The Case of the Drowsy Mosquito

Chapter 9

Lieutenant Tragg of the Metropolitan Police Force seated himself on the edge of Perry Mason’s bed. The motion of the bedsprings, due to his weight, caused Mason to open his eyes.

“Hello,” Mason said. “What the devil are you doing here?”

Tragg grinned at him. “Believe it or not, I’m on my vacation.”

“It’s optional with me?” Mason asked, his voice showing weakness.

“What is?”

“Whether I believe it or not.”

Tragg laughed outright. “It happens to be the truth, Mason. My brother-in-law’s the sheriff here. I’ve been on a fishing trip, dropped in on my way back to leave a few trout with my sister — and the telephone call came in about the poisoning. Sam Greggory, my brother-in-law, wanted me to take a hand. I told him nothing doing. I have enough of that sort of stuff in my own bailiwick without trying to borrow trouble. Then he explained to me that his latest victims were from my home town. Perry Mason and Miss Della Street, his secretary. You can imagine my reaction. I couldn’t miss a set-up like that.”

Mason’s eyelids fluttered. He tried a grin, but it was only a grimace. “I’m a little groggy. I think they’ve given me a hypodermic. Tell me the truth, now, Tragg, are you real, or are you just part of the drug-induced nightmare?”

“I’m part of the nightmare.”

“That’s what I thought. It’s a big relief.”

“How does it seem to be the victim, for once?”

“Terrible.”

“Well, you’ve had it coming to you for a long while. You’ve been sticking up for criminals and now you can see the other side of the picture.”

Mason roused himself. “Not 'sticking up for criminals’,” he protested indignantly. “I have never stuck up for any criminal. I have merely asked for the orderly administration of an impartial justice.”

“Taking advantage of all the technicalities, of course,” Tragg said.

Mason’s voice was blurred as that of a man who talks in his sleep, but there was no fumbling over words. “Why not? The law is technical. Any man-made rule is technical. You make a line of demarcation between what is prescribed and what is prohibited, and you will always have borderline cases that seem so close to each other as to be absurd. And furthermore, Lieutenant — furthermore.... I’ll thank you to remember that my clients are not criminals until they’ve been convicted by juries — and so far, that hasn’t happened... Guess I just had that hypo... I’m shaking it off.”

Tragg said curiously, “I suppose you will be telling me next that the person who slipped that poison into your sugar is entitled to the benefit of all the safeguards of the law.”

“Why not?”

“Don’t you feel any resentment?”

“I couldn’t feel enough resentment against anyone to ask that due legal process be disregarded. Due legal process is my own safeguard against being convicted unjustly. To my mind, that’s government. It’s law and order. Damn it, Tragg, can you understand what I’m saying?”

“Sure.”

“My mind is clear,” Mason said, “but my tongue seems a foot thick. You’ve cleared the fuzz out of my brain, but the words seem to get garbled as my tongue wrestles with them. However, I’m getting better and stronger every minute. How’s Della?”

“Doing fine.”

“What time is it?”

“Around midnight.”

“Where’s Banning Clarke? How is he?”

“No one knows. He isn’t here. Now let’s finish this question of ethics. Would you be able to pocket your individual resentment enough to defend whoever my brother-in-law arrests for putting poison in the sugar?”

“Why not?”

“Even if you thought that person guilty?”

Mason said, somewhat wearily, “The law guarantees a person a trial by jury, Tragg. If I should refuse to defend someone because I thought him guilty, that would be a trial by Perry Mason, not a trial by jury. Of course, the accused wouldn’t want me to represent him. Why do you say the poison was in the sugar? Is that just a guess?”

“No. We’ve found white arsenic in the sugar bowl.”

“All through the sugar?”

“No. Apparently some had been scattered on the top of the sugar bowl. Looks as if the poisoner hadn’t had time to mix it in with the contents of the bowl, but had just dumped it on top.”

Mason struggled up to a sitting position in the bed. His eyes were clear now, his words crisp. “Look here, Tragg, that can’t be right.”

“What can’t be?”

“The sugar.”

“What about it?”

“It happens that Della Street and I both take sugar in our tea. So does Banning Clarke. Now Clarke had already eaten his dinner. He said he’d have a cup of tea with us and the housekeeper served him his tea first. He took two big teaspoonfuls from the top of the sugar bowl, then Della and I both had sugar when our tea was served. After that, Nell Sims helped herself to a cup of tea and I distinctly remember she put two full spoonfuls of sugar in it. Then, as I remember it, there were several more cups all around. At least Della, Banning Clarke and I had a couple of refills. If arsenic had been put in the top of the sugar bowl and hadn’t been mixed with the sugar lower down, I doubt if you could have recovered very much from what sugar was left in the sugar bowl.”

“Well, we did. We—” Tragg broke off suddenly. He looked up, grinned, said, “Come on in, Sam. I want you to meet my own particular thorn in the flesh. Sam, this is Perry Mason, the noted lawyer, the man who has upset my apple cart several times.”

Sam Greggory, a powerful, thick-set man with a good-natured grin and steel-hard eyes, crossed the room to shake hands with Perry Mason. “I’ve always wanted to meet you,” he admitted.

“Now don’t tell him that you’ve followed his cases with such great interest,” Tragg said. “That sort of talk spoils him.”

“Not at all,” Greggory said. “My interest has been purely one of family connection. I’ve always wanted to see the man who could get the Lieutenant’s goat and keep it the way you’ve done.”

“Ouch,” Tragg said. “I should have known better than to lead with my chin on that one.”

“What,” Mason asked, “does the housekeeper say, and is she poisoned?”

“The housekeeper, so far, has said nothing,” Tragg said, “and we don’t know whether she’s poisoned for the simple reason that we haven’t been able to find her. Apparently her daughter’s out getting married, and it’s my hunch Mamma is on the long-distance telephone somewhere trying to stop it. Mrs. Bradisson and her son James evidently went out with an attorney by the name of Moffgat. They’re having a conference somewhere. Apparently they’re afraid you might have a dictograph concealed in the walls here.”

“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.”

“And you’ve been telephoning all this time?”

“I’ll say I have. Try to put in a telephone call and they stall you along for an hour and then tell you the circuits are busy for two hours. This war certainly has increased the production of talk.”

Tragg grinned. “Talk is cheap.”

“Not to Kingman, Arizona, it isn’t. Not when you’re a working woman.”

“How,” Tragg asked, “do you account for the fact that you took sugar from that bowl, and felt no ill effects, when two other people who took sugar from the same bowl developed prompt symptoms of arsenic poisoning?”

“I don’t ‘account’ for it,” Nell Sims snapped. “It’s up to you to ‘account’ for it. That’s your business.”

“You don’t think your daughter is in love with Hayward Small?”

“He’s glib. He’s just naturally slick and he’s been going around with her, keeping her out late — later and later. I don’t like it. He’s too old for her. And he’s always giving you that steady eye — pretending he’s working his psychology on you. A girl Dorina’s age don’t want psychology. She wants romance. He isn’t the type, and he’s been married. He told me that himself. You know as well as I do it isn’t right for a married man to go traipsing around with a girl Dorina’s age, even if he has been divorced. It ain’t right.”

“You think — that is — you think there’s been anything wrong in the relationship, Mrs. Sims?”

Mrs. Sims glared at both of them. “Let him,” she proclaimed, “who is without stones among you cast the first sin. My daughter is a good girl.”

“I know. I understand. But I’m merely trying to find out exactly what you meant when—”

“I meant what I said. There ain’t no good going to come of a thing like that. And now I’ve told you all I know, and I’m going to bed.”

She turned and stalked out of the room.

Tragg turned out the light, which had been shining so brightly in her eyes that she couldn’t see Mason on the bed. “How you feeling. Mason? Has the hypo sneaked up on you again?”

There was no answer. Mason was breathing regularly, eyes closed.

“Drugged,” Tragg said, “and I guess he’s pretty weak. The nurse says he’s okay. Wish she’d kept Dr. Kenward here so we could have questioned him. Well, Sam, figure that one out. Either she’s lying, or she took sugar from a bowl that had a lot of arsenic in it and felt no ill effects.”

“She might be lying about the sugar.”

“No. Perry Mason says she had sugar in her tea.”

“That’s right... I’m playing with a thought that worries me.”

“What?”

“Suppose that instead of taking sugar out of that bowl she was putting arsenic in. It would be easy to dip in with a spoon and then, after lifting it out, while replacing the cover, drop in the poison.”

Tragg said, “I’ve had the same idea. The last person to take sugar out of that bowl without being poisoned is the most logical suspect. Let’s have a smoke, Sam. We aren’t getting anywhere right now. Our next step is to check all the possible suspects, and then see if we can’t find arsenic in the possession of one of them — or find where someone has been buying arsenic.”

They scraped matches into flame, smoked for a while in silence. Sam Greggory stretched out his big arms, yawned. “Well, I’m going to bed. I—”

A staccato explosion coming from the direction of the gardens spatted against their eardrums, caused the sheriff to bite down abruptly on an unfinished sentence, turn his head, listening. Two more explosions made the silence which followed seem sinister.

Somewhere on the floor above them feet thudded to the floor, then raced to the stairs, came rushing down them.

The side door that opened out to the garden was jerked open so hard that it banged against the wall.

Sam Greggory tugged a big revolver from a holster that had worn shiny with much usage. “I guess,” he observed grimly, “this is it... From the southeast corner of the grounds?”

“I think so,” Tragg said. “Let’s go.”

They ran out of the room. The sheriff, in the lead, called out, “In case we—”

He was interrupted by the sound of Velma Starler screaming.

Two more shots sounded from the cactus garden.