The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

“And,” Mason said, “so that the deal would look better for income tax purposes, you arranged to give Faulkner a check for twenty-five thousand more than the price that was actually agreed upon and have Faulkner bring you twenty-five thousand dollars in cash.”

Wilfred Dixon’s eyes closed and opened three times, as though they might have been regulated by clockwork. “Come in,” he invited. “Mrs. Genevieve Faulkner is with me at the moment. I saw no reason to disturb her, but perhaps we’d better get this over with once and for all.”

“Perhaps we had,” Mason said.

Mason followed Dixon into the room, shook hands with Genevieve Faulkner, calmly seated himself, lit a cigarette and said, “So, of course, having received the twenty-five thousand dollars from Faulkner in a deal which was completely fraudulent because it had for its primary purpose an attempt to defraud the Collector of Internal Revenue, you inadvertently paid Sally Madison two thousand dollars in cash from the twenty-five thousand which Faulkner had previously delivered to you. Now, that means that you must have seen Faulkner either at his house or at some other place, subsequent to the time Sally Madison left Faulkner’s residence, and before you paid the money over to Sally Madison out here.”

Dixon smiled and shook his head at Genevieve Faulkner. “I don’t know just what he’s driving at, Genevieve,” he said calmly. “Apparently it’s some last-minute theory he’s using to try and get his client acquitted. I thought perhaps you’d better hear it.”

“The man seems to be crazy,” Genevieve Faulkner said.

“Let’s go back and look at the evidence,” Mason said. “Faulkner was very anxious to attend a banquet where some goldfish experts were to talk and where he was to mingle with some other goldfish collectors. He was in such a hurry that he wouldn’t even discuss matters with Sally Madison. He rushed her out of the house. He had drawn the water for his bath. He had shaved but part of his face, still had lather on it. It’s reasonable to suppose that after he put Sally Madison out, he washed his face. Then, before he had had a chance to clean his razor, before he had had a chance to take off his clothes and hastily jump into his hot bath, the telephone rang.

“Whatever was said over the telephone was something that was of the greatest importance to Harrington Faulkner. It was something that caused him to forego his bath, to put on his shirt, tie and coat and go dashing out to meet the person who had telephoned. That person must have been either you, Genevieve, or both. He paid over the twenty-five thousand dollars, and then returned to his house. By that time it was too late to attend the banquet. The water, which had been hot in the bathtub when he had drawn it some time before, had now become cold.

“Harrington Faulkner had another appointment he didn’t care to miss. But he had an hour or so before that appointment. He decided that he’d treat a fish that had tail rot, and then segregate that fish from the others. The treatment for tail rot is to immerse the fish in equal parts of hydrogen of peroxide and water. So Faulkner once more took off his coat and shirt, went to the kitchen, got a graniteware pot, put equal parts of hydrogen of peroxide in water in it, immersed the fish in that water, and then, when the treatment was finished, put that fish in the bathtub.

“At that point, Faulkner remembered that he had given a thousand-dollar check payable to Tom Gridley, which he hadn’t entered on the stub of his checkbook and therefore hadn’t deducted from his bank account. In view of the twenty-five-thousand dollar withdrawal, the balance in his checking account had been diminished materially, and he wanted to be certain that he kept right up to date on it. So he got his checkbook, took his fountain pen from the pocket of his coat, and picked up a magazine to use as a backer so he could write. He found that one magazine wasn’t enough, so at random, he picked up two old magazines. There was some reason why he remained in the bathroom to write that check stub. It probably had to do with the exact timing of his fish treatment. He was writing on the stub of that check when he was killed.”

Dixon yawned and politely stifled the yawn with his forefinger. “I’m afraid, Mr. Mason, you’re not getting anywhere with that theory.”

Mason said, “Perhaps not, but my own idea is that once the police start questioning Mrs. Genevieve Faulkner along the lines of that theory of mine, they’ll either force her to disgorge that other twenty-three thousand dollars and make a statement which will clarify the situation, or they’ll start searching the place and find the twenty-three thousand dollars.”

With elaborate courtesy, Dixon moved over toward the phone. “Would you like to have me call the police and suggest that to them?”

Mason looked him squarely in the eyes. “Yes,” he said, “and when you make the cad, ask for Lieutenant Tragg.”