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.”
Mason bowed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing it, but if you feel I am upsetting your mother, I’ll withdraw.”
“No, no!” Bradisson exclaimed. “That isn’t what I meant. I meant she would make her statement later, after the sheriff had finished with you.”
“It may not have been what you meant,” Mason said, “but it’s what I meant. Come, Della.”
“Wait a minute,” Greggory said. “I’m not finished with you, Mason.”
“You’re quite right,” Mason said, “but your most important angle at the moment is to find out about that ipecac before mother and son have a chance to confer, and I refuse to be questioned in the presence of the Bradissons.” He started for the door.
“Wait a minute,” Greggory interposed. “You’re not going to walk out of here until I’ve searched you for that document.”
“Really, Sheriff!” Mason said. “Has it ever occurred to you what county you’re in? Such high-handed procedure will hardly go over now that you’ve left your jurisdiction. And you really should question the Bradissons before they get a chance to patch up a story. Come, Della.”
It was the reference to the fact that Greggory was outside his own county that brought sudden dismay to his face. Mason calmly pushed past him to the door.
Paul Drake, who had been a fascinated spectator, suddenly burst into applause.
The sheriff whirled on him angrily. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.
Drake, with alcoholic dignity, said loftily, “If you want to put it that way, who the hell are you?”
Mason didn’t wait to hear Greggory’s answer.
As the door banged shut behind them, Della Street let out her breath. “Whew! That was close. How’s the water now, Chief? Hot enough?”
“Coming to a boil,” Mason said.
“You have to hand it to Mrs. Bradisson for having the courage to stage a counter-offensive,” Della said.
Mason frowned as he slid in behind the steering wheel. “Unless she set a trap, and I walked into it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose she left that door open on purpose so I could see her juggling wills. Naturally I’d promptly jump to the conclusion that the will she was hiding was genuine. If it should turn out to be forged, that, coupled with the phony endorsement on that stock certificate, and the fact that Banning Clarke was poisoned at a meal we shared with him—”
“Chief!” Della Street interrupted in an exclamation of frightened dismay.
“Exactly,” Mason said, and stepped on the foot throttle.
“But, Chief, there’s no way out.”
“Only one possible avenue left open,” Mason said.
“What’s that?”
“We don’t know too much about the drowsy mosquito,” Mason told her. “Velma Starler heard it. She turned on the light. The mosquito ceased flying. She turned out the light, went to the window carrying a flashlight. Someone was standing near the wall — almost directly below her window. He fired two shots. Those shots perforated the upper windowpane above Velma Starler’s head. They were less than three inches apart. Is there anything about that which strikes you as being particularly unusual?”
“You mean about the shots?”
“Yes. That’s partly it. Quite evidently the man didn’t want to hit her. He wanted to frighten her away from the window. If he had enough skill to put those bullets within three inches of each other, he must have been a darn good shot.”
“But why try to frighten her away from the window?”
Mason smiled. “The drowsy mosquito.”
“What do you mean, Chief?”
“Did you notice,” Mason asked, “that when Salty Bowers made his demonstration of black light last night there was some sort of an induction coil in the mechanism by which the current of a dry battery was stepped up to sufficient voltage to work the bulb?”
She nodded.
“And,” Mason went on, “if you had been somewhere in the dark and heard that rather faint buzzing, it would have sounded very much like a mosquito that was in the room.”
Della Street was excited now. “It would, at that,” she said.
“A peculiar, somewhat lazy mosquito — perhaps a drowsy mosquito.”
“Then you think the sound Velma heard was caused by one of those black-light devices?”
“Why not? When she looked out of the window, someone was standing near the wall. Put yourself in the position of Banning Clarke. He had a bad heart. He had very valuable information. He didn’t dare trust that information to anyone. Yet the possibility that he might die and take the secret to the grave with him must have occurred to him. Therefore, he must have tried to leave some message. His reference to the drowsy mosquito becomes very significant in view of the demonstration we saw last night of fluorescent lighting.”