“As it is now the district attorney in Los Angeles can show that Hortense Paxton died from poison, that Myrna Davenport was in a position to benefit by her death, that Myrna Davenport had some poison in the house and that she tried to conceal that poison after it was learned that the body of Hortense Paxton was being exhumed.”
“It’s a strong case,” Drake said.
“It’s a strong case but it’s not a convicting case,” Mason replied. “Just one or two additional facts and they’d be sure of a conviction. On the other hand, just one or two little additional facts in favor of the defense and the best they could hope for would be a hung jury.”
“What facts could you get in favor of the defense?”
Mason grinned. “The poisoning of Ed Davenport.”
“How do you mean?”
“The person who poisoned him would presumably be the person who poisoned Hortense Paxton.”
“Could you bring that in?” Drake asked.
“Under other circumstances the district attorney would try to one way or another. If he thought Myrna Davenport could be shown to be guilty, he’d use the old dodge of showing that these were crimes of a similar pattern and all of that. As it is now, the defense would claim it was entitled to bring the facts in in the same way. At least the defense could try to bring them in and if the prosecution fought to keep these facts out the jury would become so suspicious of the whole thing that it wouldn’t convict.”
“Well,” Drake said, “that means that the D.A. in Los Angeles will tell Vandling that he started this thing and to go ahead and finish it.”
Mason nodded.
“So what will Vandling do?” Drake asked.
“Try to get some additional evidence. If he doesn’t he’ll have to dismiss.”
“Why?”
“Look at it in this way,” Mason said. “Myrna Davenport put candy in her husband’s bag. The candy was poisoned. It contained arsenic and cyanide of potassium. Dr. Renault can swear the man told him he had symptoms of arsenic poisoning but he didn’t die of cyanide of potassium. He can’t swear of his own knowledge that the man had any symptoms of arsenic poisoning He only knows that from what Davenport told him, and that’s hearsay and not admissible.
“Dr. Hoxie will swear that the man must have died from cyanide of potassium poisoning but he can’t find any trace of candy in the stomach. Therefore he couldn’t have died from eating poisoned candy. The only thing they can really connect Myrna Davenport with is the poisoned candy.”
“So what do we do?” Drake asked.
“We drive out to the site of the grave up near Crampton,” Mason said, “and we look for something.”
“For what?”
“Where a six-wheeled vehicle has been parked.”
“A six-wheeled vehicle?” Drake asked.
“That’s right.”
“What do you mean?”
“A four-wheeled automobile and a two-wheeled house trailer.”
“I don’t get it,” Drake said.
“And then,” Mason went on, “We try to find Mabel Norge.”
“Why?”
“Because we want to question her.”
“How do we go about looking for her?”
Mason said, “You have her description. Tall, brunette, twenty-seven or twenty-eight; well-formed but not heavy; slategray eyes; narrow, black, penciled eyebrows. In order to find her you go to San Bernardino and start looking through the hotels and the motels. You also have someone keep in touch with the district attorney in Butte County or try to get a line into his office.”
“How come?”
“I think she’ll be communicating with him.”
“Why? What gives you that idea?”
“Because she doesn’t want to be a fugitive and she doesn’t want to have her absence misconstrued. I think probably she’ll telephone the district attorney and tell him where he can reach her but ask him to keep the address confidential.”
“You think the D.A. in Butte County will protect her?” Drake asked.
“I think he’ll try to.”
“Why?”
“Because he’ll use her either as a red herring or an ace in-the-hole, depending on which will better suit his purpose, and if he alone knows where she is it strengthens his hand.”
“Okay, Perry.” Drake sighed. “What do you want me to do now?”
“Right at the moment,” Mason said, “get your men covering San Bernardino. I want to find Mabel Norge. I’m particularly anxious not to disturb her complacency. My best guess is that she’s telephoned or will telephone the D.A. at Butte County. He’ll tell her to stay where she is. I don’t want anyone to know that we’re looking for her. It shouldn’t be too difficult a job. People who go to motels are usually transients. They’re there for one day. A young, attractive woman who stays over for a longer period should attract attention.”
“Okay. What next?”
“Della and I are going out to the location of the grave. We’re going to look around. We should be back shortly after you have this San Bernardino angle covered.”
“What about Sara Ansel?” Drake asked. “She’s been pestering me, trying to see me, trying to explain that she’s Myrna’s good friend and that she wants to patch everything up.”
“Leave her alone,” Mason said. “Leave her severely alone, Paul.”
“That’s all very well,” Drake retorted, grinning, “but how am I going to get her to leave me alone?”
“Probably,” Mason said, “you’ll have to club her over the head. Come on, Della, let’s go.”
Mason and Della Street left the hotel, drove to Crampton, then turned off on the road, which had been indicated in the maps shown by Vandling, to the location of the grave.
Quite a few curiosity seekers had been on the ground. There were evidences of cars having been parked. Empty film containers bore mute testimony to the amount of amateur photography that had taken place. Dozens of feet had tramped the ground around the shallow grave.
Mason said, “Della, if my theory is correct, there was a car with a house trailer parked within a very short distance. It probably was here for two or three days. I’d like to find where it stayed.”
Della Street raised her eyebrows. “If your theory is correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And what, may I ask, is your theory?”
Mason said, “Come, come, Della. Don’t deprive me of my triumph.”
“What do you mean?”
“If it turns out I’m right,” Mason said, “I will point out to Paul Drake the simple, elemental steps of reasoning that made it absolutely imperative that certain events should have happened in a certain sequence.”
“And if you’re wrong?”
“If I’m wrong,” Mason said, “and I don’t give you my theory in advance, I can say casually, ‘Well, I had a theory but that theory doesn’t seem to be borne out by the facts so I won’t waste your time mentioning it.”
“That’s all right for you to say to Paul Drake,” Della Street said, “but aren’t you going to put me on a little different footing?”
“That’s exactly it,” Mason said. “I want to make an even better impression on you than I do on Paul Drake.”
“You don’t have to. You have already made it.”
“After all, Della, you wouldn’t expect a magician to tell you how he expected to perform the trick before he performed it. It would take away all of the glamour and all of the mystery.”
“You can’t take away any of your glamour by taking away the mystery,” Della Street said, “but if you want me to cooperate, tramping around through this country looking for a place where a house trailer parked, you’d better tell me why.”
“Let’s look at it this way, Della. The whole scheme of murder depended on the fact that someone must have known that Edward Davenport was going to be taken seriously ill immediately after leaving Fresno, that by the time he had driven to Crampton he would be so sick he couldn’t possibly continue his journey. He would have to move into a motel and call a doctor. Otherwise, there couldn’t have been any murder. There couldn’t have been any planning for a murder, at least to the extent of having a grave all ready.”