“Did you at that time see Mr. Mason and Miss Street walking down the corridor?”

“No. I did not. I had my door open only far enough to show me the door of Apartment 702 across the way.”

“Thank you,” Linn said. “Now, you distinctly saw Mr. Mason and Miss Street enter that apartment?”

“Yes.”

“And close the door behind them?”

“Yes.”

“Cross-examine!” Linn said triumphantly.

Mason, taking a notebook from his pocket, walked up to stand beside Shirley Tanner. “Miss Tanner,” he said, “are you certain that you heard me rub metal against the keyhole of that door?”

“Certain,” she said.

“My back was toward you?”

“It was when I first opened my door, yes. I saw your face, however, just after you went in the door. You turned around and looked at me over your shoulder.”

“Oh, we’ll stipulate,” Linn said, with an exaggerated note of weariness in his voice, “that the witness couldn’t see through Mr. Mason’s back. Perhaps learned counsel was carrying the key in his teeth.”

“Thank you,” Mason said, turning toward Linn. Then, suddenly stepping forward, he clapped his notebook against Shirley Tanner’s face.

The witness screamed and jumped back.

Linn was on his feet “What are you trying to do?” he shouted.

Judge Jordan pounded with his gavel. “Mr. Mason!” he reprimanded. “That is contempt of court!”

Mason said, “Please let me explain, Your Honor. The Prosecution took the lip-prints of my client. I feel that I am entitled to take the lip-prints of this witness. I will cheerfully admit to being in contempt of court, in the event I am wrong, but I would like to extend this imprint of Shirley Tanner’s lips to Mr. Benjamin Harlan, the identification expert, and ask him whether or not the print made by these lips is not the same as that of the lipstick kiss which was found on the dead forehead of Carver L. Clements.”

There was a tense, dramatic silence in the courtroom.

Mason stepped forward and handed the notebook to Benjamin Harlan.

From the witness stand came a shrill scream of terror. Shirley Tanner tried to get to her feet. Her eyes were wide and terrified, her face was the color of putty.

She couldn’t make it. Her knees buckled. She tried to catch herself then fell to the floor. . . .

It was when order was restored in the courtroom that Perry Mason exploded his second bombshell.

“Your Honor,” he said, “either Fay Allison is innocent or she is guilty. If she is innocent, someone framed the evidence which would discredit her. And if someone did frame that evidence, there is only one person who could have had access to the defendant’s apartment, one person who could have transported glasses, toothbrushes, and tooth paste containing Fay Allison’s fingerprints, one person who could have transported clothes bearing the unmistakable stamp of ownership of the defendant in this case. . . . Your Honor I request that Anita Bonsal be called to the stand.”