The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

Faulkner’s wife didn’t shift her position or even turn her head to look at her husband. She said, over her shoulder, as though speaking to a child, “That will do, Harrington. There’s nothing anyone could have done. You called the police, and apparently you botched things all up with them. Perhaps if you’d have invited them in to have a drink with us they’d have been inclined to look at the situation in an entirely different manner.”

The telephone rang. Faulkner went to it, picked up the receiver, rasped, “Hello... yes, this is he speaking.”

For several seconds he listened to what was being said at the other end of the line. Then a triumphant smile spread over his face. “Then it’s all right. The deal’s closed,” he said. “We can sign the papers as soon as you can get them drawn up... Yes, I’ll expect you to pay for them... all the details of transferring title.”

He listened a moment more, then hung up.

Mason watched the man curiously as he marched from the telephone to stand in front of Sally Madison. “I hate to be held up,” he announced in a rasping voice.

Sally Madison moved only her long eyelashes. “Yes?” she asked in a drawling voice.

“You tried to hold me up tonight,” Faulkner went on, “and I warned you I was a bad man to fool with.”

She blew out cigarette smoke, said nothing.

“So,” Faulkner stated triumphantly, “I’m stopping payment on that check I gave you. I have just completed a deal that has been pending with David Rawlins by which I have purchased his business outright, including the fixtures, the good will, all formulae, and all inventions he or any of his employees have worked out.”

Faulkner turned swiftly to Tom Gridley. “You’re working for me now, young man.”

Sally Madison kept the dismay out of her eyes, but her voice held a quaver, “You can’t do that, Mr. Faulkner.”

“I’ve already done it.”

“Tom’s invention doesn’t go with Mr. Rawlins’ business. Tom perfected that on his own time.”

“Bosh. That’s what they all say. We’ll see what a judge has to say about that. And now, young woman, I’ll trouble you to return that check I gave you earlier this evening. I’ve bought the entire business for less than half of the amount you were holding me up for.”

Sally Madison shook her head doggedly. “You closed the deal. You paid for the formula.”

“A formula you had no right to sell. I should have you arrested for obtaining money under false pretenses. As it is, you’ll either give me back that check or I’ll stop payment on it.”

Tom Gridley said, “After all, Sally, it doesn’t amount to so much. It’s only...”

Faulkner turned to him. “Not amount to so much, young man! Is that any way to talk about...”

Mrs. Faulkner’s voice showed interest as her husband suddenly became silent. “Go on, dear,” she said. “Let’s hear how much. I’m wondering just how much you paid her.”

Faulkner scowled at her and said savagely. “If it’s any of your business, it was five thousand dollars.”

“Five thousand dollars!” Tom Gridley exclaimed. “Why I told Sally to sell it for...” Abruptly he caught Sally Madison’s eyes and stopped speaking in the middle of the sentence.

Drake hurriedly gulped down his drink as he saw Perry Mason put down his glass, arise from his chair, cross over to Faulkner. “I think,” Drake said in a low voice to Della Street, who was watching Mason with amused eyes, “this is where we came in — and it’s damned good whiskey. I hate to waste it.”

Mason said to Faulkner, “I don’t think we need to trouble you further, Mr. Faulkner. Your case doesn’t interest me in the least, and there’s no charge for the preliminary investigation.”

Mrs. Faulkner said hastily, “Please don’t judge him too harshly, Mr. Mason. He’s just a bundle of nerves.”

Mason bowed. “And I’d also be a bundle of nerves — if I had him for a client. Good night.”

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.”