The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

“Almost as soon as I saw the room with the fish tank pulled out to the edge of the sideboard and the soup ladle with its extension handle lying on the floor.”

“You didn’t say anything about that to the officers who came out to investigate.”

“The officers who came out to investigate didn’t ask me anything about that.”

Dorset thought that over, then abruptly changed the subject. “What’s this about this guy Staunton having the fish?”

“He’s got them.”

“The same fish that were taken out of the tank?”

“Sally Madison thinks they’re the same.”

“You’ve talked with Staunton?”

“Yes.”

“And he said Faulkner gave the fish to him?”

“That’s right.”

“What would be the idea in that?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“But you heard Staunton state that Faulkner gave him those fish?”

“That’s right.”

“Did he say when?”

“Sometime in the evening of the day Faulkner reported them as having been stolen — last Wednesday, I believe it was. He wasn’t too definite about the time.”

Dorset was thinking that over when a taxicab swung around the corner and came to a stop. A woman jumped out without waiting for the cab driver to open the door. She handed him a bill, then ran up the walk, a small overnight bag clamped under her arm.

The officer on guard blocked the porch stairway. “You can’t go in here.”

“I’m Adele Fairbanks, a friend of Jane Faulkner. She telephoned me and told me to come...”

Sergeant Dorset said, “It’s all right, you can go in. But don’t try to get into the bedroom yet and don’t go near the bathroom until we tell you you can. See if you can get Mrs. Faulkner to calm down. If she starts getting hysterical, we’re going to have to call in a doctor.”

Adele Fairbanks was in the late thirties. Her figure had very definitely filled out. Her hair was dark but not dark enough to be distinctive. She wore thick-lensed glasses and had a nervous mannerism of speech which caused her words to spurt out in groups of four or five at a time. She said, “Oh, it’s simply terrible... I just can’t believe it. Of course, he was a peculiar man... But to think of someone deliberately killing him... If it was deliberate, officer... It wasn’t suicide, was it? No, it couldn’t have been... He had no reason to...”

“Go on inside,” Dorset interrupted hastily. “See what you can do for Mrs. Faulkner.”

As Adele Fairbanks eagerly popped through the door and into the house, Sergeant Dorset said to Mason, “This Staunton angle looks to be worth investigating. I’m going to take Sally Madison out there. I’d like to have you as witnesses because I want to be damn certain he doesn’t change his story about Faulkner giving him those fish. If he does change it, then you’ll be there to confront him with the admission he made earlier in the evening.”

Mason shook his head. “I’ve got other things to do, Sergeant. Sally will be all the witness you need. I’m going places.”

“And that,” Dorset said to Paul Drake, “just about leaves you with no excuse to be sticking around here any more.”

Drake said, “Okay, Sergeant,” with a docility that was surprising, and immediately walked over to his car, opened the door and started the motor.

The officer who was guarding the porch said suspiciously, “Hey, Sarge. That ain’t his car. His car is the one parked there in the driveway.”

“How do you know?” Mason asked.

“How do I know?” the officer demanded. “How do I know anything? Didn’t the guy go sit in that car and smoke a cigarette? Want me to stop him, Sergeant?”

Drake turned his car out from the curb toward the center of the road.

“That’s his car,” Mason said quietly to Dorset.

“Then what’s that other car out there?” the officer demanded.

“To the best of my knowledge,” Mason said, “that car belongs to the Faulkners. At least it’s the car in which Mrs. Faulkner drove up to the house.”

“Then what was that guy doing in it?”

Mason shrugged his shoulders.

Dorset said angrily to the officer, “What the hell did you suppose I was leaving you out here for?”

“Gosh, Sergeant, I thought it was his car all the time. He walked across to it just as though he owned it. Come to think of it, I guess that car was there when we got here, but the way the bird acted... you know, just like he owned the bus.”

Dorset said angrily, “Give me your flashlight.”

He took the flashlight and strode over toward the parked automobile. Mason started to follow him. Dorset turned angrily and said, “You can stay right there. We’ve had enough interference in this case already.”

The officer on the porch, trying to cover up his previous blunder by a sudden increase in efficiency, announced belligerently, “And when the Sergeant says you stay there, Buddy, it means you stay right there! Don’t take even another step toward that automobile.”

Mason grinned, waited while Sergeant Dorset’s flashlight made a complete exploration of the interior of the car which Mrs. Faulkner had been driving.

After several minutes of futile search, Sergeant Dorset rejoined Mason, said, “I don’t see a thing in the car except a burnt match on the floor.”