“Did they tell you didn’t have to say anything?”
“Oh yes. They recited some rigamarole in a sing-song voice saying I didn’t have to say anything if I didn’t want to.”
“And that’s the way your story stands on paper?”
“Yes.”
Mason said, with a voice that was bitter with venom, “You little fool!”
“Why, what do you mean, Mr. Mason?”
Mason said, “Your story is so improbable on the face of it that it isn’t even a good fairy tale. It’s obviously something you thought up on the spur of the moment to protect Tom. But the officers were too smart to try to get you to change it right at the start. They reduced it to writing and got you to sign it. Now they’ll begin to bring pressure to bear on you so you’ll have to change it, and then you’ll be in a sweet mess.”
“But I don’t have to change it.”
“Think not?”
“No.”
“Where did this figure of two thousand dollars come from — the one that you submitted to Faulkner?”
“Why I thought that was just about a fair price.”
“You hadn’t mentioned it to him before?”
“No.”
“And Faulkner was shaving when you got there?”
“Yes.”
“Preparing to take a bath?”
“Yes.”
“He was in the bathroom?”
“Yes.”
“He came out of the bathroom when you went in there — into the bedroom?”
“Well, yes.”
“Careful now,” Mason said. “Did he come out of the bathroom or did he receive you in the bathroom?”
“Well, sort of in the door of the bathroom.”
“And gave you two thousand dollars in cash?”
“Yes.”
Mason said, “You asked him for two thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“And he had two thousand dollars?”
“Yes.”
“Exactly two thousand dollars?”
“Well... I don’t know. He may have had more, but he gave me the two thousand dollars.”
“In cash?”
“Certainly. That’s where the money came from that was in my purse.”
“And you found that gun of Tom Gridley’s at Faulkner’s house?”
“Yes. And if you want to know something, Mr. Faulkner was the one who took the gun there in the first place. Tom was keeping it at the pet store, and then yesterday evening about seven-thirty, Mr. Faulkner was down there prowling around, taking inventory, and... well, he took the gun. Mr. Rawlins can swear to that. He saw Mr. Faulkner take it.”
“Did you tell that to the police?”
“Yes.”
“That’s in your written statement?”
“Yes.”
Mason sighed. “Let’s look at it another way. When I left you with Sergeant Dorset, he said he was going to take you out to call on James Staunton.”
“That’s right.”
“Did he do so?”
“Yes.”
“How long were you there?”
“I don’t know. Some little time.”
“And Staunton still stuck to his story that Faulkner had brought the fish to him?”
“Yes. He produced a written authorization from Mr. Faulkner to keep the fish.”
“Then what happened?”
“Then Sergeant Dorset went back to Faulkner’s house and took me with him.”
“Then what?”
“Then after an hour or so, he told me I could leave.”
“So what did you do?”
“Well, one of the men — I think he was a photographer — said that he was going downtown to police headquarters to get some films developed and I could ride along with him if I wanted. You know, said he’d give me a lift.”
“So you went with him?”
“Yes.”
“And then what?”
“Then I telephoned Della Street.”
“Where did you find a telephone?”
“In an all-night restaurant.”
“Near where this photographer let you out?”
“Yes, within a block.”
“Then what?”
“Then Miss Street told me to call her back inside of fifteen minutes.”
“So what did you do?”
“Had a cup of coffee and some scrambled eggs and toast.”
“Can you remember where this restaurant was?”
“Yes, of course I can, and I think the night man in the restaurant will remember me. He was a man with very dark hair and I remember he had a limp when he walked. I think one leg had been broken and was quite a bit shorter than the other.”
“All right,” Mason said, “that has the ring of truth. You went back to Faulkner’s house with Dorset. He kept you there for awhile and then decided he didn’t need you any more and this photographer gave you a lift uptown. Did you talk any with him in the automobile?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Tell him what you knew about the murder?”
“No. We weren’t talking about the murder.”
“What were you talking about?”
“Me.”
“Was he making passes at you?”
“He wanted my telephone number. He didn’t seem to be interested in the murder. If he hadn’t been in such a hurry he said he’d have gone to the restaurant with me. He asked me if I wouldn’t wait there for an hour or so until after he’d developed his films.”
“That sounds natural,” Mason said. “You’re giving out stuff that has the ring of truth now. How long were you in the restaurant?”
“Just about fifteen minutes. I called Miss Street as soon as I went in and then she told me to call back in fifteen minutes, and in fifteen minutes I called back and she told me to go to the Kellinger Hotel.”
“Then what?”
“Then I got a taxi and went to the Kellinger Hotel.”
“You told the police this?”
“Yes, all of this.”
“It’s in your written statement?”
“Yes.”
“Were there any other customers in that all-night restaurant when you were there?”
“No. It’s just a little place — just a little lunch counter. Sort of a hole in the wall with a night man who does the cooking and then serves the food at the counter. It’s just a little short-order place.”
“And you got a good look at this man behind the counter?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And he got a good look at you?”
“Yes.”
“And you called Della Street twice from that restaurant?”
“Yes.”
“Now then,” Mason asked, “did you make any other calls?”
She hesitated.
“Did you?”
“No.”
“That doesn’t have the ring of truth,” Mason said.
Sally Madison was quiet.
Mason said, “You got a taxicab there?”
“Yes, right near there.”
“And went directly to the Kellinger Hotel?”
“Yes.”
Mason shook his head. “From your description of where you were, the taxi ride to the Kellinger Hotel shouldn’t have taken over two or three minutes at that hour of the night, and the meter should have been considerably less than a dollar.”
“Well, what’s wrong with that?”
“Della Street got there first,” Mason said. “She had a lot farther to go than you did.”
“Well, I... It took me a little while to find a taxicab.”
“You didn’t have one come to the restaurant?”
“No. I went out to look for a taxi stand. The restaurant man told me there’d be one right around there somewhere.”
Mason said, “When Della Street got to the Kellinger Hotel, she sat in the lobby waiting for you. She saw you when you drove up in the taxicab. She saw you pay off the driver. You didn’t open your purse. You had a bill all ready in your hand.”
“That’s right.”
“Why did you do that?”
“Because, Mr. Mason, I had that gun in my purse and that big roll of bills, and I was afraid the taxi driver might see... well, you know, might see the gun or the roll of bills, or both, and think perhaps I was a stickup artist and... well, you know how it was?”