“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Muriell said. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure,” Mason said, looking around, “and there’s the can of enamel there on the shelf.”
Muriell started over toward the can. “Just a minute,” Mason warned. “Let’s not leave any fingerprints on that can, if you don’t mind, Muriell. That can has been upset and then it’s been picked up again... You don’t have any idea when it was upset?”
She shook her head.
“Or, of course, when the chair was broken?”
“No, but there must have been a struggle and—”
“A struggle, surely,” Mason interrupted, “but we don’t know when that struggle took place, Miss Gilman; and we mustn’t jump at conclusions. It could be that your father entered the room and saw the can of paint lying on its side, and the broken chair, and decided to pick up the can of paint. You see, it’s a can of enamel with a small slip-on cap. The cap was loose. In all probability not all of the enamel drained out. However, I don’t want to touch the can to find out. Let’s be rather careful not to leave any fingerprints.”
“There must be some of my fingerprints here,” Muriell said. “I’m out here all the time. I come out to watch Daddy work.”
“I see,” Mason said. “However, I think it’s better if we don’t leave any fresh fingerprints. They might be superimposed on some other fingerprints. Let’s pick up this money and count it. Tell me details while we’re working.”
Together they picked up the hundred-dollar bills and Mason put them together in a sheaf. Then he turned to Muriell, “How many did you pick up?”
“Forty-eight.”
“Then,” Mason said, “there are exactly a hundred of these bills, making an even ten thousand dollars. Do you know anything about that or have any idea where the money could have come from?”
She shook her head.
“How about some rubber bands?” Mason said.
“There are some in Nancy’s darkroom. I know where she keeps them.”
“All right, let’s get some rubber bands.”
Muriell clicked on a light switch.
“Tut, tut!” Mason said, “I told you to be careful about touching things.”
“Oh, I forgot— How am I going to get the rubber bands without leaving fingerprints?”
“Use a handkerchief or the hem of your skirt,” Mason said.
She raised her skirt to take the hem in her hand and opened a drawer. The inside of the drawer was divided into partitions and each partition held rubber bands of a different size.
Mason used the tip of his fountain pen to lift out two rubber bands, then nodded to Muriell to close the drawer.
The lawyer slipped the rubber bands over the ends of the stack of currency.
“Your stepmother is quite a neat housekeeper,” he said. “This place is quite the opposite of the confusion in your father’s workshop.”
“I know. Nancy is a fiend for order as far as the darkroom is concerned. I don’t think she’s quite so particular about housekeeping, but in her darkroom everything has to be perfectly spick-and-span and in apple-pie order.”
“Your father is somewhat different?” Mason said.
She laughed. “If you refer to Daddy’s workshop as being in apple-pie order, it would have to be an open-faced apple pie made with scrambled apples.”
“I see,” Mason said. “Now, do you have a picture of your father that you can get?”
“Why, yes, there’s a framed portrait in my room but—”
“It might not be advisable for you to go to the house right at the moment,” Mason said. “Are there any here in the darkroom?”
“Oh, yes, I guess there must be. Nancy has dozens of pictures. She likes to do portrait work. She has a technique by which she makes a very light image of the portrait on paper, then uses paints to build up and color the photograph until it looks like a regular oil painting. Unless you studied it closely you wouldn’t realize that it had a photographic base.”
“Then there should be some photographs of your father here,” Mason said. “Let’s see if we can find one without touching anything.”
They moved around the darkroom. At length Muriell said, “I think there are some in this drawer.”
She bent down to clutch the edge of her skirt between thumb and forefinger before opening the drawer.
“Yes,” she said, “here are several.”
“We’ll just take this top one,” Mason said, taking an eight-by-ten enlargement from the top of the drawer. “Now, that’s your father?”
“Yes, that’s Daddy. The lighting is a little flat and the image is printed rather light on the paper because that’s the way Nancy likes to work, but that’s Daddy, all right.”
Mason studied the rounded face with some interest.
“How old is he?”
“Well, let’s see, Daddy’s forty-two or maybe it’s forty-three.”
“And your stepmother?”
“Heavens knows,” she said, laughing. “She’s in the late thirties but she’ll never tell you her age and we never ask.”
“How old is Nancy’s daughter, Glamis?”
“She’s just twenty.”
“And you?”
“I’m just the same age... Mr. Mason, what are we going to do about Daddy? He must have taken the sedan. Should we trace it?”
Mason said, “I’ll call you back a little after noon. I’ll try and find out something. Your father has an office here in the city?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Where?”
“In the Piedmont Building.”
“What does he do?”
“He has an investment business, buying and selling properties, both for himself and for a list of clients who form investment pools.”
“He’s in the business by himself?”
“Well, I guess Daddy owns the business but there is an associate in with him.”
“And have you telephoned the office to see if your father is there?”
“I telephoned about... well, shortly before I called you, and they said he was expected in at any time. I left word for him to call me when he came in. I wanted to tell him about his brief case.”
Mason said, “Well, I’ll try and get a line on things and let you know a little after noon. In the meantime, I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. You’d better take custody of this ten thousand dollars.”
She seemed in a sudden panic. “Oh, no, Mr. Mason. I don’t want to touch it. I don’t know where that money came from. I don’t know what this is all about and... well, now that I know that red pool is just red enamel on the cement I feel terribly sheepish about this whole business. I guess I acted like a fool, dragging you all the way out here.
“But I do want you to know, Mr. Mason, that I’ll pay your bill, whatever it is. I have an individual checking account and... I guess I just went into a panic when I saw the money and the smashed chair and Daddy’s napkin and the red pool in the middle of the floor.”
“I can understand how you felt,” Mason said. “I think everything’s going to be all right. Just don’t say anything about my having been here, and I’ll just drive back to the office. Now remember, you’re not to say a thing about the fact I was here — not to anyone. Do you understand?”
She nodded.
“At least not until after I’ve telephoned you,” Mason said, “and I’ll call you shortly after noon. You’ll be here?”
“I most certainly will.”
“All right,” Mason told her, “I’ll call you.”
Back in his office, Mason reported to Della Street. “Put this sheaf of currency in the safe, Della. Here’s an eight-by-ten enlargement of Mr. Carter Gilman and, for your information, the sinister red spot on the floor turned out to be the contents of a can of red enamel which had been turned over.