The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

“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.