Della Street looked at him curiously. “Did Hayward Small poison the sugar?” she asked.
Mason smiled. “Ask Mrs. Sims what the proverb is about the goose that lays the golden eggs coming home to roost.”
“Then why are you putting that in the written statement?”
Mason’s face was suddenly serious. “To the best of my ability,” he said, “I am carrying out the wishes of a dead client.”
Chapter 23
Sheriff Greggory plunged ahead with his midnight investigation with the bulldog tenacity of a man who has both rugged health and stubborn determination. District Attorney Topham, on the other hand, plainly felt that the matter could well have waited until Monday morning. He hadn’t the physical stamina to waste energy arguing the matter, however, and showed his disapproval only by the passive resignation of his countenance and the manner in which he kept himself in the psychological background.
Sheriff Greggory looked at his watch. “It shouldn’t be long, now,” he said. “I’m going to get at the bottom of certain phases of this matter before leaving here.”
Mason stretched his hands high above his head. He yawned, smiled at the District Attorney, and said, “Personally, I see no reason for such nocturnal haste.”
The District Attorney lowered and raised his eyelids with slow deliberation. “I think we should place a limit on it.”
“The limit,” Greggory said, “will be when we find out what’s been going on around here. There’s evidence that the signature on those stock certificates is not the signature of Banning Clarke.” He glowered at Mason.
Once more Mason yawned. “If you ask me,” he said, “the place fairly reeks with mysteries. If Banning Clarke was dying with poison and had only a few gasps left in his system, why did someone have to hurry it along with a .38 caliber automatic? What could Clarke have done with those last few breaths that would have been so devastating to the one who fired the shot?
“And what are you going to do if you do find the poisoner? He’ll claim the murderer was the man who fired the gun. And how about that person? He’ll claim the victim was suffering from a fatal dose of poison. On the whole, gentlemen, you have a tough nut to crack.”
The chimes at the front door tinkled into noise.
“I’ll open it,” Mason said.
Greggory pushed past him, jerked the door back.
An inebriated Paul Drake elevated a long forefinger, then brought it down on a level with the surprised sheriff’s coat lapel.
“Never jerk a door open like that,” Paul reproached. “If your guests should fall in, flat on their faces, they could bring suit.”
“Who are you?” the sheriff demanded. “Oh yes — I know now. You’re the man who found the mine.”
“ ‘Discovered’ is a better word, Sheriff. Finding implies an element of luck. Discovery denotes planning and—”
“Oh, there’s Small. Come on in, Small. I want to question you.”
Small extended his hand. “How are you, Sheriff? I hardly expected to find you here. How are you?” he greeted. “And Mr. Mason. Good evening, Mr. Mason. I brought a friend with me.”
Sheriff Greggory said, “Small, I want you to answer this question fairly and frankly. Do you know anything about the endorsement on the shares of stock that—”
“Just a moment,” Mason interrupted. “I am going to suggest that any statements from any of these witnesses be made where the answers can be taken down in shorthand. You’ve asked other witnesses various questions in a manner that I don’t think was fair.”
“You don’t have anything to say about my questions,” Greggory interrupted angrily. “I am conducting this investigation.”
“Go right ahead, if you feel that way about it,” Mason retorted.
Paul Drake said, “But not in a drafty hallway, please.”
“What are you doing here?” Greggory asked.
“Waiting for a drink,” Paul told him. “The hospitality with which you greeted me, all but jerking the door off its hinges, seems a most favorable omen. But I find your attitude, my dear sir, sadly at variance with the initial cordiality with which you answered the bell.”
“Get this drunk out of here,” Greggory ordered.
“On the contrary,” Mason announced. “This man has come to talk with me on a business proposition — a matter which relates to the estate of Banning Clarke, deceased. And as the executor of Banning Clarke, I have the right...”
“You come with me,” Greggory said to the reluctant Hayward Small.
Mason handed Hayward Small a key. “Go on up to Banning Clarke’s room,” he said. “You and the District Attorney can conduct your investigation up there.”
“Very good,” Greggory grunted.
They were halfway up the stairs when Mason called, “Oh, Sheriff.”
“What?”
“There’s one thing I think you should know before you proceed with that questioning.”
“What is it?”
“Something that — May I speak with you and the District Attorney for a moment, please?”
Greggory hesitated. Mason started up the stairs, said, “Go right on up to Banning Clarke’s room, Small. I just want a word with the sheriff.”
Small went on up the stairs. Mason climbed to Sheriff Greggory’s side. “Look here, Sheriff,” he said in a low voice, “there’s no need for us to get at loggerheads over this. If you’ll calm down a bit, you’ll see that I’m working toward the same end that you are. I want to solve this murder case.”
The District Attorney said, “Gentlemen, can’t we get it over with without so much friction? After all, it seems to me that all we can hope to do now is to get preliminary statements and then adjourn.”
“I want to warn you,” Mason said, “that you’d better have your interview with Hayward Small reduced to writing; otherwise, you’ll regret it.”
“I haven’t a court reporter here,” Greggory said. “This is merely a preliminary.”
“My secretary can take it.”
The sheriff’s smile was skeptical.
“That’s better than nothing,” Mason said.
The sheriff turned angrily away. “I think not,” he said. “I am beginning now to sympathize with my brother-in-law.”
“Well,” Mason announced, “anything that I say will be taken down by my secretary.”
“I don’t give a damn what you say,” Greggory told him.
“Can’t we keep the questioning on a more dignified plane?” Topham protested wearily.
“Come on,” Greggory said, and started up the stairs.
Mason, descending the stairs, grinned at Della Street. “Now,” he announced, “we’ll find out whether Pete’s psychology actually works in practice.”
Drake said, “Perry, I’m comparatively sober. The long ride in the cool of the night has brushed cobwebs from my brain, but it has also given me something of a chill. Wouldn’t it be possible for you to scare me up a drink?”
“No drink,” Mason told him. “You’re going to need to have your wits about you.”
Drake sighed. “Well, there was no harm in trying.”
“Come on,” Mason said in a low voice. “Give me the low-down. What have you found out?”
“I assume,” Drake said with alcoholic verbosity, “that you wished me to pump the gentleman who accompanied me from Mojave — to turn him inside out, as it were.”
“I did.”
“Your wishes have been followed to the letter.”
“What did you find out?”
“Small has some hold over Bradisson.”
“How long has he had this hold?”
“That,” Drake admitted, “is something that also occurred to me. I realized that one could hardly expect the man to tell me the nature of his strangle hold on Bradisson, but that there might be other and more devious ways of getting the information. I therefore endeavored to ascertain the exact date when Small first became acquainted with Bradisson. Now, Small only met Bradisson in January of nineteen forty-two, and almost immediately moved right into the charmed circle.”