The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

4

Mason, attired in pajamas and lounging robe, stretched out in a reclining chair, a floor lamp shedding soft radiance on the book in his hand. The telephone at his elbow rang sharply.

Only Paul Drake and Della Street had the number of this telephone. So Mason promptly closed his book, scooped the receiver to his ear and said, “Hello.”

Drake’s voice came over the wire. “Remember the golddigger, Perry?”

“The one in the restaurant the other night?”

“That’s right.”

“What about her?”

“She’s having a fit trying to get in touch with you. She’s begging me to give her your number.”

“Where is she?”

“Right now she’s on the other telephone.”

“What does she want?”

“Darned if I know, but she seems to think it’s terribly urgent.”

“It’s after ten o’clock, Paul.”

“I know it, but she’s begging with tears in her voice to be permitted to talk with you.”

Mason said, “Won’t tomorrow morning be all right?”

“She says not. It’s something terribly important. She’s made a sale with me, Perry, otherwise I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Get a number where I can call her,” Mason said.

“I’ve already done that. Got a pencil handy?”

“Okay. What’s the number?”

“Columbia six-nine-eight-four-three.”

“Okay. Tell her to hang up and wait for a call from me. Where are you, at the office?”

“Yes. I looked in on my way to the apartment to see if there was anything important, and this call came in while I was here. She’d called twice before within a period of ten minutes.”

Mason said, “Okay. Better stick around there for a while, Paul, in case it turns out to be something really important. I’ll call you in case I need you. Stick around for an hour anyhow.”

“Okay,” Drake said, and hung up.

Mason waited a full minute, then dialed the number Drake had given him. Almost immediately he heard Sally Madison’s throaty voice saying, “Hello... hello... this is Miss Madison. Oh, it’s Mr. Mason! Thank you so much for calling, Mr. Mason! Something has happened that makes it terribly important I see you at once. I’ll come any place you say. But I must see you, I simply must.”

“What’s it about?”

“We’ve found the goldfish.”

“What goldfish?”

“The Veiltail Moor Telescopes.”

“You mean the ones that were stolen?”

“Well... yes.”

“Where are they?”

“A man has them.”

“Have you notified Faulkner?”

“No.”

“Why not do it?”

“Because... because of the circumstances. I don’t think... I think I’d better talk with you, Mr. Mason.”

“And it won’t keep until tomorrow?”

“No. No. Oh, please, Mr. Mason. Please let me see you.”

“Gridley with you?”

“No. I’m alone.”

“All right. Come up,” Mason said, and gave her the address of his apartment. “How long will it take you to get here?”

“Ten minutes.”

“All right. I’ll be waiting.”

Mason hung up the telephone, dressed leisurely, and had just finished knotting his necktie when a ring sounded at the outer door of his apartment. He let Sally Madison in, said, “What’s all the excitement?”

Her eyes were bright with animation and excitement, but her face still retained its glazed veneer of expressionless beauty. “You remember that Mr. Rawlins wanted a tank built...”

“Who’s Rawlins?” Mason asked.

“The man Tom Gridley is working for. He owns the pet store.”

“Oh yes, I remember the name now.”

“Well, that man who had Tom fix up a tank for him was James L. Staunton. He’s in the insurance business and no one seems to know very much about him. I mean that he hasn’t ever done anything with goldfish as far as anyone knows. He telephoned in to Mr. Rawlins Wednesday night and told him he had some very valuable fish that had gill disease and he understood the Rawlins Pet Shop had a treatment that would cure it, and he was willing to pay any amount if Rawlins would treat these fish. He finally offered a hundred dollars if Mr. Rawlins would promise to give him whatever was necessary for the fish. Well, that was too much money for Rawlins to pass up, so he got hold of Tom and insisted that Tom put a couple of panels in a small tank before we went out to Mr. Faulkner’s that night. That’s what detained us. You remember I didn’t even finish my dinner, but went tearing out to get hold of Tom the minute I got the check, because I didn’t want Faulkner’s fish to die on us.”

Mason nodded silently as she paused in her rapid-fire statement long enough to take a quick breath.

“Well,” she went on, “Mr. Rawlins himself delivered the tank and Staunton told him his wife was ill and he didn’t want to have any noise — and that he’d take care of the fish himself if Mr. Rawlins would just tell him how to do it. So Rawlins told him there wasn’t anything to it, just to fill the tank with water, transfer the fish, and that sometime the next morning Rawlins would send out another panel to be inserted in the tank. You’re getting this straight, Mr. Mason?”

“Go ahead, I think I’m getting it okay.”

“Well, Tom painted up some panels and Mr. Rawlins took the second panel out the next morning. Once more Staunton met him at the door, told him in a whisper that his wife had had a very bad night, and that it would be better if Rawlins didn’t come in. So Rawlins told him that there was nothing complicated about the treatment — to just slip the old panel out of the tank and gently put the new one in. He asked Mr. Staunton about how the fish were, and Staunton said they seemed to be better. He took the panel and paid Mr. Rawlins fifty dollars on account, and Rawlins told him a new panel would have to be put in the tank thirty-six to forty-six hours later.”

Once more she stopped, partially out of breath, partially in preparation for the dramatic climax to her story.

Mason nodded for her to proceed.

“Well, tonight I was down at the store. Tom had been home sick, and I was helping Mr. Rawlins. You see, Mr. Faulkner really did buy out the store and Rawlins was taking inventory, and because Tom was sick today he needed someone to help him. Mr. Faulkner had been there from a little after five o’clock until around seven-thirty, making a lot of trouble. He’d even done something terrible that Mr. Rawlins wouldn’t tell me about. It had upset Mr. Rawlins so that he’d quarreled — Rawlins said he’d tell me tomorrow — he’d taken something of Tom’s. Well, all of this is just to explain why I promised to take out that treatment. You see, Mr. Rawlins was planning to go out to Staunton’s house to put that last panel in the tank when Rawlins’ wife called up and said there was a movie she wanted to see and wanted him to take her. When Mrs. Rawlins wants anything like that she doesn’t want to be put off, and so Mr. Rawlins said he’d have to go and I told him I’d finish up, lock up the store and use my own car to take the panel out.”

“And you did?” Mason asked.

“That’s right. Mr. Rawlins was so nervous he was almost crazy. I finished the inventory and then just a short time ago took the panel out there. Mr. Staunton wasn’t home, but his wife was there and I told her I was from the pet store and that I had a new panel to insert in the fish tank, that it would only take a minute or two to put it in. She was very gracious and told me to come right on in. She said her husband had the fish tank in his study. That he was out and wouldn’t be back for awhile and that it would probably be better if I put the panel in, as she didn’t want to take the responsibility.”

“So you went on in with the panel?” Mason asked.

“That’s right, and when I got in the study I found the tank contained a pair of Veiltail Moor Telescopes!”

“What did you do?”

“For a moment I was too flabbergasted to do anything.”

“Where was Mrs. Staunton?”

“Standing right beside me. She’d shown me into the study and was waiting for me to change the panel.”

“What did you do?”

“After a minute I just walked over to the tank, took the old panel out and slipped in the new one that was coated with Tom’s remedy. Then I tried to start talking about the fish. You know, saying they were very beautiful, asking whether Mr. Staunton had any other fish or not, and how long he’d had these.”

“What did his wife say?”

“She thought the fish were ugly, and said so. She told me that her husband picked them up somewhere, that he’d never dabbled around with fish before and didn’t know anything about them. She said that some friend had given him these two and that they hadn’t been well when he got them. That the friend was giving him specific instructions, telling him just what to do. She said that personally she’d have liked it a lot better if her husband had started out with just a couple of plain goldfish. That these were supposed to be extra fancy — that they gave her the creeps with their long, sweeping black fins and tails, their swivel eyes and the funereal color. She said that somehow they seemed symbolic of death. Well, of course, that wasn’t anything new because the fish have long been called ‘The Fish of Death,’ due to some ancient superstition and the peculiar appearance they have.”

“Then what?” Mason asked.

“Well, I hung around and talked with her for a minute and lied to her a little. I told her I’d been sick and that there’d been a lot of sickness at the store. I talked along those lines for a minute and then she told me that she had been sick last year but that she hadn’t even had so much as a headache since then — that she had taken some cold shots a year ago and started taking vitamins steadily, and that the combination seemed to have done wonders for her.”

“And then?” Mason asked.

“Then I realized what I was up against, and suddenly became afraid Mr. Staunton would come back and I’d run right slap into him. So I got out just as fast as I could. I’ve been terribly afraid that if he came home his wife would tell him what we were talking about, and about the questions I’d asked, and then he’d get rid of the fish, or do something.”

“What makes you think they were Faulkner’s fish?”

“Oh, I’m certain they were. They’re the same size and description and they were suffering from gill disease, although they’re pretty well cured now and, of course, Veiltail Moors, particularly Telescopes, are very rare and it’s inconceivable a man would start out with two fish like that, particularly if they were sick. And then, of course, there’s all those lies he told about his wife being sick. All the things he did to keep Mr. Rawlins from getting a look at the fish.”

“You’ve told Tom about this?” Mason asked.

“No, I’ve told no one. I got out of the house and went to your office and tried to get the night janitor to tell me where I could get in touch with you. He wouldn’t do it — said he didn’t know and then I was almost frantic. I remembered your secretary’s name was Della Street, but I couldn’t find her listed in the telephone book. Then I remembered you’d said Mr. Drake was the head of the Drake Detective Agency, so I looked him up in the book and found the number of his office. I called there and the night operator told me Mr. Drake was out but that he usually looked in at the office before he went home at night and that if he came in within the next hour they’d have him call me if I’d leave my number. I left my number but I also kept calling because I was afraid they might forget to give him the message.”

“And you haven’t told anyone about this?”

“No. I didn’t even tell Mr. Drake. I decided I wouldn’t tell him unless I had to in order to reach you.”

“You didn’t tell Tom Gridley?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because Tom’s been terribly upset. He’s started running a high temperature every afternoon. You see, Mr. Faulkner has been exerting lots of pressure.”

“Did he stop payment on his check?”

“Not that exactly. He put it up to me in another way. He told me that the minute I cashed that check he’d have me arrested for obtaining money under false pretenses. He claims Tom developed the invention on Rawlins’ time and that the whole secret of the thing is a part of the business that he’s bought.”

“He really bought the business?”

“Oh yes. He paid Rawlins two thousand for the business, the stock and the good will, and made Rawlins agree to stay on and run it for a small salary. Rawlins hates him. I think everyone hates him, Mr. Mason. And yet the man is so self-righteous according to his own code. He thinks the law is the law, and business is business. I presume he really thinks that Tom is holding out on him, and that I was trying to hold him up — and I guess I was.”

“Has he made any offer by way of settlement?”

“Oh yes.”

“What?”

“Tom is to turn over his formula. I’m to surrender the five thousand dollar check. Tom is to agree to keep on working in the pet store for a year at his present salary and to turn over all subsequent treatments or inventions he may work out. In return for all that, Mr. Faulkner will pay Tom seven hundred and fifty dollars and keep paying him the same salary.”

“Generous, isn’t he?” Mason said. “No provision for Tom to take a lay-off for treatment?”

“No. That’s what makes me so angry. Another year in that pet store and Tom would be past all cure.”

“Doesn’t Faulkner take that into consideration?”

“Apparently not. He says Tom can get out in the sunshine on weekends, and that if Tom is too sick to work now, he doesn’t need to accept the proposition. He says Tom’s at liberty to quit work any time he wants to, that Tom’s health is Tom’s own personal problem and that it’s nothing to Faulkner. Faulkner says that if he went through life worrying about the health of his employees, he wouldn’t have any time left to devote to his own business. Oh, Mr. Mason, it’s men like that who make the world such a hard place for other men to live and work in!”

“So you didn’t tell Faulkner about finding his fish?”

“No.”

“And you don’t want to?”

She met Mason’s eyes. “I’m afraid he’d accuse us of having stolen them or something. I want you to handle this, Mr. Mason. And I feel that somehow you might — well, might turn some of Mr. Faulkner’s weapons against him — perhaps do something for Tom.”

Mason grinned, reached for his hat. “It took you long enough to say so,” he observed. “Come on. Let’s go.”

“You don’t think it’s too late — to do something tonight?”

“It’s never too late to learn,” the lawyer said. “And we’re at least going to learn something.”