Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 18

by Curtains for Three

  Had anyone, Wolfe wanted to know, been with him in his office that morning during the parturition, say from half-past six to eight o’clock? No. No one.

  For alibi, Broadyke, of those three, came closest to being naked.

  Since I had cottoned to Audrey Rooney and would have married her any second if it wasn’t that I wouldn’t want my wife to be a public figure and there was her picture on the calendar on the wall of Sam’s Diner, it was a setback to learn that her parents in Vermont had actually named her Annie, and she had changed it herself. Okay if she hadn’t cared for Annie with Rooney, but good God, why Audrey? Audrey. It showed a lack in her.

  It did not, of course, indict her for murder, but her tale helped out on that. She had worked in the Keyes office as Victor Talbott’s secretary, and a month ago Keyes had fired her because he suspected her of swiping designs and selling them to Broadyke. When she had demanded proof and Keyes hadn’t been able to produce it, she had proceeded to raise hell, which I could well believe. She had forced her way into his private room at the office so often that he had been compelled to hire a husky to keep her out. She had tried to get the rest of the staff, forty of them, to walk out on him until justice had been done her, and had darned near succeeded. She had tried to get at him at his home but failed. Eight days before his death, on a Monday morning, he had found her waiting for him when he arrived at the Stillwell Riding Academy to get his four legs. With the help of the stable hand, by name Wayne Safford, he had managed to mount and clatter off for the park.

  But next morning Annie Audrey was there again, and the next one too. What was biting her hardest, as she explained to Wolfe at the outset, was that Keyes had refused to listen to her, had never heard her side, and was so mean and stubborn he didn’t intend to. She thought he should. She didn’t say in so many words that another reason she kept on showing up at the academy was that the stable hand didn’t seem to mind, but that could be gathered. The fourth morning, Thursday, Vic Talbott had arrived too, to accompany Keyes on his ride. Keyes, pestered by Audrey, had poked her in the belly with his crop; Wayne Safford had pushed Keyes hard enough to make him stumble and fall; Talbott had intervened and taken a swing at Wayne; and Wayne had socked Talbott and knocked him into a stall that hadn’t been cleaned.

  Evidently, I thought, Wayne held back when he was boxing in a nicely furnished office on a Kerman rug; and I also thought that if I had been Keyes I would have tried designing an electric horse for my personal use. But the next day he was back for more, and did get more comments from Audrey, but that was as far as it went; and three days later, Monday, it was the same. Talbott wasn’t there either of those two days.

  Tuesday morning Audrey got there at a quarter to six, the advantage of the early arrival being that she could make the coffee while Wayne curried horses. They ate cinnamon rolls with the coffee. Wolfe frowned at that because he hates cinnamon rolls. A little after six a phone call came from the Hotel Churchill not to saddle Talbott’s horse and to tell Keyes he wouldn’t be there. At six-thirty Keyes arrived, on the dot as usual, responded only with grimly tightened lips to Audrey’s needling, and rode off. Audrey stayed on at the academy, was there continuously for another hour, and was still there at twenty-five minutes to eight, when Keyes’ horse came wandering in under an empty saddle.

  Was Wayne Safford also there continuously? Yes, they were together all the time.

  So Audrey and Wayne were fixed up swell. When it came Wayne’s turn he didn’t contradict her on a single point, which I thought was very civilized behavior for a stable hand. He too made the mistake of mentioning cinnamon rolls, but otherwise turned in a perfect score.

  When they had gone, more than two hours after midnight, I stood, stretched and yawned good, and told Wolfe, “Five mighty fine clients. Huh?”

  He grunted in disgust and put his hands on the rim of his desk to push his chair back.

  “I could sleep on it more productively,” I stated, “if you would point. Not at Talbott, I don’t need that. I’m a better judge of love looks than you are, and I saw him looking at Dorothy, and he has it bad. But the clients? Pohl?”

  “He needs money, perhaps desperately, and now he’ll get it.”

  “Broadyke?”

  “His vanity was mortally wounded, his business was going downhill, and he was being sued for a large sum.”

  “Dorothy?”

  “A daughter. A woman. It could have gone back to her infancy, or it could have been a trinket denied her today.”

  “Safford?”

  “A primitive romantic. Within three days after he met that girl the fool was eating cinnamon rolls with her at six o’clock in the morning. What about his love look?”

  I nodded. “Giddy.”

  “And he saw Mr. Keyes strike the girl with his riding crop.”

  “Not strike her, poke her.”

  “Even worse, because more contemptuous. Also the girl had persuaded him that Mr. Keyes was persisting in a serious injustice to her.”

  “Okay, that’ll do. How about her?”

  “A woman either being wronged or caught wronging another. In either case, unhinged.”

  “Also he poked her with his crop.”

  “No,” Wolfe disagreed. “Except in immediate and urgent retaliation, no woman ever retorts to physical violence from a man in kind. It would not be womanly. She devises subtleties.” He got to his feet. “I’m sleepy.” He started for the door.

  Following, I told his back, “I know one thing, I would collect from every damn one of them in advance. I can’t imagine why Cramer wanted to see them again, even Talbott, after a whole week with them. Why don’t he throw in and draw five new cards? He’s sore as a pup. Shall we phone him?”

  “No.” We were in the hall. Wolfe, heading for the elevator to ascend to his room on the second floor, turned. “What did he want?”

  “He didn’t say, but I can guess. He’s at a dead stop in pitch-dark in the middle of a six corners, and he came to see if you’ve got a road map.”

  I made for the stairs, since the elevator is only four by six, and with all of Wolfe inside, it would already be cramped.

  VII

  “Forty trump,” Orrie Cather said at 10:55 Wednesday morning.

  I had told them the Keyes case had knocked on our door and we had five suspects for clients, and that was all. Wolfe had not seen fit to tell me what their errands would be, so I was entertaining at cards instead of summarizing the notebooks for them. At eleven sharp we ended the game, and Orrie and I shelled out to Saul, as usual, and a few minutes later the door from the hall opened and Wolfe entered. He greeted the two hired hands, got himself installed behind his desk, rang for beer, and asked me, “You’ve explained things to Saul and Orrie, of course?”

  “Certainly not. For all I knew it’s classified.”

  He grunted and told me to get Inspector Cramer. I dialed the number and had more trouble getting through than usual, finally had Cramer and signaled to Wolfe, and, since I got no sign to keep off, I stayed on. It wasn’t much of a conversation.

  “Mr. Cramer? Nero Wolfe.”

  “Yeah. What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry I was busy last evening. It’s always a pleasure to see you. I’ve been engaged in the matter of Mr. Keyes’ death, and it will be to our mutual interest for you to let me have a little routine information.”

  “Like what?”

  “To begin with, the name and number of the mounted policeman who saw Mr. Keyes in the park at ten minutes past seven that morning. I want to send Archie—”

  “Go to hell.” The connection went.

  Wolfe hung up, reached for the beer tray which Fritz had brought in, and told me, “Get Mr. Skinner of the District Attorney’s office.”

  I did so, and Wolfe got on again. In the past Skinner had had his share of moments of irritation with Wolfe, but at least he hadn’t had the door slammed in his face the preceding evening and therefore was not boorish. When he learned that Wolfe was on the
Keyes case he wanted to know plenty, but Wolfe stiff-armed him without being too rude and soon had what he was after. Upon Wolfe’s assurance that he would keep Skinner posted on developments at his end, which they both knew was a barefaced lie, the Assistant D.A. even offered to ask headquarters to arrange for me to see the cop. And did so. In less than ten minutes after Wolfe and he were finished, a call came from Centre Street to tell me that Officer Hefferan would meet me at 11:45 at the corner of Sixty-sixth Street and Central Park West.

  During the less than ten minutes, Wolfe had drunk beer, asked Saul about his family, and told me what I was expected to find out from the cop. That made me sore, but even more it made me curious. When we’re on a case it sometimes happens that Wolfe gets the notion that I have got involved on some angle or with some member of the cast, and that therefore it is necessary to switch me temporarily onto a siding. I had about given up wasting nervous energy resenting it. But what was it this time? I had bought nobody’s version and was absolutely fancy free, so why should he send me out to chew the rag with a cop and keep Saul and Orrie for more important errands? It was beyond me, and I was glaring at him and about to open up, when the phone rang again.

  It was Ferdinand Pohl, asking for Wolfe. I was going to keep out of it, since the main attack was to be entrusted to others, but Wolfe motioned me to stay on.

  “I’m at the Keyes office,” Pohl said, “Forty-seventh and Madison. Can you come up here right away?”

  “Certainly not,” Wolfe said in a grieved tone. It always riled him that anybody in the world didn’t know that he never left his house on business, and rarely for anything whatever. “I work only at home. What’s the matter?”

  “There’s someone here I want you to talk to. Two members of the staff. With their testimony I can prove that Talbott took those designs and sold them to Broadyke. This clinches it that it was Talbott who killed Keyes. Of us five, the only ones that could possibly be suspected were Miss Rooney and that stable hand, with that mutual alibi they had, and this clears her—and him too, of course.”

  “Nonsense. It does nothing of the sort. It proves that she was unjustly accused of theft, and an unjust accusation rankles more than a just one. Now you can have Mr. Talbott charged with larceny, at least. I’m extremely busy. Thank you very much for calling. I shall need the cooperation of all of you.”

  Pohl wanted to prolong it, but Wolfe got rid of him, drank more beer, and turned to me. “You’re expected there in twenty minutes, Archie, and considering your tendency to get arrested for speeding—”

  I had had one ticket for speeding in eight years. I walked to the door but turned to remark bitterly, “If you think you’re just sending me out to play, try again. Who was the last to see Keyes alive? The cop. He did it. And who will I deliver him to—you? No. Inspector Cramer!”

  VIII

  It was sunny and warm for October, and the drive uptown would have been pleasant if I hadn’t been prejudiced by my feeling that I was being imposed on. Parking on Sixty-fifth Street, I walked around the corner and up a block, and crossed Central Park West to where a man in uniform was monkeying with his horse’s bridle. I have met a pack of guardians of the peace on my rounds, but this rugged manly face with a pushed-in nose and bright big eyes was new to me. I introduced myself and showed credentials and said it was nice of him, busy as he was, to give me his time. Of course that was a blunder, but I’ve admitted I was prejudiced.

  “Oh,” he said, “one of our prominent kidders, huh?”

  I made for cover. “About as prominent,” I declared, “as a fish egg in a bowl of caviar.”

  “Oh, you eat caviar.”

  “Goddam it,” I muttered, “let’s start over again.” I walked four paces to a lamp post, wheeled, returned to him, and announced, “My name’s Goodwin and I work for Nero Wolfe. Headquarters said I could ask you a couple of questions and I’d appreciate it.”

  “Uh-huh. A friend of mine in the Fifteenth Squad has told me about you. You damn near got him sent to the marshes.”

  “Then you were already prejudiced. So was I, but not against you. Not even against your horse. Speaking of horses, that morning you saw Keyes on his horse, not long before he was killed, what time was it?”

  “Ten minutes past seven.”

  “Within a minute or two?”

  “Not within anything. Ten minutes past seven. I was on the early shift then, due to check out at eight. As you say, I’m so busy that I have no time, so I was hanging around expecting to see Keyes go by as per schedule. I liked to see his horse—a light chestnut with a fine spring to him.”

  “How did the horse look that morning—same as usual? Happy and healthy?” Seeing the look on his face, I added hastily, “I’ve sworn off kidding until tomorrow. I actually want to know, was it his horse?”

  “Certainly it was! Maybe you don’t know horses. I do.”

  “Okay. I used to too, when I was a boy on a farm in Ohio, but we haven’t corresponded lately. What about Keyes that morning, did he look sick or well or mad or glad or what?”

  “He looked as usual, nothing special.”

  “Did you speak to each other?”

  “No.”

  “Had he shaved that morning?”

  “Sure he had.” Officer Hefferan was controlling himself. “He had used two razors, one on the right side and another one on the left, and he wanted to know which one did the best job, so he asked me to rub his cheeks and tell him what I thought.”

  “You said you didn’t speak.”

  “Nuts.”

  “I agree. Let’s keep this frankly hostile. I shouldn’t have asked about shaving, I should have come right out and asked what I want to know, how close were you to him?”

  “Two hundred and seventy feet.”

  “Oh, you’ve measured it?”

  “I’ve paced it. The question came up.”

  “Would you mind showing me the spot? Where he was and where you were?”

  “Yes, I’d mind, but I’ve got orders.”

  The courteous thing would have been for him to lead his horse and walk with me, so he didn’t do that. He mounted his big bay and rode into the park, with me tagging along behind; and not only that, he must have given it a private signal that they mustn’t be late. I never saw a horse walk so fast. He would have loved to lose me and blame it on me, or at least make me break into a trot, but I gave my legs the best stretch they had had in years, bending my elbows and pumping my lungs, and I wasn’t more than thirty paces in the rear when he finally came to a stop at the crest of a little knoll. There were a lot of trees, big and little, off to the right down the slope, and clumps of bushes were on the left, but in between there was a good view of a long stretch of the bridle path. It was almost at a right angle to our line of vision, and at its nearest looked about a hundred yards away.

  He did not dismount. There is no easier way in the world to feel superior to a man than to talk to him from on top of a horse.

  Speaking, I handled things so as not to seem out of breath. “You were here?”

  “Right here.”

  “And he was going north.”

  “Yep.” He gestured. “That direction.”

  “You saw him. Did he see you?”

  “Yes. He lifted his crop to me and I waved back. We often did that.”

  “But he didn’t stop or gaze straight at you.”

  “He didn’t gaze straight or crooked. He was out for a ride. Listen, brother.” The mounted man’s tone indicated that he had decided to humor me and get it over. “I’ve been through all this with the Homicide boys. If you’re asking was it Keyes, it was. It was his horse. It was his bright yellow breeches, the only ones that color around, and his blue jacket and his black derby. It was the way he sat, with his shoulders hunched and his stirrups too long. It was Keyes.”

  “Good. May I pat your horse?”

  “No.”

  “Then I won’t. It would suit me fine if the occasion arose someday for me to pat you. W
hen I’m dining with the inspector this evening I’ll put in a word for you, not saying what kind.”

  I hoofed it out of the park and along Sixty-sixth Street to Broadway, found a drugstore and a phone booth, wriggled onto the stool, and dialed my favorite number. It was Orrie Cather’s voice that answered. So, I remarked to myself, he’s still there, probably sitting at my desk; Wolfe’s instructions for him must be awful complicated. I asked for Wolfe and got him.

  “Yes, Archie?”

  “I am phoning as instructed. Officer Hefferan is a Goodwin-hater, but I swallowed my pride. On the stand he would swear up and down that he saw Keyes at the place and time as given, and I guess he did, but a good lawyer could shoot it full of ifs and buts.”

  “Why? Is Mr. Hefferan a shuttlecock?”

  “By no means. He knows it all. But it wasn’t a closeup.”

  “You’d better let me have it verbatim.”

  I did so. By years of practice I had reached the point where I could relay a two-hour conversation, without any notes but practically word for word, and the brief session I had just come from gave me no trouble at all. When I had finished Wolfe said, “Indeed.”

  Silence.

  I waited a full two minutes and then said politely, “Please tell Orrie not to put his feet on my desk.”

  In another minute Wolfe’s voice came. “Mr. Pohl has telephoned again, twice, from the Keyes office. He’s a jackass. Go there and see him. The address—”