Erle Gardner - The Case of the Drowsy Mosquito

“I told you not to touch it,” Pete said.

“Don’t you see what you’ve done? If Dorina got into that bag by mistake and filled up the sugar bowl, you’ve been the one that poisoned Banning Clarke.”

“I didn’t poison him. I tell you I didn’t have anything to do with it. I just handed you this bag.”

“Why did you buy that arsenic in the first place?” Sheriff Greggory asked.

“I wanted to do some experiments in mining, and I had to have some arsenic to do them with.”

“Then why didn’t you use it?”

“Well, I just never got around to doing those experiments.”

There was a moment’s silence.

Mrs. Bradisson said, “But while that might account for the fact that arsenic was mixed in the sugar, Sheriff, it would hardly account for the fact that arsenic had been mixed in with the salt the night my son and I were poisoned.”

“That’s right,” the sheriff agreed. “I hadn’t thought of that. That shows it was deliberate, not an accident.”

“Just a moment,” Mason interposed smoothly. “I hadn’t intended to spring this at this time, but under the circumstances and since you seem to be narrowing the circle down, Sheriff, I’m going to tell you that Mrs. Bradisson wasn’t suffering from arsenic poisoning.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bradisson said. “I guess I know what the symptoms were, and Dr. Kenward said that’s what it was, also the nurse.”

“Nevertheless,” Mason said, “you didn’t have arsenic poisoning. You had certain symptoms and you perhaps simulated others, but your nausea was induced by ipecac — probably deliberately induced.”

“Why, I never heard of any such thing. What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Mason said, “that Dr. Kenward told me he placed a portion of the stomach contents in a sealed glass bottle and delivered it to a laboratory for an examination and analysis. The report came back a few hours ago. There was no sign of arsenic, but there were traces of ipecac. The same situation is true of both yourself and your son.”

“Why, I never heard of such a thing,” she stormed.

“Now then,” Mason went on smoothly, “arsenic might have been administered accidentally, or with homicidal intent; but the strong probabilities are that the ipecac was taken deliberately. Now suppose you and your son tell us why you took ipecac, and then simulated the symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Why did you do it?”

“I never did any such thing,” Mrs. Bradisson said.

James Bradisson moved forward. “I think it’s about time for me to take a hand in this, Mason.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said. “Walk right in.”

Bradisson said in a low voice to Greggory, “I think you should find out why Mason is so deliberately pulling a red herring across the trail.”

“It’s no red herring,” Mason said. “I’m simply showing that the theory that the arsenic got into the sugar accidentally is quite tenable. The only thing that stands in the way of such a theory is that arsenic is supposed to have been in the saltcellar the night before.”

Mrs. Bradisson tilted her chin. She said with dignity, “ I can tell you why Perry Mason has suddenly brought up all of this stuff about the ipecac.”

Sheriff Greggory looked at her expectantly.

“Because,” Mrs. Bradisson went on, “Perry Mason stole something from Banning Clarke’s study.”

“What’s that?” Greggory demanded. “Say that again.”

Mrs. Bradisson spoke, the words coming out in a rush. “I said that Perry Mason stole a document out of Banning Clarke’s desk, and I know what I’m talking about.”

“How do you know?” Greggory asked.

“I’ll tell you how. When I heard Banning Clarke was killed, I knew that there was something very dark and sinister behind it, and that someone would be almost certain to try to go through his things, and — if he had left a will — to tamper with it. So I went into his room, went through his roll-top desk, found a document that I considered very important evidence. I fastened it to the bottom of the drawer on the lower left-hand side of the desk with thumbtacks and then put the drawer back.”

“Why did you do that?” Greggory asked ominously.

“So that anyone that came in and tried to tamper with his things wouldn’t be able to find that document and destroy it.”

“Why would anyone want to destroy it?”

“Because it purported to be a will in Banning Clarke’s handwriting. It wasn’t in his writing at all. It was a forgery. It left property to Perry Mason. And if you’ll use your head a little you’ll see some very sinister things have been happening. Perry Mason meets Banning Clarke only a few days ago. In that short time, Mason gets all of Banning Clarke’s stock, then Clarke leaves a will leaving property to Mason, and then Clarke dies. Rather a nice series of happenings — for Perry Mason — who is also named in the will as executor.”

Greggory turned toward Perry Mason, started to say something, changed his mind and whirled back to Mrs. Bradisson.

“And why do you think Perry Mason took the will?”

“Put two and two together. When I went down to Banning Clarke’s room I didn’t close the door. I simply went into the desk and found this forged will and hid it. Remember that Banning was my son-in-law. I felt toward him just as though he had been my own child.”

“And,” Mason asked, “you substituted a will in place of the one you took out of the desk?”

She smiled at him with exaggerated sweetness. “Yes, Mr. Mason, I did. And thank you very much for calling my attention to that fact, because it shows that you were watching me.”

“I was,” Mason admitted.

She turned triumphantly to the officer. “You see,” she said, “he was watching me. As soon as I left, he entered the room, found where I had left that forged will, and probably destroyed it. He knew by that time that I suspected the truth. I went back the next morning and the will had been removed. There were only the thumbtacks left in the bottom of the drawer — no will. And you’ll remember you found Mr. Mason sitting at the desk when you went in there to search. I believe he said he’d been asleep. Well, that was only about ten or fifteen minutes after I had left the room. Banning had left his real will in my custody. I put it in the desk.”

Greggory said ominously, “Mason, this is serious — damn serious. You yourself admit you took that will?”

“I admit nothing,” Mason said suavely. “I only asked Mrs. Bradisson a question. She took it as an admission.”

“So did I.”

Mason bowed. “That’s your privilege. I only said I watched.”

“Where’s that will?”

“What will?”

“The one Mrs. Bradisson has described.”

“You’ll have to ask her. She’s the one who described it.”

“You deny having it?”

“I haven’t any such document as she described.”

“It said something about a clue in a drawer in the desk,” Mrs. Bradisson went on, “and there was nothing in there but a mosquito in a bottle.”

Mason smiled at her. “I believe I was accused of dragging red herrings across the trail, Mrs. Bradisson, so I feel free to make the same accusation. Now, since you have tossed the hand grenade which was to have stampeded the investigation in an entirely different direction, perhaps you’ll be so good as to explain to the sheriff how it happens that you took ipecac in order to simulate the symptoms of arsenic poisoning twenty-four hours before Banning Clarke was given a fatal dose.”

Sheriff Greggory seemed somewhat dazed as he turned his frown from Mason to Mrs. Bradisson.

James Bradisson interposed, “Look here, this is all news to me, but I don’t like the way this is being handled. My mother is nervous and unstrung. If she has any statement to make, she’ll make it to the sheriff privately. I don’t like the idea of Perry Mason standing here bulldozing her.”