The Case of the Drowning Duck

Chapter 12

The train, having stopped briefly to pick up a lone passenger, gathered momentum. Early morning sunlight was touching the snow-capped crests of high mountain ranges on the right. The locomotive, speeding past orange groves laden with golden fruit, whistled intermittently for grade crossings. In the sleepers, Pullman porters were beginning to haul out baggage and pile it in vestibules. In the diner, passengers were thinning out as the train approached the suburbs of Los Angeles.

Mason entered the dining car. Sally Elberton was seated alone at a table for two.

“One, sir?” the dining steward asked, holding up a finger at Mason. “We’ll have just time to serve you.”

Mason said, “Thank you. I’ll sit here,” and walked calmly over to seat himself opposite the young woman.

She kept her eyes on her plate for a moment, then elevated a cup of coffee to her lips, casually glanced at Mason, dropped her eyes back to the plate, then suddenly snapped her eyes back into a startled glance at the lawyer, the coffee cup held motionless in her hand.

“Good morning,” Mason said.

“Why — were you on this train? I didn’t know... You’ve been... south?”

“Just got on a little while ago,” Mason said.

“Oh.” She smiled. “I got on early, myself — been visiting a friend.”

A waiter bent solicitously over Mason’s shoulder. “If you’ll put your order in right away, sir...”

“Just a pot of coffee,” Mason said.

He opened his cigarette case, took out a cigarette, lit it, settled back in the chair with one arm resting lightly on the edge of the table. “Did you get to see him?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Your friend.”

She studied him for a moment as though debating whether to be angry or facetious, then smiled and said, “As it happened, my friend was not a him, but a her.”

“The name wouldn’t by any chance have been Milter?” Mason asked.

This time she decided to freeze him with cold indignation. “I don’t know what gave you that idea in the first place,” she said, “or who gave you the right to inquire into my private affairs.”

“I was just preparing you,” Mason said, “sort of giving you a dress rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal for what?”

“For the questions that are coming later.”

“I can assure you,” she said, her voice coldly formal, “that if anyone has the slightest right to ask me questions I will be able to answer without any assistance, Mr. Mason.”

Mason moved back slightly so that the waiter could bring his coffee. He handed the waiter a dollar bill, said, “Get the check, pay it, keep the change,” shifted his position slightly, waited until the grinning waiter had retired, and then asked quite casually, “Was Milter alive or dead when you called?”

She didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. Her face was a mask of cold disdain. “I don’t know to what you are referring,” she said.

Mason put sugar and cream in his coffee, stirred it, and drank the coffee slowly, enjoying his cigarette while he looked out at the scenery. The blonde who sat across from him continued to keep that cool stare of an annoyed young woman who is keeping herself very much aloof.

Mason finished his coffee, pushed back his chair, and got to his feet.

Surprise showed in the young woman’s eyes. “Is... is that all?” she asked, the words slipping in an unguarded moment through the wall of her reserve.

Mason smiled down at her. “You answered my question when I first asked it,” he said.

“How?”

“By that look of stiff surprise, by that dead pan, and the studied calmness of your reply. You’d been rehearsing your answer to it all night. You knew someone was going to ask it.”

With which he calmly strode from the diner, leaving a very disconcerted young woman craning her neck to stare at his back as he jerked open the door, crossed the vestibule, and went into the sleeper.

Mason found Marvin Adams in the last car. Adams stared up at him incredulously, got to his feet. “Mr. Mason!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were taking this train.”

“I didn’t either,” Mason said. “Sit down, Marvin. I want to have a quick talk with you.”

Adams moved over so that Mason could sit down beside him.

Mason crossed his knees, made himself as comfortable as possible, leaning an elbow on the cushioned arm of the Pullman seat. “You took a duck from Witherspoon’s place last night,” he said.

Marvin’s face broke into a grin. “Cutest little cuss you ever saw. I got to feeding him flies, and he was just like a pet.”

“What happened to him?”

“Ί don’t know what did happen to him. He disappeared.”

“How?” Mason asked.

“I took him into town in the car I was driving.”

“Your car?”

“No, one that I’d borrowed from one of the boys there in El Templo. It was the sort of car a junior-college kid would drive. You know, it has seen a lot better days, but it gets you there and gets you back.”

“You drove it out to the Witherspoon ranch?”

Marvin Adams grinned. “Took the old junk heap out and parked it right in front of the family mansion,” he said. “I always thought it made Witherspoon sore when he saw that heap parked out in front of the place. Two and three times he told me whenever I wanted to come out, if I’d just telephone in, he’d have a chauffeur drive one of his cars in and pick me up.”

“You didn’t do that?”

“I’ll say I didn’t. The old heap didn’t look like much, but it was my sort. You know the feeling.”

Mason nodded. “Lois didn’t mind?” he asked.

The gleeful grin on the young man’s face faded into a tender smile. He said quietly, “She loved it.”

“All right,” Mason said, “you took the duck into town in that car, and what happened?”

“I’d said good-by to Lois. I had a quick job of packing a suitcase on my hands, and then a train to catch — and I suddenly realized I was hungry. I wanted a hamburger. There wasn’t any parking place on the main street. I knew a nice little restaurant down on Cinder Butte Avenue. I took the car down there and parked it...”

“Directly in front of the restaurant?” Mason interrupted.

“No. The place was pretty well cluttered up with cars. I had to drive about a block before I found a parking place. Why?”

“Nothing,” Mason said. “Just getting the picture straight is all. Guess that’s the lawyer in me. Go on.”

“Why all the commotion about the duck? Is old man Witherspoon sore at losing one of his prize ducks?”

Mason avoided that question, countered with another. He said, “That time when I first met you, you were mentioning something about sinking ducks with some new type of chemical. What’s it all about?”

“They’re known as detergents,” Adams said.

“What’s a detergent?”

The young man’s face showed the enthusiasm a person feels when he’s discussing a favorite subject. “The molecules of a detergent are built up on a complex structure. One end of each of the long molecules is hydrophobic, or, in other words, it tends to be repelled by water. The other end is hydrophilic, or has an affinity for water. When a detergent is mixed with water and applied to an oily surface, the end of the molecule which doesn’t affiliate with the water adheres to the oil. The other end affiliates with the water. Everyone knows there’s a certain natural antipathy between oil and water. They don’t mix. But a detergent does more than mix them. It really marries them.”

“You mentioned something about a sinking duck,” Mason said.

“Yes, you can accomplish things with a detergent that seem physically impossible. Quite frequently, nature uses the repellent properties of oil and water to give animals or plants a certain protection. Take the duck, for instance. The duck’s feathers ordinarily repel water, and therefore enclose within a good-sized volume a mass of air. If a small amount of this detergent or wetting agent is put on the water, the detergent immediately wets the oily feathers. Then, by capillary attraction, the water soaks into the feathers in the same way it would soak up into a sponge. If you’re interested, I can send you some material on it.”

“No, thanks. That won’t be necessary. I just wanted to find out something about it. I suppose you intended to use this duck in connection with a similar experiment.”

“Yes, I did. Gee, he was a cute little cuss. I thought I’d keep him as a pet. The experiment doesn’t hurt him any. You can have a lot of fun with it; particularly when some guy doesn’t like you and wants to call you on every slip you make, you can throw out a remark about a drowning duck and...”

“The way you did with Burr?” Mason asked.

Adams grinned, nodded his head, then after a moment added, “I was showing off in front of Lois. But Burr had it coming. He’s always had a chip on his shoulder as far as I was concerned.”

“Any reason?” Mason asked.

“None that I can see. Of course, Mr. Mason, I’m going to be frank with you. Witherspoon doesn’t like the idea of my marrying into the family. I know that — but that’s not going to stop me. I’m going to do what will make Lois happy. And I have a right to consider my own happiness. In the next few months, I’m going into the Army. I don’t know what’s going to happen after that. No one does. I know it’s going to be a tough job. I... gee, I’m talking too much.”

“No, you aren’t,” Mason said. “Go on. Let’s have the rest of it.”

“Well,” Adams said, “I feel that I’m going to be risking my life, and a lot of fellows just like me are going to be risking their lives, so that birds like Witherspoon can enjoy the things they have. I suppose I shouldn’t feel that way, but — well, anyway, I feel that if I’m good enough to go out and fight for John L. Witherspoon, I’m good enough to marry’ into his family. I know it doesn’t make sense in a way, but — oh, hang it, I love Lois and she loves me, and why should we get silly and store up a lot of tragedy for ourselves. We may have only a few weeks together.”

“Why wouldn’t you consent to go to Yuma and marry her last night?” Mason asked.

Adams let his face show surprise; then his eyes narrowed slightly. “Who told you about that?” he asked in a coldly formal voice.

“Lois.”

Adams remained silent for several seconds, then said, “Because it was a sneaky way to go about it. I wrote her a letter after I got on the train, and told her if she still felt the same way about it next week, to go ahead and tell her dad what we were going to do, and then we’d do it.”

Mason nodded. “About this duck. Did you have any particular reason for taking him?”

“Yes, I did.” Adams fished in his pocket and pulled out a letter. “This speaks for itself,” he said.

Mason shook the folded sheet of paper from the envelope and read:

Mason studied the letter for almost a minute, then abruptly folded it, put it in his pocket, and said, “Let me keep this. I’ll phone Mr. Lahey. Let me know where I can get in touch with you after I’ve arranged an appointment. I’d like to be there when you perform the experiment.”

Adams seemed puzzled.

“It’s quite all right,” Mason said. “Let me handle it, and will you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t mention this letter to anyone. Don’t mention about ducks drowning, unless you are asked some specific question along those lines by someone who is entitled to expect an answer.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. Mason.”

“Suppose I should tell you this was primarily for Lois?”

“Then I’d do it.”

“Then do it,” Mason said.

The train slowed to a stop. The porter yelled, “Los Angeles. Los Angeles. All out for Los Angeles.”

Mason got to his feet. “How much of this detergent would it take to sink a duck?”

“A very small amount of the right kind. A few thousandths of one per cent.”

“It floats on the surface of the water then?”

“Well, not exactly, although it amounts to the same thing. The water repellent end of the molecules is trying to get away from the water. That makes the molecules tend to congregate in larger numbers around the surface of the water, and any surfaces which are wet with water.”

Mason said, “I see, and these molecules dissolve the oil...”

“Strictly speaking, they don’t dissolve the oil. They simply keep the oil from repelling the water. Once the detergent is removed from water and the feathers, the duck swims along the same as ever.”

“I see,” Mason said as the line of passengers started shuffling down the aisle of the train. “I’m interested in that duck. You say you left it in the machine?”

“Yes”

“Where?”

“In the front seat.”

“Couldn’t it have flopped over the back of the front seat down into the rear of the car?”

“No. It was too young to do any flying. It might have dropped down to the floor in the front of the car, but I looked the floor over pretty carefully.”

Mason said, “Say nothing whatever about this detergent, or the experiment of sinking the duck. If anyone asks you, tell them you wanted the duck simply as a pet. And don’t, for the moment, mention this letter which you received from Los Angeles.”

“All right, I’ll do it if you say so, Mr. Mason. But look here, I want that hundred dollars. That looks as big as the United States mint to me right now. A man who’s working his way through college and wanting to get married — well, you can see how it is.”

“I see no reason why I can’t take care of that,” Mason said, reaching for his wallet.

“No, no. I only meant that I didn’t want you to let this chap get away. Be sure you get in touch with him.”

Mason took out five twenty-dollar bills. “Don’t worry. I’ll describe the experiment to him and collect the hundred.”

Adams seemed dubious.

Mason shoved the currency into his hand. “Don’t be silly. This is just to save me getting in touch with you again. Where can I tell this man to get his detergent?”

“Oh, there are lots of places. The Central Scientific Company, the country’s foremost makers of laboratory equipment, in Chicago, for one — or the National Chemical Company in New Orleans. Or, of course, the American Cyanamid and Chemical Corporation in New York. He won’t have any trouble getting a detergent, just so he knows what to ask for.”

Mason asked, “Where can I get in touch with you, in case I need any more information?”

Adams took a card case from his pocket, withdrew a card, scribbled a number on it, and handed it to the lawyer.

“All right,” Mason said. “I’ll call you if I need you. I have to see about some baggage, so don’t wait for me. Go right ahead.”

Mason watched Marvin Adams walk rapidly down the runway which led to the underground crossing below the tracks.

The boy had gone but twenty or thirty steps when a quiet, unobtrusive individual who had been standing with his back against the wall, looking the passengers over, stepped out so as to block the way.

“Your name Adams?” he asked.

Marvin Adams, looking somewhat surprised, nodded.

The man flipped back the lapel of his coat far enough to show a badge. “The boys down at headquarters want to ask you a few questions,” he said. “It won’t take long.”

Mason marched on past with no sign of recognition as Adams, his eyes wide and startled, stared in astonishment at the detective from headquarters.

“You mean... they want to ask questions... of me?”

Mason didn’t hear the man’s answer.