“He was in his pajamas?”
“That’s what the man said. He naturally wondered why. Then he thought perhaps someone was trying to escape a raid or something and—”
“He was close enough to recognize the man he saw,” Mason asked, “to identity him from photographs or—?”
“Oh, heavens no. He was a hundred feet away. He just saw the figure of a man, and he’s quite certain the figure was wearing pajamas. He said they were dotted with red. And those were Ed’s pajamas all right.
“Well, then we tried to get you on the telephone but by that time you had left for Paradise and we didn’t know how to reach you. We left word at the San Francisco Airport in case you stopped there but evidently you missed the message. So we waited until we thought you’d be in Paradise and called the number of Ed’s phone and you answered.”
“Now wait a minute,” Mason said, “tell me one other thing. How do you know Ed had been rolled?”
“Oh yes, I was coming to that. The money that was in his clothes was an even forty-five dollars and he had paid for the cabin in the motel with a fifty-dollar bill that had been worn smooth. Ed was a heavy drinker. He knew that he was apt to be rolled and he always carried a fifty-dollar bill under the leather lining in the sole of his right shoe so that if anyone rolled him he’d have get-by money to get home on.
“There wasn’t even so much as a nickel in change in his pockets—just that forty-five dollars. That was the change he’d been given after paying five dollars for the cabin.”
“But why did he get out of the window?” Mason asked. “And how could he have done that if he was as sick as the doctor claimed?”
“Frankly,” she said, “I don’t think that doctor is willing to tell what really happened. You know when a man dies a doctor gives a shot of some powerful stimulant directly into the heart. I think Dr. Renault did that with Ed and then didn’t wait long enough to see if it took effect. He was too anxious to get out and question us. Something Ed must have said at the last must have convinced the doctor that Ed was blaming his sickness on Myrna in some way.
“Of course the doctor thinks we hid the body and disposed of it, that it even might have been Myrna who got in through the window, put on pajamas and climbed out again.
“If you ask me I think this doctor saw Ed’s heart had stopped and gave him this injection of adrenaline or whatever it is and then went out.
“Ed regained consciousness and that powerful stimulant gave him strength enough to get up and go to the door. When he found it was locked from the outside he got in a panic, crawled out through the window, jumped in the first car he found and drove away.
“It’s absurd to think a frail little thing like Myrna could have moved the body. Anyway why would we be afraid of an autopsy? He’d been taken sick long before we got there.”
“Where are his things?” Mason asked. “His clothes, his baggage.”
“The sheriff’s office took charge of everything. The deputy sheriff was still making an official investigation when we left. He had the key to the place and the place was locked up. We drove to Fresno and called you from there. You told us to get to San Francisco, which we did. We’d previously told the deputy sheriff where he could send Ed’s belongings when they got done with them.”
“Where do you suppose Ed Davenport is?”
She shrugged her shoulders.
“He certainly can’t be driving around in his pajamas, with no money, no driving license—”
“They’ll do funny things when they’ve been drinking,” she said. “Myrna tells me she’s seen Ed just go as crazy as anything when he’s coming out of one of those drinking spells.”
“He’ll be picked up somewhere,” Mason insisted.
“Of course he will. The sheriff’s office put out an alarm to the State Highway Patrol. They’re alerted to be looking for a man in pajamas driving a car. He isn’t safe to be on the road.”
“Does the doctor think he’ll collapse or—?”
“The doctor,” Mrs. Ansel said firmly, “thinks he’s dead.”
“And Ed Davenport made some statement to the doctor that caused him to become suspicious about Myrna?”
“Evidently he did. The doctor asked Myrna about the candy.”
“What candy?”
“Well, Myrna tells me Ed had these drinking fits. Ordinarily he doesn’t care for candy, but he found out that when the craving for alcohol comes on him, if he’ll eat a lot of candy sometimes he can get over the awful craving for liquor.
“Now, as nearly as I can figure things out, before he got to Fresno he felt this craving for liquor coming on and he started eating candy. He carried his candy in his bag just in case of having that craving overtake him.”
“What sort of candy?” Mason asked.
“Chocolates—the kind that have liquid in the centers—liquid and cherries. Myrna says he’d eat a few of those, and then sometimes the craving for liquor would leave him. But after he once started drinking he’d drink until his system got saturated with alcohol.”
Mason said, “All right, I’m going to make a suggestion. There are some seats up in the front of the plane. Miss Street and I are going up there. When we get to Los Angeles I want you and Mrs. Davenport to get off the plane before we do. I want you to take a taxicab out to your home.”
“Why? Why not go in the limousine and then take a taxi?”
Mason shook his head. “I don’t want you to follow the same route that is taken by the limousine. I want you to take a taxicab.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Mason told her, “I want to see if you’re being followed.”
“But why should we be followed?”
“Because you may have been traced to San Francisco, and because the sheriff’s office at Fresno may have decided to keep an eye on you.”
“But why should they? What business is it of theirs? Why, that’s absurd! After all, if Ed Davenport went on a binge and some cutie slipped him knockout drops they can’t hold Myrna responsible.”
“There may be some other angles,” Mason said. “From what you tell me the man is in very poor health. From what Dr. Renault says he must have been in a state of shock, a state of shock which caused the doctor to believe the man was dead. Now then, let’s suppose Ed Davenport started driving around in his pajamas. He was very apt to collapse and die, or he might have become involved in an accident. If he gets injured, with his resistance down to such a low ebb, the injuries may prove fatal.”
“Well, I still don’t see how they expect to hold us responsible for his climbing out of that window. That was the doctor’s fault. Ed was in this state of shock or exhaustion or whatever it was, and that fool doctor shot that adrenaline or something right into his heart. That’s dynamite. They only do that to dead people when there’s no hope. It’s a last desperate gamble. You’d think the fool would have had sense enough to be sure before he left the room.”
Mason nodded thoughtfully.
“Of course,” she went on, “it made a pretty kettle of fish. And you up there in Paradise thinking Ed was dead. Just think what would have happened if he’d headed back to Paradise and found you going through his things. Crazy as he was he might have done anything! We were terribly afraid you might get into trouble up there.”
“I did,” Mason said.
“What was it?”
“Nothing particularly serious,” Mason said. “I’ll tell you both about it when I see what happens after we get to the airport at Los Angeles. In the meantime quit worrying and try and comfort Mrs. Davenport.”
“Oh, she’s all right now. But, Mr. Mason, we’re going to have to do something for her. I’m completely satisfied that Ed Davenport has been going through her money just as fast as he can. She doesn’t care a thing in the world about money just so she can grow flowers, and—”