The Case of the Golddigger’s Purse

“I can tell you that much. He paints the remedy he uses on a plastic panel which is inserted into the fish tank and then the panels are changed at certain intervals.”

“And it works?” Mason asked.

“I’ll say it works. It worked with Mr. Faulkner’s fish.”

“But I thought they were still sick.”

“They are.”

“Then it wouldn’t seem that the remedy worked.”

“Oh, but it does. You see, Tom wanted to go ahead and cure the fish entirely, but I wouldn’t let him. I gave Mr. Faulkner just enough of the remedy to keep them from dying, and then I told him that if he wanted to finance Tom in the invention we’d let him have a half interest in it and he could put it on the market. Tom’s one of these simple souls who trusts everyone. He’s a chemist and is always experimenting with remedies. He worked out one remedy for distemper and simply gave it to David Rawlins, the man who was running the pet shop. Rawlins just said ‘Thank you,’ and didn’t even give Tom a raise. Of course, you can’t blame him very much because I can understand his problem. He doesn’t have a large volume of business and there isn’t a whole lot of money to be made out of pets unless you have a huge place, but he works Tom terribly hard and... Well, after all, the man’s making some money out of this invention of Tom’s for distemper.”

“Those two the only things Tom’s invented?” Mason asked.

“No, no, he’s done other things but somebody always gyps him out of them... Well, this time I decided things would be different. I am going to take charge of the thing myself. Mr. Faulkner could give Tom five thousand outright and then pay him a royalty to boot. I’m willing to let the five thousand be considered as an advance payment against one half of the royalties, but only against one-half.”

“I don’t suppose there are a great number of goldfish fanciers in the country,” Mason said.

“Oh, but I think there are. I think that lots of people collect them as a hobby.”

“But do you think there’s enough gill disease to enable Mr. Faulkner to break even on an investment of that size?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. All I’m interested in is seeing that Tom gets a chance to go out into the country, some place where there’s sunshine and fresh air. He’s got to go where he can take life easy for a while. If he does, they tell me he can be cured absolutely. If he doesn’t, things will go from bad to worse until finally it will be too late. I’m giving Mr. Faulkner an opportunity to cure those prize fish of his and to have a remedy that will enable him to build up his strain without danger of future infection, and that’s worth a lot to him. When you consider what he’s spent on them, I’m letting him off cheap.”

Mason smiled. “But you’re boosting the ante on him one thousand dollars a day?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Why?”

“He’s trying to blackmail me. He says Tom worked out his invention while he was working for Rawlins and that, therefore, the invention belongs to Rawlins and unless Tom cures his fish, then Mr. Faulkner will buy an interest in Rawlins’ store and sue Tom for his invention. Mr. Faulkner is a hard man, and I’m dealing with him in the only way he’ll understand — the hard way.”

“And just what is Tom Gridley to you?” Mason asked.

She met his eyes steadily. “My boy friend.”

Mason chuckled. “Well,” he said, “it’s no wonder Faulkner thinks you’re a golddigger. I thought from the way he talked that he’d been making passes at you and that you were holding him up.”

Her eyes flickered somewhat scornfully over to where Harrington Faulkner was sitting, stiffly uncomfortable, at the table. “Mr. Faulkner,” she announced with cold finality, “never made passes at anyone,” and then, after a moment, qualified by adding, “except a goldfish.”

Mason smiled. “The man’s married?”

“That’s what I mean. A goldfish.”

“His wife?”

“Yes.”

The waiter appeared with food on a tray. “Shall I serve you at this table?” he inquired of Mason.

Mason looked over to where Harrington Faulkner had turned to regard proceedings at the other table, apparently with anxiety. “If you don’t mind,” he said to Sally Madison, “I’ll return to my table, and send Mr. Faulkner back to join you. I don’t think I’ll take his case.”

“You don’t need to send him back,” Sally Madison said. “Tell him to send over his check for five thousand bucks, and tell him from me that I’m going to wait here until I get it, or until his damn black goldfish turn belly up.”

“I’ll tell him,” Mason promised, and, excusing himself, returned to his own table.

Faulkner glanced at him questioningly.

Mason nodded. “I don’t know just what you want,” he said, “but I’ll at least look into the matter — after I’ve had something to eat.”

“We could talk right here,” Faulkner said.

Mason’s nod indicated Sally Madison sitting alone at the other table. “After I’ve had something to eat,” he repeated, “and I take it you didn’t want me to try and work out any terms with Miss Madison, because, if you did, I’m not interested.”

Faulkner said, “Sally Madison’s proposition amounts to blackmail.”