The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

“Right around eight-fifteen. Say between eight-fifteen and eight-thirty. Faulkner was to have attended a meeting of goldfish experts. He was to have been there at eight-thirty. About ten minutes past eight he telephoned and said that he’d been delayed by a business matter which had detained him longer than he’d expected; that he was just shaving and was going to jump in a hot bath, that as soon as he’d finished he’d be right over, but that he would be perhaps a few minutes late. He also said he’d have to leave probably at nine-thirty, as he had a business appointment for that hour. And then, right in the middle of the conversation, he said to someone who had evidently entered the room while he was telephoning, ‘How did you get in here? I don’t want to see you, and if and when I do want to see you, I’ll send for you.’ The person at the other end of the line could hear the mumble of some voices, and then Faulkner said, apparently very irritated, ‘Well, I’m not going to discuss it tonight. Damn it, either get out or I’ll throw you out. All right, if you want it that way, here it is,’ and then abruptly he slammed the telephone receiver into place right in the middle of the conversation.

“These people who were having the meeting wanted to be sure to have Faulkner there. They wanted to get some money out of him. They called him back at eight-twenty-five and no one answered the telephone, so they concluded Faulkner was on his way. They waited another five or ten minutes, then when he hadn’t shown up, tried to get him again. Then they went ahead with the meeting. Now, obviously, Faulkner had been dressing and getting ready to go to that meeting. There was a razor on the glass shelf in the bathroom with lather and whiskers still adhering to the blade, and Faulkner was freshly shaved when the body was discovered. Putting all that together, the police are absolutely positive that while Faulkner was telephoning, some visitor walked in unexpectedly, some visitor who hadn’t rung a doorbell, but had simply walked in. Faulkner resented his coming, and decided to throw him out physically. That’s when he slammed up the telephone and started toward the intruder. The police think that’s just about when the shot was fired.”

“And the autopsy surgeon?” Mason asked.

“Apparently the autopsy surgeon was asleep at the switch. When the cops got there, it didn’t appear to be particularly important to fix the time of death right down to a minute, and there was more work done in connection with photographing the position of the body, getting fingerprints and trying to reconstruct the physical evidence than in getting to work with body temperatures and all that sort of stuff. The detectives think it was a blunder on the part of the medical department and there’s some feeling about it. Taking the body’s temperature right at the time the police first arrived would have given them some fine corroborations. As it is, they have to rely on deductions.”

Mason said, “Yes, I can see where that would make for considerable complications. It looks as though the police might be right. What’s their theory about the overturned goldfish bowl?”

“Well,” Drake said, “the goldfish could have been in a bowl on that overturned table, and Faulkner could have upset the whole works when the shot was fired and he fell down dead.”

Mason nodded.

“Or,” Drake went on, “someone could have been in the room some time after the murder was committed and upset the goldfish bowl either accidentally or on purpose.”

“Any theories about that someone?”

“It could have been Mrs. Faulkner, who didn’t like the looks of the thing, upset the goldfish bowl, either accidentally or on purpose, then got in her car and went around the corner to wait for you to show up.”

“But how could she have known that I was coming?”

“As nearly as I can tell,” Drake said, “it’s the way you doped it out last night, Perry. Staunton must have given her a ring.”

“In other words, she was in the house. She had already discovered the body. She had upset the goldfish bowl. Staunton rang up on the telephone. He wanted to talk with Faulkner. She told him Faulkner couldn’t be reached at the present moment; was there any message she could take, and Staunton told her that Sally Madison and I were on our way out there.”

Mason got up from behind his desk, started pacing the floor restlessly. “That, of course, presupposes the fact, Paul, that there was some inducement used to make Staunton keep his mouth shut. I mean about that telephone conversation. If Faulkner died at around eight-fifteen or eight-thirty, Staunton must have learned by this time from the police or the papers that Mrs. Faulkner was there in the house with her dead husband... Hang it, Paul, what are we sticking around here talking for? Why don’t we get in touch with Staunton and see what he has to say when we really start pouring it on him.”

Drake didn’t move from his chair. “Don’t be silly, Perry.”

“You mean the police have sewed him up?”