Erle Gardner - The Case of the Drowsy Mosquito

“How long have you been here?” Mason asked.

“A little over an hour. Lucky thing that nurse was here and had an antidote for arsenic poisoning where she could put her hand on it. She knocked the poison out of your system almost as soon as the symptoms showed up. She’s a wonder. Only thing we have against her is that she didn’t notify us at once. Seems that she gave you the proper treatment, telephoned the doctor, and didn’t report the case at that time because she wanted the doctor’s diagnosis. Can’t blame her for that. After she got that diagnosis, she was too busy with treatment for a while — or so she says. My own idea is that she’s got the doctor hidden out somewhere where we can’t question him until morning. We’ve been unable to raise him on the telephone. He reports to a central agency when he goes out on calls, and they insist he’s on a call here.”

Tragg grinned at Mason. “Women certainly are loyal. I don’t blame her too much if she did stall things along until the doctor could get away. But it makes Sam mad. I guess the doctor is all in, and Sam would have been throwing questions at him for an hour. Women in jobs certainly do give their bosses a loyalty. Take Della Street, for instance. She’s made being your secretary her life’s work. Lord knows all the things she has had to put up with, too. I imagine that with your nervous temperament you’re not the easiest man in the world to get along with. I used to think it was a loyalty to you personally that kept her at it, but now I guess it’s a loyalty to the job and what it stands for.”

Mason nodded. “It’s something that’s bigger and finer than you realize at first. They dedicate themselves to a job and — Say, wait a minute! If we pulled through because of getting such prompt treatment, what will happen to Banning Clarke and the housekeeper, with the amount of sugar they consumed?”

Sheriff Greggory said, “That’s what is bothering us. We’re making every effort to find them. Apparently Clarke and Bowers started out in that old rattle-trap car they drive, and we’ve broadcast a description of it. It should be picked up any minute now.”

A man thrust his head in the door, said, “Sheriff, can I speak to you a moment, please?”

“What is it?” the sheriff asked.

“Mrs. Sims has returned.”

“Has she been ill?”

“Apparently not. I didn’t tell her anything about the poisoning. She’s gone up to her room to get ready for bed.”

“Go get her and bring her in,” Greggory said, arranging the light so she would be unable to see Mason’s features. “I want to ask her a couple of questions.”

When the last man had left, Tragg said to Greggory, “Wise me up to her. What sort is she? You’ve been questioning her on that Bradisson poisoning.”

Greggory laughed. “She’s a rugged individual, all right. As I get the story, Banning Clarke sent for her in January of ’forty-two right after his wife died. She was running a restaurant in Mojave, but he made it worth her while to come down here and take over the house. He evidently hated this house — probably had reason for doing so, too. His wife went in for entertainment and bridge parties, late hours, heavy meals and somewhat steady drinking. Those prospectors go on terrific sprees, but in between times they’re out in the desert living and sleeping in the open air. There’s a lot of difference between that and—”

The door opened. Mrs. Sims said tonelessly, “Did you want me? Land sakes, can’t a person even get to sleep without being called in for more questions? I thought you’d combed the place from cellar to attic and—”

“This,” the sheriff interrupted, “is a new development. You served a late dinner in your kitchen tonight, didn’t you?”

“Well, if that has anything to do with you, yes I did. I told Mr. Clarke the kitchen was no place to serve dinner to a famous lawyer, but he didn’t want the others to know he was here, and said it had to be in the kitchen. Goodness knows it’s a big enough kitchen, with a table—”

“And you served tea with the meal?”

“I did. You just can’t dish out coffee any more whenever—”

“And you yourself drank some tea?”

“I did. And if it’s bothering you, I’ll—”

“And you take sugar in your tea, don’t you?”

“I most certainly do — and as far as that goes—”

“You got your sugar out of the sugar bowl that was on the table, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I’ve almost quit scooping it up off the floor. It took a lot of will power to break myself of the habit, but—”

“And you felt no ill effects?”

“From the tea, or the sugar, or your questions?”

“Never mind the sarcasm. Just answer my question, please. You felt no ill effects?”

“Certainly not.”

“Others did.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that Perry Mason and his secretary were both poisoned.”

Mrs. Sims said, “I suppose this is some sort of third-degree?”

“We’re simply questioning you, that’s all.”

“Then why tell me all this pack of lies? Why not ask what you want?”

“We’re telling you the truth. Mason and his secretary were poisoned.”

She seemed bewildered as incredulity gave way to belief. “Why... why— Did they die?”

“No. Thanks to the fact that the nurse was on the job with proper treatment and antidotes, they’re coming along very nicely. The point is, however, that we found large quantities of white arsenic mixed in with the sugar in the sugar bowl.”

“Why, goodness sake! I had sugar out of that sugar bowl tonight myself!”

“And you felt no disagreeable after-effects?”

“Certainly not.”

“You’re certain the sugar came out of that same sugar bowl — the white one with the round knob on the top?”

“Certainly. There was only one sugar bowl on the table. That’s the sugar bowl I keep for the kitchen.”

“ Where do you keep it?”

“In the pantry on the lower shelf.”

“And I suppose anyone in the house would have access to it?”

“Naturally. Look here, Mr. Clarke had sugar out of that bowl. How is he?”

“We don’t know. We can’t find him.”

“You mean he’s gone?”

“Yes.”

Sheriff Greggory said, “I think you must realize, Mrs. Sims, that since this is the second time food that you have served has been poisoned, you are placed in a rather peculiar position.”

“I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

“You’ll have to give a most detailed account of everything you’ve done.”

“What do you want to know?”

“You’ve been out?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

“That’s my business.”

“We want to know. I told you you’d have to give an account.”

“I don’t see how that concerns you in any way.”

“It may be important.”

“Well, if it’s any of your business, my daughter ran away with that mining promoter, Hayward Small. They’re going to Las Vegas to be married. Well, Jerry Coslet is in an Army camp near Kingman, Arizona. He’d given Dorina the name of a man who runs a sort of poolroom in Kingman. He said that this man could always get word to him in case she ever wanted to call him. Some boys from the camp would always be there. Well, I called that poolroom, and it happened Jerry was there himself. I told him what was happening. I told him Dorina was a good girl, but that slick mining salesman was handing her a line, and he hadn’t been having enough competition.”

“What did Jerry say?”

“He didn’t say anything much.”

“Did you ask him to do anything about it?”

“No. I just told him. If he’s the kind of man he should be, he’ll do something about it all right.”