Nell Sims said, “Pete, what have you been up to now?”
Behind the officer, venturing somewhat tentatively through the doorway, appeared Mrs. Bradisson and her son.
Pete Sims caught sight of Mason and, his voice chattering with fright, said, “There’s my lawyer. I demand an opportunity to talk with my lawyer. You can’t do anything to me until I’ve seen a lawyer.”
“Pete,” Nell Sims said sternly, “you tell me what you’ve been up to. Come on now, make a clean breast of it.”
Greggory said, “Ask him to tell you what he was doing with twelve ounces of arsenic.”
“Arsenic!” Nell exclaimed.
“That’s right. What were you doing with it, Pete?”
“I didn’t have it, I tell you.”
“Don’t be silly. We’ve found where you bought it. The druggist identifies your photograph.”
“It’s all a mistake, I tell you.”
“It’s a mistake as far as you’re concerned all right.”
“I’m going to talk with a lawyer.”
“Pete Sims, did you put poison in that sugar? Why, if I thought you’d done that, I’d — I’d — I’d kill you with my bare hands.”
“I didn’t, Nell. Honest I didn’t. I got this poison for something else.”
“What did you want with it?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Where is that poison?” Nell demanded.
“You’ve got it.”
“I have?”
“Yes.”
“You’re crazy!”
“Don’t you remember that paper bag I gave to you and told you to save?”
“You mean that stuff that — Good Heavens! I thought it was some stuff for mining. That’s what you said it was. You didn’t tell me it was poison.”
“I told you to keep it where no one could possibly touch it,” Sims said.
“Why you... you...”
“Come on,” Sheriff Greggory said; “what did you buy it for?”
“I— I don’t know.”
Mason turned to Nell Sims. “Where did you put it?” he asked.
Her face told its own story of agonized dismay.
“Near the sugar?” Mason asked.
She nodded, too overcome for words.
“And,” Mason went on gently, “could you, by mistake, have reached into this bag instead of the sugar bag, and—”
“I couldn’t,” she said, “but Dorina could have. You see, with the rationing of sugar, the way things are nowadays — well, I told Dorina to use her stamps and get a bag of sugar. She handed it to me. After she’d gone, I opened the bag and dumped it into the big sack with the other sugar; but this bag Pete had given me was in there on the shelf, and she might have seen it and thought it was the bag of sugar she’d bought. And then, if she thought the sugar bowl needed filling... Pete, why didn’t you tell me that was poison?”
“I told you not to touch it,” Pete said.
“Don’t you see what you’ve done? If Dorina got into that bag by mistake and filled up the sugar bowl, you’ve been the one that poisoned Banning Clarke.”
“I didn’t poison him. I tell you I didn’t have anything to do with it. I just handed you this bag.”
“Why did you buy that arsenic in the first place?” Sheriff Greggory asked.
“I wanted to do some experiments in mining, and I had to have some arsenic to do them with.”
“Then why didn’t you use it?”
“Well, I just never got around to doing those experiments.”
There was a moment’s silence.
Mrs. Bradisson said, “But while that might account for the fact that arsenic was mixed in the sugar, Sheriff, it would hardly account for the fact that arsenic had been mixed in with the salt the night my son and I were poisoned.”
“That’s right,” the sheriff agreed. “I hadn’t thought of that. That shows it was deliberate, not an accident.”
“Just a moment,” Mason interposed smoothly. “I hadn’t intended to spring this at this time, but under the circumstances and since you seem to be narrowing the circle down, Sheriff, I’m going to tell you that Mrs. Bradisson wasn’t suffering from arsenic poisoning.”
“Nonsense,” Mrs. Bradisson said. “I guess I know what the symptoms were, and Dr. Kenward said that’s what it was, also the nurse.”
“Nevertheless,” Mason said, “you didn’t have arsenic poisoning. You had certain symptoms and you perhaps simulated others, but your nausea was induced by ipecac — probably deliberately induced.”
“Why, I never heard of any such thing. What do you mean by that?”
“I mean,” Mason said, “that Dr. Kenward told me he placed a portion of the stomach contents in a sealed glass bottle and delivered it to a laboratory for an examination and analysis. The report came back a few hours ago. There was no sign of arsenic, but there were traces of ipecac. The same situation is true of both yourself and your son.”
“Why, I never heard of such a thing,” she stormed.
“Now then,” Mason went on smoothly, “arsenic might have been administered accidentally, or with homicidal intent; but the strong probabilities are that the ipecac was taken deliberately. Now suppose you and your son tell us why you took ipecac, and then simulated the symptoms of arsenic poisoning. Why did you do it?”
“I never did any such thing,” Mrs. Bradisson said.
James Bradisson moved forward. “I think it’s about time for me to take a hand in this, Mason.”
“Go ahead,” Mason said. “Walk right in.”
Bradisson said in a low voice to Greggory, “I think you should find out why Mason is so deliberately pulling a red herring across the trail.”
“It’s no red herring,” Mason said. “I’m simply showing that the theory that the arsenic got into the sugar accidentally is quite tenable. The only thing that stands in the way of such a theory is that arsenic is supposed to have been in the saltcellar the night before.”
Mrs. Bradisson tilted her chin. She said with dignity, “I can tell you why Perry Mason has suddenly brought up all of this stuff about the ipecac.”
Sheriff Greggory looked at her expectantly.
“Because,” Mrs. Bradisson went on, “Perry Mason stole something from Banning Clarke’s study.”
“What’s that?” Greggory demanded. “Say that again.”
Mrs. Bradisson spoke, the words coming out in a rush. “I said that Perry Mason stole a document out of Banning Clarke’s desk, and I know what I’m talking about.”
“How do you know?” Greggory asked.
“I’ll tell you how. When I heard Banning Clarke was killed, I knew that there was something very dark and sinister behind it, and that someone would be almost certain to try to go through his things, and — if he had left a will — to tamper with it. So I went into his room, went through his roll-top desk, found a document that I considered very important evidence. I fastened it to the bottom of the drawer on the lower left-hand side of the desk with thumbtacks and then put the drawer back.”
“Why did you do that?” Greggory asked ominously.
“So that anyone that came in and tried to tamper with his things wouldn’t be able to find that document and destroy it.”
“Why would anyone want to destroy it?”
“Because it purported to be a will in Banning Clarke’s handwriting. It wasn’t in his writing at all. It was a forgery. It left property to Perry Mason. And if you’ll use your head a little you’ll see some very sinister things have been happening. Perry Mason meets Banning Clarke only a few days ago. In that short time, Mason gets all of Banning Clarke’s stock, then Clarke leaves a will leaving property to Mason, and then Clarke dies. Rather a nice series of happenings — for Perry Mason — who is also named in the will as executor.”