The Case of the Drowsy Mosquito

Chapter 14

Lieutenant Tragg made himself at home in Mason’s private office. “How you feeling?” he asked, his eyes hard and shrewd as he surveyed the lawyer.

“A little wobbly,” Mason admitted, “but we’re all right. I’ve got to take some depositions this afternoon. How’s the doctor?”

“Coming along all right.”

“How’s the case?”

Tragg grinned. “That’s out of my jurisdiction. That’s up to brother-in-law, Sammy. However, Sammy’s asking for assistance down here, and if he gets it the Chief will probably put me on the job.”

“It has some local angle?” Mason asked, curiously.

Tragg nodded.

“Can you tell me what it is?”

“Not now.”

“What have you found out about the murder of Clarke?”

“It’s one of those things,” Tragg said. “The story told by Salty Bowers is a weird procession of coincidences. And yet, it may be true.”

“What’s the story?” Mason asked.

“Clarke had told him a situation might arise where they’d have to take a quick trip to the desert. He swore he was feeling well enough to make such a trip if Salty would get everything all packed and ready to go as soon as he gave him a signal.”

“And he gave him a signal last night?”

“Apparently so. Salty started out with his girl. He never even took her home. He dropped her down at the foot of the hill and told her she’d have to take a bus home. He doubled back and then packed everything into that old jalopy. And he made a quick job of rolling up the bedrolls, putting the pots and pans into the pack boxes. I guess he’s done it often enough. He knows how to go about it. Claims it only took ten minutes.”

“And the burros?”

“For a while,” Tragg said, “they apparently figured on taking the burros, in a trailer. Then Clarke got afraid he might find the trip a little too much for him. So Salty investigated the possibilities of a house trailer, found Clarke could simply crawl aboard and go to bed just as though he were on a yacht. So it was arranged that Salty would make two trips, first to take Clarke out in a house trailer, and then come back, pick up the horse trailer, load in the burros and take them.”

“What started all of this, anyway?” Mason asked.

“That’s what I want to see you about. You did!”

“Me!” Mason raised his eyebrows in a gesture of elaborate surprise.

“Salty says that you gave Clarke some signal to get out, and Clarke tipped him off that now was the time to start.”

Mason grinned “I guess it was over that subpoena.”

“What subpoena?”

“This lawyer, Moffgat, started talking about taking depositions, and I had an idea from the way he was beating around the bush he was going to make an excuse to take Clarke’s deposition, apparently only in connection with that fraud case, and then go on a general fishing expedition to see if he couldn’t dig out some information about an entirely different matter.”

“What matter?”

Mason merely grinned.

“How did you know about this plan of Moffgat’s?”

“Well, Della caught a glimpse of a subpoena in his brief case when he pulled out a stipulation to take the deposition of Pete Sims.”

“That deposition you’re going to take this afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you have it postponed?” Tragg asked solicitously. “You’re not feeling well and...”

“Thanks very much indeed for your consideration — I may say your rare consideration — of my health,” Mason grinned. “But I’d like to have the deposition taken and get it over with. The longer Moffgat waits, the more questions he’ll think of. I seem to have done quite a bit of passing out — what with sickness and drugs. Where was everyone during the course of the evening?”

“Various places,” Tragg said evasively. “We’re checking on them.”

“Apparently Salty is the only one you want to talk about.”

“I think he’s the only one you can assist me on.”

“What do you want to know?”

“The exact reason Clarke started for the desert.”

“What does Salty say?”

“Simply that you tipped him off.”

Mason shook his head. “I’m afraid he misunderstood my signal.”

Tragg regarded the lawyer speculatively.

“Also,” Tragg went on, “what you were doing in Clarke’s room when Sam and I came in.”

“Waiting for Della Street,” Mason replied innocently enough, and then added with a prodigious yawn, “It makes me sleepy every time I think about it.”

Tragg said dryly, “It makes me a little tired myself. Did you know Clarke had left a will in that desk?”

“Did he, indeed?”

Tragg made as if to go. “I guess I’m just an incurable optimist,” he announced. “I always kid myself into believing you might say something you didn’t intend to, some day.”

“Just what happened to Clarke?” Mason asked. “Exactly how did he die?”

“Just about the way it’s in the papers,” Tragg said. “They started for the desert. Salty was up in front driving. Clarke was stretched out on the bed in this house trailer apparently sleeping. It was something of a novel experiment for both of them. They’d neglected to provide any means of communication by which Clarke could get in touch with Salty up in front. And that pickup made such a choice assortment of noises Salty couldn’t have heard a clap of thunder, let alone a shout.

“Salty stopped, after they got out a way on their trip, to see how his passenger was making it. He found him very ill and weak, with the same symptoms of arsenic poisoning that the Bradissons had shown. Salty jumped back into the pickup, turned around, and drove like mad back to San Roberto. He rushed to Dr. Kenward’s house. Dr. Kenward wasn’t there. Salty went down to a drugstore that was open all night, telephoned the hospital, said he had a poisoned man and was coming right out. He went through a boulevard stop. A radio prowl car picked him up. He kept right on driving, shouting fragmentary explanations to the officers. They went ahead with the siren clearing the way, and reported to headquarters. And that, as the radio commentators say, is all the news right up to this moment. That is — all that I’m going to tell you.”

“It was the bullet that killed him?” Mason asked.

“The bullet killed him,” Tragg admitted.

“But he was dying of poison?”

“Well...” Tragg hesitated.

“What does the post-mortem show?” Mason asked.

Tragg smiled. “I think I’ll save that.”