The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

“Drake probably lit a cigarette,” Mason said casually.

“Yes, I remember that. He did for a fact,” the officer on guard admitted readily enough. “He walked over to the car just as though he’d been going to drive off, lit a cigarette and sat there and smoked for awhile.”

“Probably he just wanted a place to sit down,” Mason observed, yawning, “and thought that was a good place to take a load off his feet.”

“So you thought he was going to drive off,” Sergeant Dorset said sarcastically to the officer.

“Well, I sort of thought... well, you know...”

“And I suppose if he’d driven that car off you’d have stood there with your hands in your pockets while this guy got away with what may be an important piece of evidence.”

In the embarrassed silence which followed, Mason said placatingly, “Well, Sergeant, we all make mistakes.”

Dorset grunted, turned to the officer and said, “Jim, as soon as they get done with those fingerprints in the bedroom and bathroom, tell the boys I said to go over that automobile for fingerprints. Pay particular attention to the steering wheel and the gear shift lever. If they find any fingerprints, lift them and put them with the others.”

Mason said dryly, “Yes, indeed, Sergeant, we all make mistakes.”

Once more Sergeant Dorset merely grunted.

8

Mason had started his car motor and was just pulling away from the curb when he saw headlights behind him. The headlights blinked significantly, once, twice, three times. Then the car slowed almost to a crawl.

Mason drove rapidly for a block and a half, watching the headlights in his rearview mirror, then he pulled in to the curb and the car behind him promptly swung in to a position just behind Mason’s automobile and stopped. Paul Drake slid out from behind the steering wheel and walked across to Mason’s car, where he stood with one foot on the running board.

“Think I’ve found something, Perry.”

“What?”

“The place where Mrs. Faulkner was parked, waiting for you to show up.”

“Let’s take a look,” Mason said.

“Of course,” Drake added apologetically, “I haven’t a lot to go on. When a car is parked on a paved roadway it doesn’t leave many distinctive traces, particularly when you take into consideration the fact that hundreds of automobiles are parked every day.”

“What did you find?” Mason interrupted.

“Well,” Drake said, “when I gave that car the once-over I did everything I could in the short time I had available. I noticed the choke was out, almost as soon as I got in; and then I lit the match to light my cigarette, turned on the ignition, and that gave me a chance to look at the gasoline gauge and the temperature gauge. The gasoline gauge didn’t tell me anything. The tank was half full of gas and that of course just doesn’t mean a darn thing. The temperature gauge showed the motor was barely warmed up and that was all I could find from the gauges, but I thought I’d better take a look in the ash tray, so I pulled it out and the darn thing was empty. At the time, it didn’t register with me. I just saw the ash tray was empty and let it go at that.”

“You mean there wasn’t a single thing in it?” Mason asked.

“Not so much as a burnt match.”

“I don’t get it,” Mason said.

“I didn’t get it at first, myself. It wasn’t until I had driven away from Faulkner’s house that the thing began to register with me. Ever sit in a parked automobile waiting for something to happen and being a little nervous — not knowing what to do with yourself?”

“I don’t believe I have,” Mason said. “Why?”

“Well, I have,” Drake told him, “lots of times. It usually happens on a shadowing job when the man you’re tailing goes into a house somewhere and you just have to stick around and wait, with nothing in particular to do. You begin to get fidgety, and after a while, you begin to play around with the dashboard. You don’t care to turn on the radio because a parked car with a radio blaring out noise is too noticeable, so you just sit there and fiddle around.”

“And empty the ash tray?” Mason asked, his voice showing keen interest.

“That’s right. You’ll do it nine times out of ten, if you sit there long enough. You start thinking of all the little chores there are around a car and the ash tray is one of the first things you think of. You take it out and dump it out of the window on the left-hand side of the car, being sure you’ve got it all clean.”

“Go ahead,” Mason said.

“So,” Drake told him, “after I drove away from Faulkner’s place, I started looking for some place where you could park an automobile and still see the entrance to the Faulkner house.”

“Some place straight down the street?” Mason asked.