“The doctor came, pronounced Higley dead, and signed a death certificate giving the cause of death as coronary thrombosis. The spilled chocolate was mopped up. The broken cup was thrown out. Higley was buried.
“Nadine Farr took the first opportunity to rush to her room and look for the bottle of cyanide tablets. They were gone. In a panic she hurried down to the kitchen. She found two bottles. The nearly full bottle of sugar substitute was toward the back of the shelf. Another bottle, apparently containing the cyanide tablets she had stolen from the laboratory, had been placed in front of that other bottle. Someone had engineered things very neatly so that she had killed Mosher Higley.”
“And so she took the bottle of cyanide tablets and disposed of it?” Mason asked.
“That’s right. She slipped the bottle of cyanide in her purse. She felt certain that the doctor was going to find that Mosher Higley had been poisoned. She was on the verge of confessing everything but fortunately decided to wait because she was afraid it might make trouble for John Locke if she told about the tablets.
“The doctor gave her a sedative and put her to sleep. When she wakened she found that the doctor and the nurses all believed Higley had died a natural death. It seemed a heaven-sent opportunity to her.
“Higley had a gun room. Before he was taken sick he used to do quite a bit of hunting. There were guns hanging in racks on the walls and shelves containing ammunition. So Nadine went into this room, used a small pair of long-nosed pliers to pull back the wadding on two shotgun shells. She dumped the shot from the shells into the bottle. That afternoon she took the bottle out to Twomby’s Lake and—”
“How did she know about that lake?” Mason asked.
“It’s a place where young couples go to neck. She and John Locke had been out there from time to time. It’s sort of a lover’s lane affair. She threw the bottle out as far as she could throw it.
“But, of course, Nadine Farr was tortured by conscience. Her instinct told her to keep quiet. Her conscience told her to speak.
“So she built up an internal emotional conflict which had unfortunate repercussions. She couldn’t sleep. She became nervous, jittery. She lost her appetite, lost weight, became apprehensive, worried, and ill. John Locke insisted that she consult a physician. She consulted a general practitioner, who referred her to me.
“There you have the story.”
“And what a hell of a story,” Mason said.
“What do you mean by that crack?”
“Look at it the way a jury would,” Mason said. “She has told you that she hated Mosher Higley, that Higley hated her, that she poisoned him and threw the poison in the lake. That was when she was under the influence of drugs in a so-called truth serum test.
“Now it appears that Mosher Higley had the power to wreck her romance. Apparently he possessed information so sinister that she didn’t dare to stand up and fight for her rights. He told her she had to disappear, to give up the man she loved. He gave her a deadline of forty-eight hours. Before that deadline was up Mosher Higley met his death. He was poisoned. He was poisoned by the girl’s hand. The poison that was used was cyanide which she had stolen from the laboratory where her fiancé worked. Higley’s dying words accused the girl of poisoning him. She knew what she had done. She took the remnants of the poison, weighted the bottle with shot, drove out to Twomby’s Lake and threw the bottle away.”
“Well, when you look at it that way it sounds pretty bad,” Dr. Denair admitted. “But, hang it, Mason, I’m inclined to believe the girl.”
“Unfortunately,” Mason told him, “I can’t get you on the jury.”
“You put it that way and it sounds bad,” Dr. Denair admitted.
“It is bad,” Mason said. “We may as well face it. Della keeps some Scotch out here. Let’s have a good double Scotch-on-the-rocks and then go in and take our medicine.”
Dr. Denair said, “I don’t know as we have to take any medicine. We were investigating the case and—”
“I’m afraid,” Mason said, “it’s a little more of a jam than you may think it is, Bert.”
“How come?”
“When I got your telephone call and realized the urgency of the matter I knew that the whole case would stand or fall upon one thing.”
“What was that?” Dr. Denair asked.
“Whether there could be any corroborating evidence. Whether that bottle of poison could be recovered.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Dr. Denair said. “They could use divers and—”
“So,” Mason interrupted, “I dashed out to Twomby’s Lake. I found some boys swimming out there. I had them explore the sandy bottom out from the boat landing. I had four boys making a series of dives out there. The water is about ten feet deep. It’s a sandy bottom. The lake is, of course, placid. It isn’t big enough to have enormous waves, even in a storm. I felt that if these boys couldn’t find any such bottle we would be reasonably safe in assuming the police couldn’t find it — then there wouldn’t have been any case.”
“A splendid idea,” Dr. Denair said. “I hand it to you for quick thinking, Mason. After all, that’s our best bet. We’ll sit tight and—”
“No we won’t,” Mason said. “We found the bottle!”
“The devil!”
“That’s right.”
“And where is it now?”
Mason said, “I’ve rushed it in to Hermann Korbel, the consulting chemist.”
“He’s a good man,” Dr. Denair interpolated.
Mason nodded. “One of the best in the profession. I wanted him to find out what was in the bottle. Now then, in view of the story your patient has told you, there isn’t much we can do. We now know it’s poison.”
“Look here,” Dr. Denair said, “you found that bottle. Couldn’t you simply dispose of it, take it out to the ocean somewhere, toss it—?”
“Not a chance,” Mason said. “It’s a crime to conceal or destroy significant evidence. Moreover, I had to take precautions to see that the bottle could be identified. Remember I had four kids out there diving for a bottle. When the bottle was recovered I had to disclose my name and identity. I had to take the young fellow who discovered it to Hermann Korbel. In order to get him to go with me I had to reassure him by taking him to the home of his parents and identifying myself. He changed out of a wet bathing suit into his clothes. I’ve left a back trail as broad as a boulevard. It was the only thing to do.”
“I guess we need that drink all right,” Dr. Denair said. “Where’s the Scotch?”
Mason said, “She keeps it up here in this cupboard.”
The lawyer opened the cupboard door, found a bottle of Scotch and produced two glasses. He took ice cubes from the refrigerator, poured out two good stiff drinks, said, “Well, lets enjoy life while we can. We’re going to have some explaining to do.”
“Of course,” Dr. Denair said, “I was following the course that you suggested. We were simply trying to verify the statement this young woman made.”
“Exactly,” Mason said, “and now that we have it verified, there’s only one thing for me to do.”
“What’s that?”
“Go to the police, tell them that I uncovered this piece of corroborative evidence, that I placed it in the hands of Hermann Korbel.”
“They’ll give you the devil,” Dr. Denair said.
“Of course they will,” Mason told him.
“They’ll claim that you were intending to suppress the evidence.”
“That’s where I’ll fool them. That’s where my leaving a wide back trail is to my advantage.”
“Well, let’s hope you can get away with it,” Dr. Denair said.
“I don’t give a damn whether I get away with it or not,” Mason said, “as far as the police are concerned. I want to keep my nose clean as far as the grievance committee of the Bar Association is concerned and as far as a jury in a criminal court is concerned.”