The Case of the Drowsy Mosquito

Chapter 21

District Attorney Topham was a cadaverous man with hollow cheeks, a haunted expression of nervous futility, and restless mannerisms. He fidgeted slightly in the big leather-backed swivel chair behind his office desk, regarded Perry Mason with large lackluster eyes, said in the voice one uses in reciting a memorized speech, “Mr. Mason, there is evidence indicating that you have committed a crime within the limits of this county. Because you are a brother attorney who has achieved a certain prominence within the limits of your profession, I am giving you an opportunity to explain the circumstances before any formal action is taken against you.”

“What do you want to know?” Mason asked.

“What have you to say to the charge that you committed larceny of a paper?”

“I took it.”

“From the desk of Banning Clarke in his residence in this county?”

“That’s right.”

“Mr. Mason, surely you must understand the damaging effect of such an admission?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with it,” Mason said. “What’s all the commotion about?”

“Surely, Mr. Mason, you understand that, entirely apart from the statute making it a crime to alter or deface an instrument of such a nature, the law provides that an instrument is property; that the taking of such an instrument constitutes larceny; that because the degree of the larceny is determined by the value of the property to be distributed by the instrument—”

“Now listen,” Mason interrupted. “I didn’t spring this before because I didn’t want to have to produce the will at this time and explain the terms of it; but I’ll tell you this: It is my position that this is a genuine will made by Banning Clarke in his handwriting, and dated the day prior to his death. I am named executor of that last will and testament. As such, it was my duty to take that will into my custody. In fact, if any other person had discovered that will — even you yourself — I could have demanded that you turn it over to me as the person named as the executor, or that you turn it over to the clerk of the probate court. Now then, try and find some flaw in the legality of that reasoning.”

Topham ran long bony fingers over his high forehead, glanced at the sheriff, twisted his position in the chair which had apparently learned to squeak a protest against the constant fidgeting of its occupant. “You are named as executor?”

“The sheriff’s own witness admits that.”

“May I see that will?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I will produce it at the proper time. I believe that under the law, although I haven’t looked it up, I have thirty days.”

The swivel chair squeaked again, this time a high-pitched drawn out sque-e-e-e-ak. The district attorney faced the sheriff. “If that’s the truth, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“No matter if he entered the house and surreptitiously removed this from the desk?” the sheriff insisted.

Mason smiled as the chair gave forth a whole series of short, sharp squeaks.

“You see,” Topham explained, “if he is executor, then he is entitled to take charge of all of the property of the deceased. It was not only his right, but his duty, to go through the effects of the decedent, and I believe that he is absolutely correct in regard to the provision of the law that the will must be surrendered either to the executor or to the county clerk.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Greggory demanded of Mason.

“You didn’t ask me.”

“Well, you weren’t dumb, were you?”

Mason said apologetically, “Sometimes when I’m embarrassed, Sheriff, I find myself a little tongue-tied. You’ll remember, Sheriff, you have threatened me with drastic action on several occasions. That embarrassed me. I became a little diffident.”

The sheriff flushed. “You’re not a damn bit diffident now,” he said angrily.

Mason smiled at the district attorney. “Because I am not a damned bit embarrassed, Sheriff.”