The key clicked back the latch. Mason tentatively tried the door, turned the knob, pushed against the door, then put his shoulder against it.

  Mason turned to the others.

  “That does it,” he said. “It’s bolted from the inside.”

  “That means she’s in there?”

  The lawyer nodded.

  Drake said, “Let’s get the house detective.”

  “We’ll try one more time,” Mason said.

  This time his knuckles pounded a double tattoo on the panels of the door.

  “All right,” Mason said, “we’ve got to get the detective and force the door. We …”

  The lawyer broke off as there was the sound of a bolt being moved on the inside of the door.

  The bolt on the inside of the door slid all the way back, and the door opened.

  Daphne Shelby in a sheer nightgown stood sleepily regarding them.

  “What … I’m dizzy … Help … She collapsed to the floor.

  Della Street ran to her side.

  Mason said, “There’s a house physician here. Let’s get him. But first, keep her from going to sleep. Paul, get some cold compresses. Put them on her head and neck.”

  Drake said, “Okay, let’s lift her back into bed and—”

  “Not bed,” Mason said. “That’s the worst place for her if she’s been drugged. Keep her walking. I’ll take one side, Della can take the other. Keep her moving. Get some cold towels.”

  “I’ll get a wrap of some sort,” Della said.

  She hurried to the closet, came out with a wrap, and the three of them managed to get the garment around the girl.

  Then Mason and Della started her walking. Drake hurried into the bathroom.

  Daphne took one or two steps, then suddenly slumped, moaned and said, “Oh, I’m so sleepy … so, so … so sleepy.”

  Drake came hurrying out of the bathroom with a cold towel. He put it on Daphne’s neck, then on her head. “Come on. Daphne,” he said, “keep walking.”

  Mason said, “What happened. Daphne?”

  “I think I’m poisoned,” she said sleepily.

  “I know. What makes you think you’re poisoned?”

  “I stopped at the lunch counter. I had some chocolate. That was all I wanted, just a big pot of hot chocolate and some toast. I was so tired. I’d been up all night.”

  “I know,” Mason said, “go on.”

  “The chocolate tasted funny,” she said, and then added, “I had gone to the telephone and left it there for a minute. I asked the waitress not to take it away. There was a funny-looking woman sitting next to the end …” Abruptly Daphne ceased talking and became a dead weight.

  Mason and Della Street got her to her feet. Drake appeared with another cold towel. Mason said, “Get on the phone, Paul. Get the house doctor up here on the double. Tell him we have a sleeping pill case.”

  Mason pulled back the robe, shoved the cold towel down Daphne’s spine.

  “Ooooh,” she exclaimed, giving a little jump. “That’s cold.”

  “It’ll do you good,” Mason said. “Keep walking.”

  “I … can’t … walk … I want to lie down and go … sleep.”

  “Keep walking,” Mason said. “Keep walking.”

  Drake turned from the telephone. “A doctor will be on his way up here inside of a few seconds.”

  Mason nodded to Della Street. “Get Room Service Della, tell them to send up two pots of strong black coffee.”

  “Please let me … go …” Daphne said.

  “Keep the towels coming, Paul,” Mason ordered.

  “No, no,” she protested listlessly, “I’m sopping wet!”

  Mason said, “You’ll be wet when we get done here. … Paul, fill the bathtub full of water that’s just a little bit warmer than lukewarm. Della Street can see that she gets a tepid bath—just enough to give her a little stimulation and keep her from getting chilled. We want it just a few degrees warmer than body temperature.”

  Drake handed Mason two more cold towels, said, “I wish I had four hands.”

  Mason kept Daphne walking. Della Street ordered black coffee. From the bathroom was the sound of running water.

  Daphne sighed. Her head fell over on Mason’s shoulder and again she slumped.

  The lawyer elevated her to her feet.

  “Walk,” Mason said, “walk, Daphne. You’ve got to help. You’ve got to walk. I can’t just carry you by your arms. Walk!”

  “I can’t feel the floor,” she said. “My feet aren’t touching anything.”

  “Do you think the woman sitting next to you put something in your chocolate?”

  “It tasted funny, sort of bitter, but I put more sugar in it.”

  “Can you describe her? Do you know what she looked like?” Mason asked.

  “No … I can’t concentrate … I’m sorry to let you down like this, Mr. Mason.”

  Again her legs seemed to buckle. Mason and Della lifted the dead weight.

  Mason pulled back his left hand, and with the palm gave Daphne’s rump a sharp slap.

  Her back arched as she jerked her hips out of the way.

  “Don’t you ever do that again!” she blazed, and then suddenly moaned and again collapsed.

  This time neither the lawyer nor Della Street could get her to make any effort to stand on her feet. She simply remained a dead weight.

  Mason stood looking down at her with thought-slitted eyes, then said to Della Street, “Let’s put her over on the bed.”

  “But she’ll just go into unconsciousness,” Della Street said. “You told us that yourself, Perry.”

  “I know,” Mason said. “Get her over on the bed.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  Drake opened it.

  A professional-appearing man with a black medical bag said, “I’m Dr. Selkirk.”

  Mason said, “This young woman seems to have been given an overdose of barbiturates.”

  “All right,” Dr. Selkirk said, “we’ll pump her stomach out.”

  “And let’s save what we get,” Mason said. “I’m interested.”

  “Any container around here?” Dr. Selkirk asked.

  Mason said, “There’s a water pitcher.”

  “Well, that’ll do if we have to use it.”

  Dr. Selkirk said, “We need some coffee.”

  “It’s been ordered,” Mason said.

  “And we’ll cover her up and keep her warm.”

  The physician pumped out the contents of the stomach then listened with a stethoscope at the girl”s chest. He frowned, took her pulse, then went over the pitcher containing the contents of the stomach.

  Mason stepped into the bathroom, said to Paul Drake, “Get that water just as ice cold as you can get it, Paul.”

  “What?” Drake asked, incredulously.

  “Just as cold as you can get it.”

  Dr. Selkirk motioned to Perry Mason. “May I see you a minute?” he asked.

  Mason moved over to him. Dr. Selkirk lowered his voice, glanced apprehensively over his shoulder to where Della Street was smoothing Daphne’s wet hair back from her forehead.

  “There’s something funny about this,” Dr. Selkirk said. “Her pulse is strong and active, her respiration is normal and regular, but there are remains in the stomach contents that are pills, all right.”

  “You mean the pills haven’t digested? Did she swallow them in the chocolate?” Mason asked.

  “She’s had chocolate within the last hour or so,” Dr. Selkirk said, “but I doubt if the pills were ingested at the same time as the chocolate. I think that they were taken later.”

  Mason said, “Would it be all right if I tried an experiment, Doctor?”

  “What sort of an experiment?”

  Mason raised his voice. “I’ve instructed Mr. Drake here, a private investigator, to fill the bathtub with warm water. I want to …”

  Dr. Selkirk started shaking his head.

  “I want to keep her from getting chilled by putting her in this warm water,” Mason said.

  Dr. Selkirk started to say something.

  Mason raised a finger to catch Dr. Selkirk’s attention then closed his eye in an unmistakable wink.

  “Come on, Della,” Mason said, “get her in the bathroom. We’ll help you if necessary. Let her soak in that water for about ten minutes.”

  “She’ll relax and go right to sleep, probably into a deep stupor,” Dr. Selkirk said.

  “Let’s try it, anyway,” Mason said. “We can always pull her out.”

  “I’m not going to strip the clothes off her,” Della said angrily. “You should have a nurse if you want—”

  “That’s all right,” Mason said, “leave her clothes on, that is, both the robe and the night-dress, just dunk her in that warm water.”

  Della said, “You’ll have to help me.”

  “I’ll help you,” Mason said.

  They picked Daphne up, carried her to the door of the bathroom, swung her around over the bath water.

  “Are you awake, Daphne?” Mason asked.

  The eyelids fluttered, but there was no other motion.

  “All right,” Mason said, “drop her, Della.”

  Mason let go of the shoulders, and Della Street let go of the feet. The girl splashed into the bathtub.

  There was a shrill scream. Daphne exclaimed, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!” and came up out of the bathtub, pushing, clawing, fighting mad. “That water’s ice cold!” she screamed. “You son of a—”

  “All right, Daphne,” Mason interrupted. “It was a good try but it didn’t work. Della will stay in here with you and help get you dry and bring you some clothes from the closet then perhaps you can come out and tell us what this is really all about.”

  Mason stepped out and closed the door.

  “I’m freezing,” Daphne said as the door closed.

  “Get those things off,” Della ordered.

  “Put some hot water in that tub. Get me a hot shower. I’m frozen to the bone.”

  Drake said, “How the hell did you know, Perry?” Mason said, “The first two steps she took when we started walking her were perfectly normal steps then she suddenly remembered and took all the spring out of her legs. A moment later, she was a dead weight. Then she came to again and tried it some more. She did a pretty fair job, but she didn’t know just what she was doing.”

  “What about these stomach contents?” Dr. Selkirk asked.

  “Forget them,” Mason said. “Flush them down the toilet and send me your bill. Doctor. I’m Perry Mason, the lawyer. I’ve found out all I want to know.”

  “That was pretty strenuous treatment, a girl who expects to be immersed in warm water suddenly finding herself plunged into a bathtub full of ice cold water …”

  “I felt there’d be a reaction.” Mason grinned. “But I didn’t think it would be quite as …” He broke off as knuckles sounded on the door.

  Dr. Selkirk looked questioningly at Mason.

  “This is the girl’s room,” Mason said hastily. “I don’t think we should answer the door.”

  The knocking became peremptory. Lieutenant Tragg’s voice called out, “Open up. This is the law!”

  Mason shrugged his shoulders.

  Dr. Selkirk said, “I’m house physician here at the hotel. We have to recognize a summons of that sort.”

  He walked across and opened the door.

  Tragg showed surprise. “Is a Miss Daphne Shelby in here?” he asked. And then, suddenly catching sight of Perry Mason, said, “Well, for heaven’s sake, what are you doing here?”

  Mason said, “Miss Shelby is ill. She’s been poisoned with barbiturates. Della Street is with her in the bathroom. I want to talk with her when she comes out.”

  “And I want to talk with her,” Lieutenant Tragg said.

  He turned to Dr. Selkirk. “Who are you?”

  “I’m Dr. Selkirk, the house physician.”

  “What’s the matter with her?”

  Mason said “You have treated her as a professional man, Doctor. You should have the consent of the patient, I believe, before answering that question.”

  Dr. Selkirk hesitated.

  Tragg said, “Don’t let that sharp lawyer bamboozle you. Did she call you?”

  “Somebody called me from this room,” Dr. Selkirk said.

  “You’re the house physician?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re representing the hotel,” Tragg said. “What’s the matter with her?”

  “I… I’m not prepared to state at this moment.”

  Tragg walked over to the pitcher which was on the floor by the bed.

  “What’s this?” he asked.

  “Contents we pumped out of her stomach.”

  “What are these pink things?” Tragg asked.

  “Pills. Pills which have become partially dissolved.”

  “Somebody tried to give her a drug?” Tragg asked.

  “That was the reason I had the stomach contents pumped out,” Dr. Selkirk said, then hesitated.

  “Well, I’ll be darned,” Tragg said.

  “However,” Dr. Selkirk went on, “I would say that those pills had been ingested within the last fifteen minutes. We’ve been here almost that long. It is my considered professional opinion that those pills were ingested just before she opened the door to let these gentlemen in.”

  A triumphant smile spread over Tragg’s face.

  “Now that,” he said, “is exactly the type of evidence I was looking for. I didn’t know whether we’d find it so easy, but—

  “Well, what do you know!”

  Mason said, “Are you absolutely certain of your diagnosis, Doctor?”

  Dr. Selkirk grinned. “You seemed to be absolutely certain of yours.”

  Mason stepped to the door of the bathroom, said, “Lieutenant Tragg is here. He’s going to ask some questions, Daphne, and I don’t want you to answer a single question, not a word.”

  “Now, wait a minute,” Tragg said, “tactics such as those are going to be responsible for making a lot of trouble for this young lady.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “I’ll take her up to Headquarters.”

  “Under arrest?”

  “Possibly.”

  “You won’t take her from here unless you do arrest her,” Mason said and then added, “And if you arrest her, your face is going to be awfully red if you have to back up in the light of subsequently discovered evidence.”

  Tragg thought things over for a moment, then walked over to the most comfortable chair in the room and seated himself.

  “Doctor,” he said to Dr. Selkirk, “I don’t want you to talk with anyone until I’ve had a chance to ask you some questions about this case. You may as well go now, if you think there’s no danger.”

  “No danger whatever,” Dr. Selkirk said. “Her pulse is strong and regular, just a little rapid. Apparently she’s under some excitement. Her heartbeat is strong and clear. Her respiration is perfect. The pupils of her eyes react normally. Her stomach has been pumped out, and any barbiturates she may have taken will perhaps help her to get a good night’s sleep, but they aren’t in the least dangerous.”

  Tragg went over to the writing desk, folded a piece of stationery so it came to a sharp point and started fishing the pills out of the liquid in the water pitcher.

  “Rather a dirty job,” he said, “but I think this is going to be evidence, the sort of evidence I’ve been looking for.”

  Della Street called out from the bathroom, “Will you hand me in the clothes that are on the chair by the bed?” Mason crossed over to the chair, picked up the clothes which had been piled helter-skelter on the chair, knocked on the bathroom door.

  Della Street opened it a crack, and Mason passed the clothes in.

  Tragg said, “Perry, I’m going to take this girl down to Headquarters. If I have to, I’ll arrest her on suspicion of murder. I have enough evidence to justify what I’m doing.”

  “Go right ahead,” Mason said, “but I’ll instruct her to answer no questions unless I’m present. This girl has been up all night. Why don’t you let her have a night’s sleep and interrogate her tomorrow?”

  “We will,” Tragg promised, “but she’s going to have that night’s sleep where we can be pretty darned sure she doesn’t gobble another dose of sleeping pills.”

  “Have it your own way,” Mason said.

  Tragg looked at him thoughtfully and said, “There’s something going on in that brain of yours, Perry. What is it?”

  Mason said, “Simply the feeling that you’re making trouble for yourself, taking irrevocable steps before you’re sure of what you’re doing.”

  “You worry about your problems and I’ll worry about mine,” Tragg said.

  After a few minutes, Della Street and Daphne emerged from the bathroom.

  “I’m sorry, Daphne,” Lieutenant Tragg said, “but you’re going to have to go up to Headquarters. I’m going to keep you tonight where I can be sure I can put my finger on you in the morning. I’ve promised Perry Mason that I’m going to let you get a night’s sleep and I will, but I’m also going to see to it that you don’t take any more sleeping pills.”

  “Now, how many did you take?”

  “Don’t answer any questions,” Mason said.

  Tragg sighed. “All right,” he said, “bring your things. I’m not going to try to search your purse here, but I warn you that when we get to the detention ward all of your possessions will be searched. Then you’ll be given prison clothes and no sleeping pills.”

  Daphne, her head erect, her eyes flashing, marched toward the door, turned to Perry Mason and said, “Mr. Smarty Pants! You with your cold water!”

  Mason warned, “Be your age, Daphne. I’m trying to help you. Your own efforts are amateurish.”

  “Well, yours are thoroughly professional and disgusting,” she snapped.

  Lieutenant Tragg listened curiously. “All right, Daphne,” he said, at length, “let’s go.”

  They left the room.

  Perry Mason said in a low voice, “Keep your key, Della.”

  They all rode down in the elevator. Tragg hustled Daphne across the lobby and into a police car.