“A few blocks down the street.”
“I notice,” Mason pointed out, “that the house is dark.”
“Yes,” Faulkner said tonelessly, “my wife evidently isn’t home.”
“Now the particular fish about which you are mainly concerned,” Mason went on, “are the black Veiltail Moors which are in the tank or aquarium that is in the office?”
“That’s right, and Elmer Carson claims the tank is an office fixture and that the fish are a part of the office furnishings. He’s secured a restraining order keeping me from moving any fixture or even tampering with them.”
“The fish were raised entirely by you?”
“Correct.”
“Carson made no financial contribution?”
“None whatever. The fish were raised from a strain which I developed. However, the tank, Mr. Mason, was billed to the corporation as an article of office furniture, and it is so fastened to the building that it probably would be considered a fixture. It is, you will understand, an oblong tank some three feet by two feet and four feet deep. There was a recess in the wall of the building, a place which was occupied by a china closet and which certainly added nothing to our office. I suggested that this closet could be removed and an aquarium inserted in the space. This was done with Carson’s approval and co-operation. When the bills came in, without thinking, I okayed them as an office expense, and, unfortunately, they were so carried on our books and in our income tax report. The tank is undoubtedly affixed to the building, and the building is owned by the corporation.”
“The entire building?” Mason asked.
“Yes. I have taken a lease on the other side of it where I live.”
“Then how did it happen that you put such valuable fish in the tank that was a part of the office?”
“Well, you see, Mr. Mason, it’s rather a long story. Originally, I put in a water garden in the bottom of the tank, a device to aerate the water and an assortment of some two dozen various types of interesting goldfish — the Fringetail, the Chinese Telescope, some Japanese Comets, some Nymphs and some Autumn Brocades. Then I developed these Veiltail Moor Telescopes, and suddenly found that other fish in another tank in which they were kept had developed something which looked suspiciously like gill fever, or rather a gill disease, since the fish really had passed the gill fever stage. I wanted some place to move these Moors at once where I could have them under observation; and, without thinking of the possible legal complications, I cleaned out the other fish and inserted these Veiltail Moors in the office tank. Almost immediately my troubles commenced. The fish developed disease and Elmer Carson suddenly blew up and demanded that I pay him an exorbitant price for his interest in the business. He went to court and got a restraining order preventing me from moving that fish tank away from the premises, on the ground that it was a fixture. I simply can’t understand what caused his sudden change of attitude, the bitter animosity with which he regards me. It happened almost overnight and followed an attempt on my life.”
“An attempt on your life!” Mason exclaimed.
“Exactly.”
“What happened?”
“Someone tried to shoot me. But after all, gentlemen, this is hardly the place to discuss these matters. Let’s go on in and— Hello, what’s this?”
“Seems to be a car stopping in front of the place,” Mason said.
The automobile which had pulled in to the curb disgorged two passengers, a man and a woman. As the figures materialized through the fog, Faulkner said, “It’s that Madison girl and her boy friend. This is a great time for them to be getting here! I gave her a key to the place. They should have been here thirty minutes ago. She started out fast enough. Didn’t even wait to finish her dinner. I suppose it’s that boy who held her up.”
Mason lowered his voice and talked rapidly. “Look here, Faulkner, that tank may be a fixture and therefore a part of the building which can’t be moved, but the fish certainly aren’t a fixture. They’re swimming around in the tank. Get a bucket or a net and lift those fish out and leave the tank in place — then you can fight out the restraining order with Elmer Carson.”
“By George, you’ve got something there!” Faulkner exclaimed. “Those fish are...” He broke off abruptly to turn to the couple who were hurrying up the walk. “Well, well,” he said testily. “What was holding you up?”
The slender, somewhat bony-shouldered young man with Sally Madison said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Faulkner, but the boss had a case of gill disease to treat and I had to coat a tank so he’d have a place to...”
“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” Faulkner interrupted. “Do you mean to say you’re passing out the secret of this remedy right and left? Don’t you realize I just paid for an interest in that invention? You can’t tell a soul...”
“No, no,” Sally Madison interposed hastily and soothingly, “he isn’t telling anyone, Mr. Faulkner. The remedy is a secret, but you know Tom’s been experimenting with it there at the pet shop and of course Rawlins knew what he was doing and— Well, you know how it is. When he knew that Tom had a remedy for gill disease that he had been trying out — well, naturally, Tom couldn’t refuse to fix up a few tanks so that Mr. Rawlins could treat cases, but no one knows the secret formula, except Tom. It will be turned over to you and...”
“I don’t like it,” Faulkner snapped. “I don’t like it at all. That’s not the way to do business. How do we know that Rawlins isn’t faking the whole business? He’ll get hold of the material Tom is using to coat those panels and have it analyzed and then where will my investment be? I tell you I don’t like it.”
Faulkner angrily inserted a key in the lock of the door, snapped back the catch, flung the door open, reached inside, switched on a light and marched truculently into the room.
Sally Madison placed a hand on Mason’s arm, said proudly, “This is Tom, Mr. Mason.”
Mason grinned, said, “How are you, Tom?” and extended his hand, which was wrapped in the grip of long, bony fingers.
Gridley said, “I’m glad to know you, Mr. Mason. I’ve heard so much about you that...”
He was interrupted by an exclamation from Harrington Faulkner. “Who’s been in here? What’s happened? Call the police!”
Mason pushed through the doorway and followed the direction of Harrington Faulkner’s angry eyes.
The tank which had been inserted in place of the china closet had been ripped from its fastenings and moved out to the extreme edge of a built-in sideboard. A chair had been placed in front of the sideboard, making a convenient step upon which some person had evidently stood. Water was splashed about on the waxed hardwood floor, and lying on the floor beside the chair was an ordinary long-handled silver soup ladle. To the handle of this ladle a four-foot section of broomstick had been attached so as to form a rude but effective extension.
The bottom of the goldfish tank contained an inch or two of small pebbles and sea shells with a few plants that stretched green shoots up toward the surface of the water. There was no sign of life in the tank.
“My fish!” Faulkner exclaimed, grasping the edges of the tank with his hands, pressing his face to within a few inches of the glass sides of the tank. “What’s happened to the fish? Where are they?”
“They seem to have disappeared,” Mason said dryly.
“I’ve been robbed!” Faulkner exclaimed. “It’s a low-down dastardly attempt by Elmer Carson to...”
“Careful now,” Mason warned.
“Careful!” Faulkner exploded. “Why should I be careful? You can see what’s happened with your own eyes. It’s as plain as the nose on your face. He’s removed the fish from the tank and intends to use that as a club to make me come to his terms... Hang it, it’s just the same as kidnaping. I don’t intend to stand for this. He’s gone too far now. I’m going to have him arrested! I’m going to get the police on the job and we’ll settle this thing right here and right now.”