Perhaps he was just having some sort of a spasm, but…"
"That isn't what I mean," said Pemberton. "I mean has the dog shown any unusual symptoms, aside from this matter of poisoning?"
"No, sir."
Pemberton turned to Perry Mason.
"Suppose there's any chance this client of yours tried to poison the dog, Mason?"
"Not a chance in the world," said Perry Mason positively.
"Understand," said Foley hastily, "I'm not making any accusations against Mr. Cartright. I don't think he's the type that would poison a dog — however, he's really not responsible."
"Well," said the young woman positively, "I don't know where he got it from, but somebody gave him some poison. I'm willing to swear to that. He was a sick dog until after I gave him the salt, and then he got better."
"What does salt do?" asked Pemberton of Foley.
"It's a powerful and immediate emetic," Foley said.
Pemberton looked back at the girl.
"And you're willing to swear that the dog hasn't been howling?"
"Of course I am."
"If he had howled, would you have heard him?"
"Yes."
"Where do you sleep, in the house?"
"Yes, on the upper floor."
"And who else is in the house?"
"There's Ah Wong, the cook, but he sleeps out over the garage. And then there's Mrs. Foley."
"I think, officer," said Foley, "that it will, perhaps, be better for you to talk with my wife, and she can tell you…"
"I beg your pardon," said Mrs. Benton, "I didn't want to tell you in front of these gentlemen, but your wife isn't here."
Foley stared at her with eyes that showed incredulous surprise.
"Isn't here?" he said. "Good heavens, girl, she couldn't have gone out! She's recovering from influenza."
"Nevertheless, she went out," said Mrs. Benton.
"How did she go? The cars aren't gone."
"In a taxi."
"Good heavens!" said Foley. "The woman will kill herself. What's the idea of going out when she's just recovering from influenza?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Did she say where she was going? Was she going shopping, calling, or what? Did she receive any messages? Was there something urgent? Come on, speak up! Don't be so mysterious."
"She left you a note, sir."
"A note?"
"Yes."
"Where is it?"
"Upstairs in her room. She left it on the dresser and asked me to see that you received it."
Foley stood staring at the woman, his forehead puckered, his eyes suddenly hard.
"Look here," he said, "you're keeping something from me."
The young housekeeper lowered her eyes.
"She took a suitcase with her," she said.
"A suitcase?" Foley exclaimed. "Was she going to a hospital?"
"I don't know. She didn't say. She simply left the note."
Foley looked at the deputy sheriff.
"May I be excused for a moment?" he asked.
"Certainly," said Pemberton, "go right ahead."
Foley strode into the house. Perry Mason looked at Mrs. Benton, studying her face closely.
"Was there," he asked, "some trouble between you and Mrs. Foley immediately prior to her departure?"
The young woman drew herself up and stared at him in haughty insolence.
"I don't know who you are," she said, "but I do know that I don't have to answer your absurd questions or your dirty insinuations," and she turned and flounced into the house.
Pemberton grinned over at Perry Mason and bit the end off a cigar.
"That," he said, "for you."
"The girl's tried to make herself up as ugly as possible," Mason said, frowning, "but she's rather young to be a housekeeper, and there's just a chance that while Mrs. Foley was ill in bed, there might have been some developments which brought about the woman's sudden departure."
"Not gossiping, are you, Mason?" asked Pemberton.
"No," said Mason gravely, "I'm speculating, that's all."
"Why speculate?"
"Because," said Perry Mason, "when a man makes an accusation against my client, claiming my client's insane, that man has got to be prepared to have a fight on his hands."
The back door opened, and Mrs. Benton came out.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Mr. Foley wants you to come in. I shouldn't have got mad and walked away. Will you excuse it?"
"Don't mention it," said Bill Pemberton. "The fault was ours," and he looked at Perry Mason.
"I came out here," said Perry Mason, "to get information, and to see that my client had a square deal."
"No," said Bill Pemberton slowly, "we came out here to see if the dog had been howling. That's about as far as I figure we're going to pry into the situation here."
Perry Mason said nothing.
The young woman led them through the back door, into a kitchen. A small, slender Chinese, attired in a cook apron, regarded them with glittering, beady eyes.
"Whassa malla?" he asked.
"We're trying to find out about the dog…" Perry Mason began, but was interrupted by Pemberton.
"Just a moment, Mason, please," he said; "let me handle this. I understand handling these Chinks pretty well."
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Ah Wong."
"You cook here?"
"I cook."
"You savvy him one piecie dog?"
"Heap savvy."
"You hear dog makum noise? Hearum make howl at night?"
The Chinese shook his head slowly.
"Dog no howl?" asked Pemberton.
"No howl," said the Chinese.
Pemberton shrugged his shoulders.
"Shucks," he said, "that's all we need. You can see for yourself, Mason, how it is. Your man just went off his nut, that's all."
"Well," Perry Mason told him, "I'd have asked the questions of this Chinese boy in a little different way."
"That's all right," Pemberton said, "I know how to handle them. Had lots of experience on lottery cases. You've got to talk to them that way. They don't savvy any other kind of lingo. It's the way they talk and the way they learn English. That's the way you get the facts out of them. You go ahead and spout a lot of language they don't understand, and they'll say yes, every time, and not know what they're saying yes to."
"I think," said Mrs. Benton, "that Mr. Foley would like to have you gentlemen wait in the library, if you care to. He'll be with you in just a moment."
She held open the door of the kitchen, and the two men walked through a serving pantry, a dining room, a living room, turned to the left and entered a library, the walls of which were lined with books. There was a huge table running down the center of the room, deep leather chairs, each with a floor lamp by it, and tall windows, with heavy drapes which could be pulled along poles by an ingenious cord arrangement, so as to shut out every bit of outside light.
"I think," said Mrs. Benton, "that if you will just be seated…"
A door opened explosively, and Clinton Foley stood on the threshold, his face twisting with emotion, his eyes glittering. A paper was in his hand.
"Well," he said, "it's all over. You don't need to worry about the dog.