The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

13

Mason called up his office from a drug store that was within half a dozen blocks of Dixon’s house. “Della,” he said when he had Della Street on the line, “get hold of Paul Drake at once. Tell him to look up all the evidence in connection with Harrington Faulkner’s divorce case. Somewhere around five years ago. I not only want all of the dope on the case, but I want a transcript of the evidence if we can get it, and I want to know what was actually behind it.”

“Okay, Chief, anything else?”

“That’s all. What’s new?”

She said, “I’m glad you phoned. I filed the application for a writ of habeas corpus and Judge Downey issued a writ returnable next Tuesday. They’ve now booked Sally Madison on a charge of first-degree murder.”

“I suppose they booked her as soon as they learned of the writ,” Mason said.

“I guess so.”

Mason said, “All right, I’m going up to the jail and demand an audience with her.”

“As her attorney?”

“Sure.”

“You’re going on record as representing her without first knowing what she has to say?”

Mason said, “It doesn’t make a damn bit of difference what she has to say. I’m going to represent her because I’ve got to. I have no other choice in the matter. What have they done with Tom Gridley?”

“No one knows. He’s still buried somewhere. Do you want me to prepare an application for a writ of habeas corpus for him?”

“No,” Mason said. “I don’t have to represent him — at least not until I see what Sally Madison has to say. I’m on my way.”

“Good luck to you, Chief,” Della Street said. “Sorry I got you into this.”

“You didn’t. I got you into it.”

“Well, don’t pull any punches.”

“I won’t.”

Mason hung up, jumped in his car and drove to the jail. The excessive politeness with which the officers greeted him, and the celerity with which they arranged for an interview between Sally Madison and the lawyer as soon as Mason announced that he was going to represent her as her attorney, indicated that the police were quite well satisfied with the entire situation.

Mason seated himself at the long table, down the middle of which ran a heavy-meshed steel screen. And a few moments later a matron ushered Sally Madison into the other side of the room.

“Hello, Sally,” Mason said.

She looked very calm and self-possessed as she walked across to seat herself at the opposite side of the table, the heavy screen furnishing a partition between the prisoner and the visitor.

“I’m sorry I walked out on you, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “That’s only about half of what you need to be sorry for.”

“What do you mean?”

“Going out with Della Street when you had that gun and money in your purse.”

“I shouldn’t have done that, I know.”

“Where were you when Lieutenant Tragg picked you up?”

“I hadn’t walked more than four blocks from the time I left you. Tragg picked me up and talked with me a little while. Then he left me in the custody of a couple of officers while he went on a tour of the restaurants, looking for you and Miss Street.”

“Have you made any statement to the police?”

“Oh yes.”

“What did you do that for?”

“Because,” she said, “I had to tell them the truth.”

“You didn’t have to tell them a damn thing,” Mason said.

“Well, I thought I’d better.”

“All right,” Mason said, “what’s the truth?”

She said, “I held out on you, Mr. Mason.”

“Good Lord,” Mason groaned, “tell me something new — at least give me the same break you gave the officers.”

“You won’t be angry?”

“Of course I’m angry.”

“Then you won’t — won’t help me out?”

Mason said, “I have no choice in the matter. I’m helping you out because I’ve got to help Della Street. I’ve got to try to get her out of a jam, and in order to do that I’ve got to try to get you out too.”

“Have I made trouble for her?”

“For her and for me and for everyone. Go ahead. What’s the story?”

She lowered her eyes. “I went out to see Mr. Faulkner last night.”

“What time?”

“It was right around eight o’clock.”

“Did you see him?”

“Yes.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was shaving. He had his face all lathered and he had his coat and shirt off. He was in his undershirt. There was water running in the bathtub.”

“The bathroom door was open?”

“Yes.”

“His wife was there?”

“No.”

“Who answered the door?”

“No one. The door was standing ajar, open an inch or two.”

“The front door?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“I walked in. I could hear him in the bathroom. I called to him.”

“What did he do?”

“He came out.”

“You’re sure the water in the bathtub was running?”

“Yes.”

“Hot or cold water?”

“Why — hot water.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I remember there was steam on the mirror.”

“Was Faulkner angry at you?”

“Angry at me? Why?”

“For coming to see him that way.”

“I guess he was. But everything worked out all right.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said wearily, his invitation almost in the tone of a groan. “Let’s hear the rest of it.”

“Mr. Faulkner said he didn’t want to have any trouble with me; that he’d like very much to get things cleaned up. He knew that Tom would do exactly as I suggested, and he said that we might as well come to terms.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him that if he’d give me two thousand dollars we’d call everything square. That Tom would continue to work for him for six weeks and then would take a six months layoff and then would come back to work for the pet store again; that if Tom worked out any inventions during the six months he was resting, Mr. Faulkner could have a half interest in them; that he and Tom would own them equally; that Faulkner would put Tom’s remedies on the market and he and Tom would split the net profits. They’d be sort of partners.”

“And what did Faulkner say?”

“He gave me the two thousand dollars and I surrendered the five thousand dollar check I had, and told him I’d go and see Tom and that I was certain it would be all right.”

“Are you aware of the fact that Tom went to see him at quarter past eight?”

“I don’t think Tom did.”

“I think there’s pretty good evidence he did.”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that, but I’m quite certain Tom didn’t go, because Tom had no reason to go. Tom had told me he’d leave everything in my hands.”

“And the two thousand dollars you got, you received in cash from Mr. Faulkner?”

“That’s right.”

Mason thought for a moment, then said, “All right, how about the gun?”

She said, “I’m sorry about the gun, Mr. Mason.”

“You should be.”

“It’s Tom’s gun.”

“I know.”

She said, “I have no idea how it got there, but when I went in the bedroom with Mrs. Faulkner — trying to comfort her, you know — I saw this gun on the dresser. I recognized it as Tom’s and... well, you know, I wanted to protect Tom. That was my first thought, my first instinctive reaction, and I just picked up the gun and shoved it into my purse. Knowing that a man had killed himself...”

“Been murdered,” Mason supplemented.

“Knowing a man had been murdered,” she went on, accepting his correction without protest, “I didn’t want Tom’s gun to be found on the place. I knew that Tom couldn’t have had anything to do with the murder, but I didn’t know how the gun had got there.”

“And that’s all?” Mason asked.

“I cross my heart and hope to die, Mr. Mason, that’s all.”

Mason said, “You told this story to the officers?”

“Yes.”

“What did they do?”

“They listened.”

“Did they question you?”

“Not much. A little bit.”

“Was there a shorthand reporter there?”

“Yes.”

“He took down everything you said in shorthand?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“Then they asked me if I had any objection to signing the statement and I told them certainly not, provided it was written up just the way I’d said it. They wrote out the statement and I signed it.”

“Did they tell you didn’t have to say anything?”

“Oh yes. They recited some rigamarole in a sing-song voice saying I didn’t have to say anything if I didn’t want to.”

“And that’s the way your story stands on paper?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, with a voice that was bitter with venom, “You little fool!”

“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Mason?”

Mason said, “Your story is so improbable on the face of it that it isn’t even a good fairy tale. It’s obviously something you thought up on the spur of the moment to protect Tom. But the officers were too smart to try to get you to change it right at the start. They reduced it to writing and got you to sign it. Now they’ll begin to bring pressure to bear on you so you’ll have to change it, and then you’ll be in a sweet mess.”

“But I don’t have to change it.”

“Think not?”

“No.”

“Where did this figure of two thousand dollars come from — the one that you submitted to Faulkner?”

“Why I thought that was just about a fair price.”

“You hadn’t mentioned it to him before?”

“No.”

“And Faulkner was shaving when you got there?”

“Yes.”

“Preparing to take a bath?”

“Yes.”

“He was in the bathroom?”

“Yes.”

“He came out of the bathroom when you went in there — into the bedroom?”

“Well, yes.”

“Careful now,” Mason said. “Did he come out of the bathroom or did he receive you in the bathroom?”

“Well, sort of in the door of the bathroom.”

“And gave you two thousand dollars in cash?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “You asked him for two thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“And he had two thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“Exactly two thousand dollars?”

“Well... I don’t know. He may have had more, but he gave me the two thousand dollars.”

“In cash?”

“Certainly. That’s where the money came from that was in my purse.”

“And you found that gun of Tom Gridley’s at Faulkner’s house?”

“Yes. And if you want to know something, Mr. Faulkner was the one who took the gun there in the first place. Tom was keeping it at the pet store, and then yesterday evening about seven-thirty, Mr. Faulkner was down there prowling around, taking inventory, and... well, he took the gun. Mr. Rawlins can swear to that. He saw Mr. Faulkner take it.”

“Did you tell that to the police?”

“Yes.”

“That’s in your written statement?”

“Yes.”

Mason sighed. “Let’s look at it another way. When I left you with Sergeant Dorset, he said he was going to take you out to call on James Staunton.”

“That’s right.”

“Did he do so?”

“Yes.”

“How long were you there?”

“I don’t know. Some little time.”

“And Staunton still stuck to his story that Faulkner had brought the fish to him?”

“Yes. He produced a written authorization from Mr. Faulkner to keep the fish.”

“Then what happened?”

“Then Sergeant Dorset went back to Faulkner’s house and took me with him.”

“Then what?”

“Then after an hour or so, he told me I could leave.”

“So what did you do?”

“Well, one of the men — I think he was a photographer — said that he was going downtown to police headquarters to get some films developed and I could ride along with him if I wanted. You know, said he’d give me a lift.”

“So you went with him?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

“Then I telephoned Della Street.”

“Where did you find a telephone?”

“In an all-night restaurant.”

“Near where this photographer let you out?”

“Yes, within a block.”

“Then what?”

“Then Miss Street told me to call her back inside of fifteen minutes.”

“So what did you do?”

“Had a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs and toast.”

“Can you remember where this restaurant was?”

“Yes, of course I can, and I think the night man in the restaurant will remember me. He was a man with very dark hair and I remember he had a limp when he walked. I think one leg had been broken and was quite a bit shorter than the other.”

“All right,” Mason said, “that has the ring of truth. You went back to Faulkner’s house with Dorset. He kept you there for awhile and then decided he didn’t need you any more and this photographer gave you a lift uptown. Did you talk any with him in the automobile?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Tell him what you knew about the murder?”

“No. We weren’t talking about the murder.”

“What were you talking about?”

“Me.”

“Was he making passes at you?”

“He wanted my telephone number. He didn’t seem to be interested in the murder. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry he said he’d have gone to the restaurant with me. He asked me if I wouldn’t wait there for an hour or so until after he’d developed his films.”

“That sounds natural,” Mason said. “You’re giving out stuff that has the ring of truth now. How long were you in the restaurant?”

“Just about fifteen minutes. I called Miss Street as soon as I went in and then she told me to call back in fifteen minutes, and in fifteen minutes I called back and she told me to go to the Kellinger Hotel.”

“Then what?”

“Then I got a taxi and went to the Kellinger Hotel.”

“You told the police this?”

“Yes, all of this.”

“It’s in your written statement?”

“Yes.”

“Were there any other customers in that all-night restaurant when you were there?”

“No. It’s just a little place — just a little lunch counter. Sort of a hole in the wall with a night man who does the cooking and then serves the food at the counter. It’s just a little short-order place.”

“And you got a good look at this man behind the counter?”

“Oh, yes.”

“And he got a good look at you?”

“Yes.”

“And you called Della Street twice from that restaurant?”

“Yes.”

“Now then,” Mason asked, “did you make any other calls?”

She hesitated.

“Did you?”

“No.”

“That doesn’t have the ring of truth,” Mason said.

Sally Madison was quiet.

Mason said, “You got a taxicab there?”

“Yes, right near there.”

“And went directly to the Kellinger Hotel?”

“Yes.”

Mason shook his head. “From your description of where you were, the taxi ride to the Kellinger Hotel shouldn’t have taken over two or three minutes at that hour of the night, and the meter should have been considerably less than a dollar.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that?”

“Della Street got there first,” Mason said. “She had a lot farther to go than you did.”

“Well, I... It took me a little while to find a taxicab.”

“You didn’t have one come to the restaurant?”

“No. I went out to look for a taxi stand. The restaurant man told me there’d be one right around there somewhere.”

Mason said, “When Della Street got to the Kellinger Hotel, she sat in the lobby waiting for you. She saw you when you drove up in the taxicab. She saw you pay off the driver. You didn’t open your purse. You had a bill all ready in your hand.”

“That’s right.”

“Why did you do that?”

“Because, Mr. Mason, I had that gun in my purse and that big roll of bills, and I was afraid the taxi driver might see... well, you know, might see the gun or the roll of bills, or both, and think perhaps I was a stickup artist and... well, you know how it was?”

“No, I don’t know. How was it?”

“Well, I didn’t want anyone to see what was in the purse, so I took this bill out of the purse when we were three or four blocks from the hotel, and I knew how much the meter was going to be.”

“What was it,” Mason asked, “a one-dollar bill?”

She started to say something, then instead of speaking, simply nodded.

Mason said, “Della Street said the man looked at the bill in rather a strange way, then said something to you and laughed and put it in his pocket. I don’t think he’d have done that if it had been a one-dollar bill.”

“What do you think it was?”

“A two-dollar bill,” Mason said.

She said, “It was a one-dollar bill.”

“Did you make any statement to the police about that?”

“No.”

“Did they ask you?”

“No.”

Mason said, “I think it was a two-dollar bill. I think the meter didn’t show the fifty or sixty cents that it should have shown if you’d gone from the restaurant near police headquarters to the Kellinger Hotel. I think the meter showed around a dollar and eighty cents. I think that means you took a side excursion, and I’m making one guess as to where that excursion would have been.”

She looked up at him defiantly.

“To Tom Gridley’s boardinghouse or apartment — or wherever he lives,” Mason said.

She lowered her eyes.

“Don’t you see,” Mason went on patiently, “the officers are going to trace every step you made. They’re going to locate the taxicab that took you to the Kellinger Hotel; they’re going to find out everything you did. They’ll comb the city with a fine tooth comb. If necessary, they’ll cover every taxicab in the city, but they won’t have to do that. They’ll start at police headquarters, get the numbers of taxicabs that were on duty at that hour, interview the drivers that were stationed around there. They’ll find the man that took you to the Kellinger Hotel. He’ll remember the trip — particularly if you gave him a two-dollar bill, and he made some comment to you about a two-dollar bill being unlucky, and if you told him he could keep the change, or if he didn’t like a two-dollar bill you’d give him the exact change, or something of that sort.”

She bit her lip.

“So,” Mason said, “you’d better at least come clean with me.”

“All right,” she said defiantly, “I went to Tom’s place.”

“And got the gun,” Mason said.

“No, Mr. Mason. Honestly I didn’t. I had the gun in my purse all the time. I found it just where I told you I did.”

“And Sergeant Dorset was taking you around all that time with a gun in your purse?”

“Yes.”

“And why did you go to Tom’s place?”

“Because I knew it was his gun. You see, Mr. Mason, when I went to the pet store last night, I got there very shortly after Mr. Faulkner had left. I found Mr. Rawlins terribly upset. He told me he’d lost his temper and told Mr. Faulkner just what he thought of him. He told me Mr. Faulkner had taken some things that belonged to Tom, but he said he wouldn’t tell me about what they were until today, because he said he didn’t want me to do anything rash, and he didn’t think Tom should know about it while he was having one of his bad spells.

“Well, at the time I didn’t know what those things were. It was afterwards that I learned from the police it had been this gun of Tom’s and the can of remedy that Tom had mixed up and put in the safe. If I’d known Mr. Faulkner had taken the gun I wouldn’t have been so frightened when I saw it there on the dresser in Mr. Faulkner’s house. But the minute I saw it, I recognized it as Tom’s gun. You see, he’d etched his initials on the barrel with some acid. I used to shoot the gun a lot. I’m a pretty darn good shot with a revolver, even if I do say it myself. Well, when I saw that gun there on the dresser, and saw it was Tom’s gun, I was panic-stricken. I just scooped it into my purse while you were there in the bathroom looking at the body on the floor.

“Then, just as soon as I could get away from the police, which was when I went into that restaurant, I called Tom up. I did that right after I’d called Miss Street. I told Tom that I had to see him right away, and to be sure that the door of his apartment was unlocked so I could get in.”

“So what did you do?”

“I had the taxi take me down there. I went in to see Tom. I told him what had happened. He was absolutely flabbergasted. Then I showed him the gun and asked him if he’d had any trouble with Faulkner and he — he told me the truth.”

“What was the truth?”

“He told me that he’d been keeping the gun at the pet store for the last six months; that Rawlins had told him there’d been some stickups in the neighborhood and that he wished he had a gun but he couldn’t get one, and Tom said he had one, and Rawlins got Tom to bring it to the store. Then late yesterday afternoon, when Faulkner went down and took an inventory of stock that was in the store, and took that batch of fish remedy Tom had mixed up, Faulkner must have seen the gun there and decided that he wanted it and took it home with him. That, of course, was just what happened. Rawlins has said so, and the police were fair with me. They told me about it before I made my statement to them.”

Mason studied her thoughtfully, said, “When Tom found out that Faulkner had been down there and taken the jar of stuff containing his formula and sent it out to be analyzed, he became angry. He went up to Faulkner’s house to try and effect a settlement. Faulkner gave him a check for a thousand dollars...”

“No he didn’t, Mr. Mason. Tom didn’t go out to Faulkner’s house at all, and he didn’t know a thing about Faulkner taking the remedy. I didn’t know it myself until the police told me. You can prove that by asking Rawlins.”

“You’re certain?”

“Absolutely.”

Mason shook his head and said, “That doesn’t check. Faulkner had made out a check for a thousand dollars to Tom Gridley. He was filling in the check stub when he was shot.”

“I know that’s what the officers say, but Tom didn’t go out there.”

Mason thought for a moment, then said, “If Faulkner found the gun in the pet shop and took it out to the house with him, how does it happen that Faulkner’s fingerprints aren’t on it?”

She said, “I can’t tell you that. Mr. Faulkner picked it up at the pet shop. I don’t think there’s any question about that. Even the police say that.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Look here,” he charged, “when you found that gun there on the dresser, you became panic-stricken. You thought Tom had gone out there to have a showdown with Faulkner and had lost his temper and killed Faulkner, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly that, Mr. Mason. I just didn’t think it was a good place for Tom’s gun to be. I was all upset, and when I saw the gun there... well, I didn’t think.”

“You did too,” Mason said. “You picked that gun up and wiped all the fingerprints off it, didn’t you?”

“Honestly I didn’t, Mr. Mason. I just picked up the gun and dropped it into my purse. I didn’t think about fingerprints. I just wanted to get that gun out of the way. That’s all I was thinking of.”

Mason said, “All right. Now let’s get back to the two thousand dollars. Faulkner had that two thousand dollars in the pocket of his trousers, didn’t he?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”

“Just the two thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“In the pocket of his trousers?”

“Yes.”

“And what time did you get there?”

“Around — somewhere between eight and half-past eight. I don’t know exactly when.”

“And you found the door open and walked in?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “You’re trying to cover up for Tom, and it won’t work.”

“No, I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “Look here, Sally, your story just doesn’t sound probable. Now you’ve got to face the facts. I’m talking to you not only for your own good, but for Tom’s. If you don’t do exactly as I tell you, you’re going to get Tom into a mess. He’ll be held in jail for months. He may be tried for murder. He might be convicted. But even if he’s just held in jail, you know what that will do to Tom’s health.”

She nodded.

“Now then,” Mason said in a low voice, “you’ve got to do one thing. You’ve got to tell me the truth.”

She met his eyes steadily. “I’ve told you the truth, Mr. Mason.”

Mason sat for some thirty seconds, his face a mask of concentration, his fingertips drumming on the table. Behind the heavy wire screen, the girl regarded him thoughtfully.

Abruptly, Mason pushed back his chair. “You sit right there,” he said, and, catching the eye of the matron, he explained, “I want to make a telephone call, then I’m coming back.”

Mason crossed over to the telephone booth in a corner of the visitor’s room and dialed Paul Drake’s office. A few seconds later, he had the detective on the line.

“Perry Mason, Paul,” the lawyer said. “Anything new on Staunton?”

“Where are you now, Perry?”

“I’m up at the visitors’ room in the jail.”

“Gosh, yes. I called Della a few minutes ago. She didn’t know where to get in touch with you. The police have got a statement out of Staunton and have put him back into circulation. He won’t talk about anything that’s in the statement, but one of my operatives got hold of him and asked him the question you wanted to know, and he answered that.”

“What was the answer?”

“On Wednesday night, after Faulkner had taken those fish out to Staunton’s place, and Staunton had telephoned the pet shop, he said it was quite late before the pet shop came out with the treatment.”

“Not early?”

“No. He said it was quite late. He doesn’t remember the exact time, but it was quite late.”

Mason heaved a sigh, said, “That’s a break. Sit right where you are, Paul,” and hung up the telephone.

The lawyer’s eyes were glinting as he returned to face Sally Madison across the visitor’s table. “All right, Sally,” he said in a low voice, “now we’ll talk turkey.”

Her eyes regarded him with studied innocence. “But, Mr. Mason, I have been telling you the exact truth.”

Mason said, “We’ll think back to Wednesday night, Sally, when I first met you, when I came over and sat down at the table with you in the restaurant. Remember?”

She nodded.

Mason said, “Now, at that time, you reached an agreement with Harrington Faulkner. You’d been holding him up, but you’d been exerting sufficient pressure on him to make him pay the piper. His fish were dying and he knew it, and he would have paid a good deal to have saved their lives. He also knew that this treatment for gill disease Tom had worked out was valuable, and he was willing to pay something for that.”

Again she nodded.

Mason said, “Faulkner gave you a check and a key to the office and told you to go out and treat the fish, didn’t he?”

Again she nodded.

“Now then, where did you go?”

She said, “I went directly to the store to get Tom, but Tom was fixing up some treatment for some other fish that Mr. Rawlins had consented to treat. Rawlins was fixing up a treatment tank and he wanted Tom to finish getting some panels ready.”

“That was the tank he took to Staunton’s place?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “You’ve overlooked one thing, Sally. You didn’t think anyone would ever bother to check up on that time element with Staunton. You’re lying. Tom didn’t fix up that tank for Rawlins to take to Staunton’s until after he’d gone to Faulkner’s place. You intended to rush right back to the pet store and fix up that other tank. But the fact that Faulkner’s fish were gone and that he called the police delayed you materially. You didn’t get back until quite late. And Rawlins, therefore, didn’t deliver Staunton’s tank until quite late. Staunton is positive about that.”

“He’s mistaken.”

“Oh no, he isn’t,” Mason said. “When Faulkner gave you the key to that office, it was the opportunity you’d been waiting for. You went out there with a homemade extension dipper consisting of a silver soup ladle to which had been tied a section of broomstick. You dredged something out of the bottom of that fish tank. Then you had to leave in a hurry because Tom tipped you off someone was coming. So you ran out, jumped in Tom’s car, drove around the block, and then came driving up to the office again as though you’d just arrived from the pet store.”

She shook her head in sullen, defiant negation.

Mason said, “All right, I’m telling you what’s happened. You lie to me and you’re sending Tom to his death. Do you still stick with your story?”

She nodded.

Mason pushed back his chair. “That settles it,” he said. “When Tom dies, remember that you’re responsible.”

She let him take two steps before she called him back. Then she leaned forward so that her face was all but pressed against the heavy mesh. “It’s true, Mr. Mason — everything you said.”

Mason said, “That’s better. Now suppose you tell me the truth. How did you know that bullet was in the tank?”

“How did you know it was a bullet?”

“Never mind,” Mason said, “I’m asking you. How did you know it was in the tank?”

“Mr. Faulkner told me.”

“Oh, oh!” Mason said. “Now we’re getting some place. Go ahead.”

“Mrs. Faulkner told me that she was satisfied I’d find a .38 caliber bullet somewhere in the bottom of that fish tank; that she knew Tom was going to be called on to treat those fish; that she wanted to have that bullet recovered, and she also wanted to be absolutely certain that she could prove where the bullet came from. She said that I must arrange it so that both Tom and I were present when the bullet was recovered. Well, that’s about all there was to it, Mr. Mason. When Mr. Faulkner gave me the key, I got hold of Tom, and we intended to recover the bullet first and then come back after Mr. Faulkner had arrived, and treat the fish. But when we got there and let ourselves into the office, the fish weren’t there. For a minute or two, I didn’t know what to do. But then I went ahead just as we’d planned. I took the dipper and we got the bullet out and just then we heard a car coming.”

“You didn’t leave Tom out in the car to watch?”

“No. We both had to go in there. That was the agreement. But we felt certain we had plenty of time. The house next door was dark and I knew that Mr. Faulkner would be at the café for some little time — at least I thought he would. But we heard this car coming and it frightened us and we dashed out in such a hurry that we didn’t dare to take the ladle with us.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Then we drove around the corner and waited until we saw you and Mr. Faulkner drive up. And then we came around there and acted as innocent as possible, pretending that we’d just come from the pet store.”

“And then what did you do with the bullet?”

“I gave it to Mrs. Faulkner.”

“When?”

“Not until last night”

“Why not until last night?”

“I telephoned her and told her I had it, and she said that it would be all right; that I could have the money all right but that I’d have to wait until the coast was all clear.”

“And then last night?”

“Then last night I took the bullet out to her.”

“Tom was with you?”

“No, I went alone.”

“There was some identification mark on that bullet?”

“Yes. Tom had given me an etching tool and we’d both etched our initials on the base of the bullet. Mrs. Faulkner was very insistent that we do it just that way, and told us to be very careful not to mar the sides of the bullet because she wanted to be able to prove what gun had fired the bullet.”

“How much were you to get?”

“She said that if a certain deal went through, we’d get five hundred, and if another deal went through we’d get two thousand.”

“And then last night you took the bullet out to her?”

“That’s right.”

“When?”

“About half past nine, I guess it was.”

“Half past nine!” Mason exclaimed incredulously.

“That’s right.”

“And where was she?”

“At her house.”

“And she paid you the two thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s where the two thousand came from?”

“That’s right.”

“And this story about Faulkner paying you two thousand was all poppycock?”

“Yes. I had to account for two thousand some way, and I thought that was the best way to account for it, because Mrs. Faulkner warned me that if I ever said anything about that two thousand dollars that she wouldn’t back me up at all, and the taking of that bullet would be burglary, a breaking and entering, and that both Tom and I would go to jail.”

Mason said, “Wait a minute. By half past nine Faulkner must have been dead.”

“Yes, I guess so.”

“Lying there in the bathroom.”

“Yes.”

“Then, when you took the bullet out to Mrs. Faulkner, where was she sitting? In the living room? She must have known her husband was dead by that time, if she was there in the house...”

“Not that Mrs. Faulkner,” Sally Madison explained. “Don’t you understand, Mr. Mason? It was the first Mrs. Faulkner, Mrs. Genevieve Faulkner.”

For more than ten seconds, Mason sat in utter silence, his eyes level-lidded, his brows knitted together. “Sally, you’re not lying to me?”

“Not now, Mr. Mason. I’m telling you the absolute truth.”

“Tom will back you up in your story?”

“About recovering the bullet and identifying it. But he doesn’t know the person who was going to pay me the money. Those dealings were all through me.”

Mason said, “Sally, if you’re lying to me now, you’re going to the death chamber just as sure as you’re sitting there, and Tom Gridley will die in jail.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Mason.”

“You got the two thousand dollars at nine-thirty last night?”

“That’s right.”

“But you did call on Mr. Faulkner?”

“Yes. Between eight and eight-thirty. It’s just like I told you. The door was open just an inch or two. I walked in. There was no one home except Mr. Faulkner. He was in the bathroom — was just shaving — I guess he’d just finished. There was still just a bit of lather on his face where the razor had left marks. There was hot water running in the tub and he only had on his undershirt above his trousers. I guess the running water prevented him from hearing the chimes when I pushed the bell button. I walked in because I felt I just had to see him, and his car was parked out in front so I knew he was there.”

“What happened?” Mason asked.

“He told me to get out. He told me that whenever he wanted to see me, he’d send for me, and he was very abusive. I tried to tell him that Mr. Rawlins had told me he’d taken something that belonged to Tom, and that that was just the same as stealing.”

“And what did he do?”

“He told me to get out.”

“Didn’t give you a check payable to Tom, and offer that as a settlement?”

“No.”

“Just told you to get out?”

“That’s right. He said if I didn’t get out he’d throw me out.”

“And what did you do?”

“I hesitated, and he actually pushed me out, Mr. Mason. I mean he came and put his hands right on my shoulders and pushed me out of the house.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Then I telephoned his first wife and asked her when she wanted to see me, and she told me to telephone again in about half or three-quarters of an hour. I did so, and she told me to come right out; that I could have the money. I went out there and she gave me the two thousand dollars.”

“Anyone else present?”

“No.”

“Did you see a man by the name of Dixon?”

“No.”

“Ever meet him?”

“No.”

“Do you know a man named Dixon?”

“No.”

“Mrs. Faulkner gave you the two thousand dollars. Then what did you do?”

“Then I went back to the pet store and got the panels to treat Staunton’s fish the way I’d promised Mr. Rawlins I would, and — and well, you know the rest, Mr. Mason. I went out to Staunton’s and then I telephoned you.”

Mason said, “Sally, I’m going to take a chance on you because I’ve got to take a chance on you. I want you to say three words for me.”

“What are they?”

“See my lawyer.”

She looked at him in puzzled perplexity.

“Say it,” Mason said.

“See my lawyer,” she repeated.

“You can remember that, all right?”

“Why yes, of course, Mr. Mason.”

“Say it again,” Mason said.

“See my lawyer,” she said.

Mason said, “Sally, from now on those are the only three words you know. If you ever say anything to anybody else you’re sunk. The police will be after you in an hour or so, brandishing that written statement of yours in front of you. They’ll show you inconsistencies. They’ll show you where it’s wrong. They’ll show you where you were lying. They’ll prove this and they’ll prove that and they’ll prove the other. They’ll ask you to explain why you lied about where you went in the taxicab, and they’ll tell you that if you can explain so that the explanation satisfies them they’ll turn you loose; that if you can’t, the only thing that remains for them is to arrest Tom. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“And what are you to say?” Mason asked her.

She met his eyes. “See my lawyer,” she said.

“Now,” Mason told her, “we’re beginning to get some place. Those are the only three words in the English language that you know from now on. Can you remember that?”

She nodded.

“Can you remember that, no matter what happens?”

Once more she nodded.

“And if they tell you Tom has confessed in order to save you and that you shouldn’t let the man you love take the rap and go to the death-house because he’s simply trying to save you, what are you going to say?”

“See my lawyer,” she told him.

Mason nodded to the matron. “That’s all,” he said. “My interview is finished.”