Chapter 9


Mason found Mrs. Davenport waiting for him in a small, office-like room which contained comfortable chairs and a small table. Aside from the peculiarly stale atmosphere, permeated with the sweetish smell of disinfectant, there was nothing to indicate the environment of a jail.

Myrna Davenport looked quickly at Mason, then came toward him and put her hand in his. The fingers somehow seemed to cling to the lawyer’s hand as though drawing strength from him.

“I’m so glad you came,” she said in her characteristic low monotone. “They told me you were here. The district attorney is very nice.”

“Did you talk with him?”

“Yes.”

“What did you tell him?”

“As much as I knew of what had happened.”

“Did you sign anything?”

“No.”

Mason said, “From now on quit talking. Let the other people do the talking.”

“What shall I say if they ask me questions?”

“Refer them to me. Say that I’m answering all questions.”

“But, Mr. Mason, I’d like to get this thing cleared up. I’d like to—”

“Sure you’d like to get it cleared up,” Mason said. “Who wouldn’t? But when you get this cleared up they’re going to drag you back to Los Angeles and try you for the murder of Hortense Paxton.”

“Won’t they do it anyway? Won’t they—?”

Mason shook his head.

“Each county is hoping the other one will take the first crack at you. If you get convicted of anything in either county you’ll get the death penalty in the other. Let’s be frank. Let’s put the cards on the table and face the facts.”

Myrna Davenport sat down abruptly in one of the chairs as though her knees had lost their strength.

“Does it hurt much?” she asked.

“What?” Mason asked.

“Death by gas.”

Mason eyed her sharply. “They say it’s completely painless. You take one whiff and pass out in a tenth of a second.”

“Well,” she said, “that’s a relief. Someone told me they choked and strangled and coughed and suffered.”

“Who told you that?”

“One of the people in here.”

“One of the officers?”

“No. An inmate.”

“A woman?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “Stay away from her. Don’t talk with anybody. Don’t form any friendships. Sit tight. Leave things in my hands.”

“You’re going to continue to represent me?” she asked.

Mason nodded.

“I was afraid you’d .. - afraid you might back out.”

“I don’t back out.” Mason told her. “Even if you’re guilty you’re entitled to a fair trial. You’re entitled to all of your rights under the law. It’s my business to see that you get them.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you guilty?”

“No.”

“Of poisoning Hortense Paxton?”

“No.”

“Of poisoning your husband?”

“No.”

“You’ve got some things to explain,” Mason said wearily, drawing up a chair and sitting down across from her.

“I know.”

Mason watched her sharply, “Your friend, Sara Ansel turned against you.”

“She’s back in my comer now.”

“How do you know?”

“She telephoned.”

“Did they let you take a telephone message?”

“From her, yes.”

Mason said angrily, “They were monitoring the conversation. What did she say? Anything?”

“Only that she had doubted me and turned against me and had told the police everything she knew and a lot of things she didn’t know, and then she started thinking things over and had become thoroughly ashamed of herself.”

Mason said, “She had told police she watched you digging a hole and burying some poisons.”

Myrna Davenport’s eyes raised to Mason’s. For a moment there was a distinct flicker of panic in them.

“She told the police that?”

Mason nodded.

Myrna folded her hands on her lap, looked down at them, and said, “Well, of course, she had every reason to doubt me.”

“You packed your husband’s bags when he went on trips?”

“Oh yes.”

“He carried candy with him?”

“Yes, always.”

“You bought that candy?”

“Yes.”

“The candy in his bag was poisoned.”

“I know. They told me,”

“You didn’t poison it?”

“No.”

“Who did?”

“I don’t know.”

“You had been living in the house in Paradise?”

“Yes.”

“And after your uncle, William Delano, became ill, you went to live with him?”

“Yes.”

“And what did your husband do?”

“He stayed up in Paradise most of the time, but he would come and visit us.”

“Your husband didn’t like the idea of you moving down to Los Angeles?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“He said that I was letting myself in for a lot of drudgery and making a nursemaid out of myself, that when Uncle William died I’d never get a dime out of the estate.”

“What made him say that?”

“He thought it was all fixed for Hortense to get it all. Even after she died Ed didn’t want me there. He didn’t like Aunt Sara. For some reason Ed thought Aunt Sara would manage to get the bulk of the money some way.”

“If you get convicted of murdering Hortense Paxton, she may do it yet,” Mason said. “There’s a peculiar legal question involved.”

“I didn’t murder Hortie. I loved her.”

“Your husband never moved down to the house in Los Angeles, did he?”

“Not until after Uncle William died. After that he did. But of course, he kept a lot of things up there in Paradise. He turned that into his office. It was easier to run his mining deals from up there.”

“You packed his bags,” Mason said. “Do you remember packing them when he left for Paradise the last time?”

“Yes.”

“What did you pack?”

“Not many clothes because he kept most of his wardrobe in Paradise. I packed some shirts, socks, pajamas—“

“You remember the pajamas?”

“Yes.”

“What were they?”

“White, with red figures.”

“What sort of figures?”

“Something like a fleur-de-lis.”

“Have you seen the pajamas he was wearing when the body was found?”

“No.”

“They haven’t shown those to you?”

“No.”

“They haven’t asked you to look at the body?”

“No.”

“They probably will,” Mason said. “You’ll have to steel yourself for the shock.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Think you can do it?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Why do you say of course?”

“I’m not very emotional.”

“I’ll say you aren’t,” Mason said angrily. “You can’t seem to understand the predicament you’re in.”

“I understand it.”

“Now when you packed up your husband’s bag the last time he left, you put a box of candy in it?”

“Yes.”

“Where did you get that candy?”

“I bought it at a candy store. I bought two boxes. I put one box in and left the other box in the bureau drawer.”

“Did you open one of those boxes of candy?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You didn’t even tamper with the wrapping?”

“No. It was just the way it came from the candy store except for the outer paper. The box was wrapped in cellophane. I didn’t cut the cellophane at all.”

“Then you’re certain they can’t find any of your fingerprints on any of those candies?”

“Of course not.”

“Someone opened the box and filled the candies with poison—two different kinds of poisons.”

“So they tell me.”

“That wasn’t you?”

“No, of course not.”

“Handling chocolates is a tricky business. There are very apt to be latent fingerprints on those chocolates.”

“That’s fine. They won’t be mine.”

“I can depend on that?”

“Definitely. I promise—word of honor.”

“How many bags did your husband have when he left?”

“One suitcase.”

“What kind?”

“Just an ordinary big suitcase.”

“Now wait a minute,” Mason said. “He bought a bag somewhere before he got to Fresno.”

“I don’t know why he should have done that.”

“And he had two suitcases with him.”

“I don’t know where the other one came from. I mean why he had it with him. He kept the bulk of his things at Paradise. He only carried the things he needed for short stays when he left up there.”

“Did he leave any suitcases up at Paradise when you moved?”

“I don’t think so. We carried things down in suitcases and left them down in Los Angeles. The suitcases are down there.”

“‘How many of them?”

“Four or five.”

“You don’t know anything about the two suitcases your husband was carrying?”

“No.”

“You don’t know what became of them?”

“No.”

“Did you know that he was carrying samples of ore in suitcases?”

“No. I suppose he could have.”

“Did you know anyone he intended to see on this trip?”

“No. He told me he had a deal on for selling a mine. He was going to make a nice profit if it went through.”

“He didn’t tell you any more about it?”

“No.”

“He didn’t talk with you over the telephone from Paradise and give you any more information?”

“No.”

“You mean he didn’t call you at all from Paradise?”

“Once. That was Sunday. He said he was leaving, that he’d join me Monday night—yesterday.”

“That was the only time he called you?”

“Yes.”

“Over what period of time?”

“A week or ten days.”

“Why didn’t he call you more than that?”

“I don’t know. I think it was because of Aunt Sara.”

“What about her?”

“He thought that she used to listen in on the extension phone. He used to call oftener. Then he said someone was listening and after that he didn’t call much. When he did he was very short and curt. He didn’t like Aunt Sara.”

“And she didn’t like him?”

“No.”

“Do you know anything about your husband’s business affairs?”

“Very little.”

“He was going to meet someone and consummate a mining deal?”

“That’s what he said.”

“Where?”

“I gathered it was up here someplace—either Fresno or Modesto or someplace like that.”

“You don’t know anyone he intended to meet in San Bernardino?”

“No. He wasn’t going to San Bernardino.”

“How do you know?”

“He was coming straight home.”

“How do you know?”

“He said he was.”

“When?”

“When he telephoned.”

“The first time he telephoned?”

“There was only once.”

“You mean this last trip?”

“Yes.”

“Can you describe the suitcase that you packed for him? What it looked like?”

“It was a dark brown leather. It had been scuffed up. It had his initials in gold on it.”

Mason pushed back his chair.

“Where are you going?”

“Out and skirmish around,” Mason said. “I can find out more outside than I can in here talking to you. You aren’t telling me anything.”

“That’s because I don’t know anything.”

“Let’s hope you can make a jury believe that,” Mason told her.

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