The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

Mason shook his head and said, “That doesn’t check. Faulkner had made out a check for a thousand dollars to Tom Gridley. He was filling in the check stub when he was shot.”

“I know that’s what the officers say, but Tom didn’t go out there.”

Mason thought for a moment, then said, “If Faulkner found the gun in the pet shop and took it out to the house with him, how does it happen that Faulkner’s fingerprints aren’t on it?”

She said, “I can’t tell you that. Mr. Faulkner picked it up at the pet shop. I don’t think there’s any question about that. Even the police say that.”

Mason’s eyes narrowed. “Look here,” he charged, “when you found that gun there on the dresser, you became panic-stricken. You thought Tom had gone out there to have a showdown with Faulkner and had lost his temper and killed Faulkner, didn’t you?”

“Not exactly that, Mr. Mason. I just didn’t think it was a good place for Tom’s gun to be. I was all upset, and when I saw the gun there... well, I didn’t think.”

“You did too,” Mason said. “You picked that gun up and wiped all the fingerprints off it, didn’t you?”

“Honestly I didn’t, Mr. Mason. I just picked up the gun and dropped it into my purse. I didn’t think about fingerprints. I just wanted to get that gun out of the way. That’s all I was thinking of.”

Mason said, “All right. Now let’s get back to the two thousand dollars. Faulkner had that two thousand dollars in the pocket of his trousers, didn’t he?”

She hesitated a moment, then said, “Yes.”

“Just the two thousand dollars?”

“Yes.”

“In the pocket of his trousers?”

“Yes.”

“And what time did you get there?”

“Around — somewhere between eight and half-past eight. I don’t know exactly when.”

“And you found the door open and walked in?”

“Yes.”

Mason said, “You’re trying to cover up for Tom, and it won’t work.”

“No, I’m telling you the truth, Mr. Mason.”

Mason said, “Look here, Sally, your story just doesn’t sound probable. Now you’ve got to face the facts. I’m talking to you not only for your own good, but for Tom’s. If you don’t do exactly as I tell you, you’re going to get Tom into a mess. He’ll be held in jail for months. He may be tried for murder. He might be convicted. But even if he’s just held in jail, you know what that will do to Tom’s health.”

She nodded.

“Now then,” Mason said in a low voice, “you’ve got to do one thing. You’ve got to tell me the truth.”

She met his eyes steadily. “I’ve told you the truth, Mr. Mason.”

Mason sat for some thirty seconds, his face a mask of concentration, his fingertips drumming on the table. Behind the heavy wire screen, the girl regarded him thoughtfully.

Abruptly, Mason pushed back his chair. “You sit right there,” he said, and, catching the eye of the matron, he explained, “I want to make a telephone call, then I’m coming back.”

Mason crossed over to the telephone booth in a corner of the visitor’s room and dialed Paul Drake’s office. A few seconds later, he had the detective on the line.

“Perry Mason, Paul,” the lawyer said. “Anything new on Staunton?”

“Where are you now, Perry?”

“I’m up at the visitors’ room in the jail.”

“Gosh, yes. I called Della a few minutes ago. She didn’t know where to get in touch with you. The police have got a statement out of Staunton and have put him back into circulation. He won’t talk about anything that’s in the statement, but one of my operatives got hold of him and asked him the question you wanted to know, and he answered that.”

“What was the answer?”

“On Wednesday night, after Faulkner had taken those fish out to Staunton’s place, and Staunton had telephoned the pet shop, he said it was quite late before the pet shop came out with the treatment.”

“Not early?”

“No. He said it was quite late. He doesn’t remember the exact time, but it was quite late.”

Mason heaved a sigh, said, “That’s a break. Sit right where you are, Paul,” and hung up the telephone.

The lawyer’s eyes were glinting as he returned to face Sally Madison across the visitor’s table. “All right, Sally,” he said in a low voice, “now we’ll talk turkey.”

Her eyes regarded him with studied innocence. “But, Mr. Mason, I have been telling you the exact truth.”

Mason said, “We’ll think back to Wednesday night, Sally, when I first met you, when I came over and sat down at the table with you in the restaurant. Remember?”

She nodded.

Mason said, “Now, at that time, you reached an agreement with Harrington Faulkner. You’d been holding him up, but you’d been exerting sufficient pressure on him to make him pay the piper. His fish were dying and he knew it, and he would have paid a good deal to have saved their lives. He also knew that this treatment for gill disease Tom had worked out was valuable, and he was willing to pay something for that.”

Again she nodded.

Mason said, “Faulkner gave you a check and a key to the office and told you to go out and treat the fish, didn’t he?”

Again she nodded.

“Now then, where did you go?”