The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

“Too bad about you. What’s Drake doing here?”

“Looking around.”

“How’d you get here?” Dorset asked Drake suspiciously.

“I told Sally Madison to call him at the same time she called you.”

“What’s that?” Dorset demanded sharply. “Who called me?”

“Sally Madison.”

“I thought it was the wife.”

“No, the wife was getting ready to have hysterics. Sally Madison put through the call.”

“What did you want Drake for?”

“Just to look around.”

“What for?”

“To see what he could find out.”

“Why? You’re not representing anyone, are you?”

Mason said, “If you want to get technical, I wasn’t paying Faulkner a social call at this hour of the night.”

“What’s this about a man named Staunton having those stolen goldfish?”

“He claims Faulkner gave them to him to keep.”

“Faulkner reported to the police that they’d been stolen.”

“I know he did.”

“They say you were here when the radio officers got here the night the fish were stolen.”

“That’s right. Drake was here too.”

“Well, what’s your idea? Were they stolen or weren’t they?”

Mason said, “I’ve never handled any goldfish, Sergeant.”

“What’s that got to do with it?”

“Nothing, perhaps. Again, perhaps a lot.”

“I don’t get you.”

“Ever stand on a chair and dip a soup ladle down into a four-foot goldfish tank, try to pick up a fish and then, sliding your hands along a four-foot extension handle, raise that fish to the surface, lift him out of a tank and put him into a bucket?”

Sergeant Dorset asked suspiciously, “What’s that got to do with it?”

Mason said, “Perhaps nothing. Perhaps a lot. My own idea is, Sergeant, that the ceiling of the room in that real estate office is about nine and one-half feet from the floor, and I would say that the bottom of the fish tank was about three feet six inches from the floor. The tank itself is four feet deep.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” Dorset asked.

“Measurements,” Mason said.

“I don’t see what that has to do with it.”

“You asked me if I thought the fish had been stolen.”

“Well.”

Mason said, “The evidence that indicates they were stolen consists of a silver soup ladle, to the handle of which was tied a four-foot extension pole.”

“Well, what’s wrong with that? If you were going to reach to the bottom of a four-foot fish tank you’d need a four-foot pole, wouldn’t you? Or does your master mind have some new angle on that?”

“Only,” Mason said, “that if you were lifting a goldfish out of water which was within a half inch of the top of a four-foot tank and that tank was already three and a half feet from the floor, the surface of your water would then be seven feet five inches above the floor.”

“So what?” Dorset asked, his voice showing that he was interested, despite his elaborate attempt to maintain a mask of skeptical sarcasm.

“So,” Mason said, “you would lower your four-foot ladle into the tank, all right, because you could slip it in on an angle, but when you started lifting it out you’d have to keep it straight up and down in order to keep from spilling your fish. Now let’s suppose your ceiling is nine and a half feet from the floor and the surface of the water is seven and a half feet from the floor, then when you’ve raised the ladle, with its four-foot extension handle, some two feet from the bottom of the tank, the top of your extension handle knocks against the ceiling. Then what are you going to do? If you tilt your pole on an angle so you can get the ladle out of the tank, your fish slips out of the ladle.”

Dorset got the idea. He stood frowning portentously, said at length, “Then you don’t think the fish were stolen.”

Mason said, “I don’t think they were lifted out of that tank with any soup ladle and I don’t think that soup ladle with its four-foot extension was used in fish stealing.”

Dorset said somewhat dubiously, “I don’t get it,” and then added rather quickly, as though trying to cover his confession, “shucks, there’s nothing to it. You’d have held the soup ladle with one hand straight up and down. The end of the pole would have been up against the ceiling, all right, but you’d have reached down into the water with your other hand and pulled out the fish.”

“Two feet of water?” Mason asked.

“Why not?”

Mason said, “Even supposing you’d lift the fish from the bottom of the tank up to within two feet of the surface. Do you think you could have reached down with your other hand, caught the fish in your fingers and lifted him to the surface? I don’t, and, furthermore, Sergeant, if you want to try rolling up your sleeve and picking something out of two feet of water, you’ll find that you’re rolling your sleeve pretty high. Somewhere past the shoulder, I’d say.”

Dorset thought that over, said, “Well, it’s a nice point you’re making, Mason. I’ll go in there and make some measurements. You may be right.”

“I’m not trying to sell you anything. You simply asked me what I thought about the fish being stolen, and I told you.”

“When did that idea occur to you?”