and clean sheets. He opened the second drawer, and disclosed a neatly folded dressing gown on top of which were pajamas and slippers.
“Good Heavens!” he said. “The man must be naked!”
They heard the patter of running steps in the corridor. The nurse returned to stare at them in white-faced consternation. “The locker door was closed and locked,” she said. “The clothes are gone.”
Phyllis Leeds exclaimed, “I don’t believe it! This is some trick they’ve thought up.”
“If it’s a trick,” Judge Treadwell said, “it will prove an expensive one for the parties who perpetrated it. I’ll see that they occupy a room where they’ll be kept out of mischief for some time.”
Dr. Londonberry said wrathfully to the nurse, “You’re responsible for this. How could it have happened?”
“I’m sure I don’t know, Doctor,” she said, and her startled eyes and puzzled countenance indicated her complete mystification. “I looked in on the patient about an hour ago. About ten minutes later a man stopped me in the corridor, and said he was a visitor for Alden Leeds. I told him that orders were very strict, that Alden Leeds was to have no visitors. He said that... ”
“This man stopped you in the corridor! ” Dr. Londonberry interrupted. “How did he get in the corridor? Visitors are supposed to apply at the office.”
“I don’t know, Doctor,” the nurse said. “He was here. That’s all I know. I told him it would be absolutely impossible. He said the doctor in charge had told him it would be all right.”
“The doctor in charge,” Dr. Londonberry repeated.
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Did he mention my name?”
“No, he just said the doctor in charge. He seemed quite positive about it, so I took him to the door of thirty-five, and showed him that there was a ‘No Visitors’ sign on it. I said that the patient was psychopathic, and under no circumstances were visitors permitted without direct orders from you. Shortly after that, the patient in fifteen had a sinking spell. That’s a post-operative case, and I carried on the best I could. There was evidence of internal hemorrhage. I had my hands full until just a few moments ago when she rested easier. The last time I looked in here the patient seemed cheerful and quite relaxed.”
“Can you describe this man who called as a visitor?” Judge Treadwell asked.
“He was wiry,” the nurse said, “around fifty-five or sixty, I should judge, with gray eyes, and a weather-beaten face. He wore a tweed suit, and was smoking a pipe. He wore his hair rather long. It was brownish in color, faded somewhat, with streaks of gray at the temples, and...”
“Ned Barkler,” Phyllis Leeds exclaimed, and then clapped her hand to her lips as though wishing to recall the words.
Judge Treadwell turned to her. “You know him?” he asked.
“One of Uncle’s friends answers that description,” Phyllis Leeds said.
“One who has been co-operating with the other relatives?” Judge Treadwell asked, significantly.
“No, Your Honor— Of course, I can’t be sure that’s the man, but the description fits. — He’s an old prospecting pal of Uncle’s.”
“Where does he live?” Judge Treadwell asked.
“He’s been living in the house with Uncle Alden.”
Judge Treadwell’s face relaxed slightly. “Evidently,” he said, “the patient wasn’t quite as incompetent as you thought, Doctor.”
He turned to Phyllis Leeds and said, “I think you’ll find that your uncle is now at home. I suggest that you go there at once— As for you, Doctor, I feel that your refusal to produce Alden Leeds in court was an act in defiance of the court’s order. You will be ordered to appear and show cause why you should not be found guilty of contempt of court. I think that is all.”
He nodded to Phyllis Leeds and said, “Simply for my own satisfaction, I’d be glad to know if you find your uncle at home. The deputy sheriff will drive you there at once.”