Erle Gardner - The Case of the Drowning Duck

Mason nodded. “About this duck. Did you have any particular reason for taking him?”

“Yes, I did.” Adams fished in his pocket and pulled out a letter. “This speaks for itself,” he said.

Mason shook the folded sheet of paper from the envelope and read:

Dear Mr. Adams:

Talking with some friends of yours, I understand you have a chemical you can put in water and make a duck sink without touching it.

Some men at my club have been riding me pretty hard, and it would be worth an even hundred bucks to me to be able to take them on something of this sort. Your friends tell me you’re going to be in Los Angeles on Monday morning. If you’ll telephone Lakeview two-three-seven-seven-one, and make an appointment, I’ll have five nice new crisp twenty-dollar bills waiting for you.

Sincerely yours,

Mason studied the letter for almost a minute, then abruptly folded it, put it in his pocket, and said, “Let me keep this. I’ll phone Mr. Lahey. Let me know where I can get in touch with you after I’ve arranged an appointment. I’d like to be there when you perform the experiment.”

Adams seemed puzzled.

“It’s quite all right,” Mason said. “Let me handle it, and will you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Don’t mention this letter to anyone. Don’t mention about ducks drowning, unless you are asked some specific question along those lines by someone who is entitled to expect an answer.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you, Mr. Mason.”

“Suppose I should tell you this was primarily for Lois?”

“Then I’d do it.”

“Then do it,” Mason said.

The train slowed to a stop. The porter yelled, “Los Angeles. Los Angeles. All out for Los Angeles.”

Mason got to his feet. “How much of this detergent would it take to sink a duck?”

“A very small amount of the right kind. A few thousandths of one per cent.”

“It floats on the surface of the water then?”

“Well, not exactly, although it amounts to the same thing. The water repellent end of the molecules is trying to get away from the water. That makes the molecules tend to congregate in larger numbers around the surface of the water, and any surfaces which are wet with water.”

Mason said, “I see, and these molecules dissolve the oil...”

“Strictly speaking, they don’t dissolve the oil. They simply keep the oil from repelling the water. Once the detergent is removed from water and the feathers, the duck swims along the same as ever.”

“I see,” Mason said as the line of passengers started shuffling down the aisle of the train. “I’m interested in that duck. You say you left it in the machine?”

“Yes”

“Where?”

“In the front seat.”

“Couldn’t it have flopped over the back of the front seat down into the rear of the car?”

“No. It was too young to do any flying. It might have dropped down to the floor in the front of the car, but I looked the floor over pretty carefully.”

Mason said, “Say nothing whatever about this detergent, or the experiment of sinking the duck. If anyone asks you, tell them you wanted the duck simply as a pet. And don’t, for the moment, mention this letter which you received from Los Angeles.”

“All right, I’ll do it if you say so, Mr. Mason. But look here, I want that hundred dollars. That looks as big as the United States mint to me right now. A man who’s working his way through college and wanting to get married — well, you can see how it is.”

“I see no reason why I can’t take care of that,” Mason said, reaching for his wallet.

“No, no. I only meant that I didn’t want you to let this chap get away. Be sure you get in touch with him.”

Mason took out five twenty-dollar bills. “Don’t worry. I’ll describe the experiment to him and collect the hundred.”

Adams seemed dubious.

Mason shoved the currency into his hand. “Don’t be silly. This is just to save me getting in touch with you again. Where can I tell this man to get his detergent?”

“Oh, there are lots of places. The Central Scientific Company, the country’s foremost makers of laboratory equipment, in Chicago, for one — or the National Chemical Company in New Orleans. Or, of course, the American Cyanamid and Chemical Corporation in New York. He won’t have any trouble getting a detergent, just so he knows what to ask for.”

Mason asked, “Where can I get in touch with you, in case I need any more information?”

Adams took a card case from his pocket, withdrew a card, scribbled a number on it, and handed it to the lawyer.

“All right,” Mason said. “I’ll call you if I need you. I have to see about some baggage, so don’t wait for me. Go right ahead.”

Mason watched Marvin Adams walk rapidly down the runway which led to the underground crossing below the tracks.

The boy had gone but twenty or thirty steps when a quiet, unobtrusive individual who had been standing with his back against the wall, looking the passengers over, stepped out so as to block the way.

“Your name Adams?” he asked.

Marvin Adams, looking somewhat surprised, nodded.

The man flipped back the lapel of his coat far enough to show a badge. “The boys down at headquarters want to ask you a few questions,” he said. “It won’t take long.”

Mason marched on past with no sign of recognition as Adams, his eyes wide and startled, stared in astonishment at the detective from headquarters.

“You mean... they want to ask questions... of me?”

Mason didn’t hear the man’s answer.

Della Street was waiting in Mason’s car outside the depot. The lawyer slid in behind the wheel.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Talk with the girl on the train?”

“Uh huh.”

“Get anything out of her?”

“More than she wanted to give — not as much as I wanted to get.”

“Was Marvin Adams on the train?”

“Uh huh.”

“I looked around to see if I could spot any plain-clothes men hanging around,” Della Street said.

Mason deftly spun the steering wheel, guiding the car out of the parking place. He flashed her an amused, sidelong glance. “Did you?” he asked.

“No.”

“What made you think you could?”

“Spot a plain-clothes man?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t they — well, aren’t they sort of typical?”

“Only in fiction,” Mason said. “Your real high-class detective is altogether too intelligent to look like a detective.”

“Was one of them there?”

“Uh huh.”

“Did he arrest the blonde from the detective agency?”

“No,” Mason said. “He arrested Marvin Adams.”

She looked at him as though she might be seeing his face for the first time. “They arrested Marvin Adams!”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t...”

“Didn’t what?” Mason asked as she paused, groping for words.

“Didn’t stay to help him out?”

“How could I help him out?”

“By telling him not to talk.”

Mason shook his head.

“I thought that was one of the reasons you were so anxious to get on the train.”

“It was.”

“Come on, loosen up, stingy,” she chided. “Don’t be like that!”

Mason said, “As it happens, the best thing he can do is to go ahead and tell his story in his own way. Just so he leaves out one particular thing, and I’ve already arranged for that.”

“What’s that thing?” Della Street asked.

Mason took the letter from his pocket, and handed it to her. She read it while Mason was guiding the car through the early morning city traffic.

“What does that mean?” she asked.