by Rex Stout
“Right. First thing in the morning. But that’s a good camera, and if the needle was shot at her the way Cramer thinks it was, and if I happened to press the button while the needle was going by, it might show. I know a place that will develop that kind of film in short order for a price. How about it?”
Wolfe said yes.
“Okay. Again for instance, if Cramer does send a squad with a warrant when he finds the camera empty, and he might, what about the orchids? If you can’t bear to ditch them, I suggest hiding them in the plant rooms among a lot of foliage. Of course that wouldn’t work if Bynoe was along, but that’s not very-”
The phone rang. I got up and went to the kitchen extension on a shelf, and got it.
“Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.”
An educated male voice, low and even, said that it wished to speak with Mr. Wolfe, please, and I asked for its name, please, and it said it preferred not to give its name on the phone, and that made it a problem. But after I had explained that Mr. Wolfe was at the dinner table and not to be disturbed, and I was his confidential assistant, and I wasn’t permitted to make an appointment without a name, he decided to come clean.
The rest was easy. I hung up and returned to my biscuits and molasses, and told Wolfe, “That makes it even more interesting. Excuse me for not checking with you, but I was sure you would want to see him. Mr. Millard Bynoe will be here in half an hour.”
Chapter 4
MILLARD BYNOE SAT ON the red leather chair, but not in it. He had probably never lolled once in all his fifty-five years; and now he sat straight with his fanny only halfway back on the seat, his feet neatly together, and his fists resting on his thighs. “Fists” may give a wrong impression. For a man who has spent his whole life giving away an inherited pile in big chunks, it’s only natural to keep his fingers curled tight.
Like everybody else, I was of course familiar with the wide mouth and big ears of Millard Bynoe, but the man he had brought with him, whom he had introduced as Mr. Henry Frimm, was a comparative stranger. I had seen him once before as he had left the church beside Mrs. Bynoe. He was a lot younger than Bynoe and a lot better looking, and he wasn’t afraid to unbend. On the yellow chair I had placed for him near the corner of Wolfe’s desk, he leaned back and even crossed his legs.
Bynoe had trouble getting started. He told Wolfe twice that he had come to consult him on a delicate matter, and apparently the idea of such a thing was too much for him. He sat through a long moment and then tried again.
“I should explain, Mr. Wolfe, that I have come to you in this emergency because I have full confidence in your ability, your discretion, and your integrity. My friend Lewis Hewitt has often spoken to me of a service you performed for him some years ago, and of your talents and character, and he is a good judge of men. He has also spoken of Mr. Goodwin. So when I learned from the police that Mr. Goodwin was there today, in front of the church, and when I found myself confronted by a delicate problem, I decided to bring it to you.”
He stopped. Delicate again. Wolfe prompted him. “And the problem?”
“It is highly confidential. I must rely on your discretion.”
“Short of complicity in crime, you may.” Wolfe’s eyes, steady at him, were half closed. “And if the problem is connected with the death of your wife, I may save time by saying that I am fairly well informed. I know how she was killed. Inspector Cramer has been here to question Mr. Goodwin, and Mr. Goodwin has told me what happened in front of the church. Accept my condolence.”
“Thank you.” Bynoe tilted his head and straightened it again. “You will understand that I am controlling myself with some difficulty. Then you know about the needle?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that the police assume that it was shot at her from a camera?”
“Yes. Do you challenge that?”
“By no means. I suggested that idea to the police, and found that they were already considering it. I see no other possible explanation. I was beside her in the church, and as we left the church, and every moment until she-” He stopped and his jaw stiffened. After a little it came loose and he went on, “You will excuse me. Until she was overcome. So was Mr. Frimm, and we are positive that no one touched her. In front of the church a man was apparently trying to, but he didn’t succeed. Mr. Frimm warded him off. Immediately after that she made a sudden movement and caught her lip with her teeth, and we asked her if something had happened, but she shook her head.” His jaw worked. “My wife would not want to make a scene in public. I fully accept the police theory, though my problem arises from it.” His head turned. “Henry, I prefer that you explain it. If you will?”
“Of course, Mr. Bynoe, if you wish.” Frimm was not enthusiastic. Looking at Wolfe, he cleared his throat. “You probably don’t know who I am, or what I am. I am the executive secretary of the Bynoe Rehabilitation Fund, one of Mr. Bynoe’s major interests. It was also one of Mrs. Bynoe’s major interests; she was quite active in the Fund’s work. But that is only to tell you who I am; what Mr. Bynoe wants me to explain is the unfortunate circumstance that I am acquainted with one of the persons with a camera in front of the church. A young woman named Iris Innes.”
His eyes went to Bynoe, but Bynoe merely said, “Go ahead, Henry,” and Frimm returned to Wolfe.
“In fact, Miss Innes and I were engaged to be married, and it was broken off only a month ago. The police have learned that fact and have questioned me about it. They have also questioned me about my relations with Mrs. Bynoe, and some of their questions indicate a suspicion that my engagement with Miss Innes was broken off on account of my feelings about Mrs. Bynoe-a suspicion that is utterly without foundation. But from their questions it appeared that they were actually considering the possibility that Miss Innes had sufficient reason to want to-uh-to harm Mrs. Bynoe. It was absolutely ridiculous, but I felt it was necessary-more than that, it was my duty-to tell Mr. Bynoe about it.”
He looked at Bynoe again, but the philanthropist had his eyes on Wolfe. Frimm asked, “Will that do, Mr. Bynoe?”
Bynoe, not answering, said to Wolfe, “You can see why I said it is a delicate problem. I have spoken with the Police Commissioner, and he was most considerate, but newspaper reporters have already tried to question Frimm about it and the danger is very great. If my wife was murdered it is of course impossible to prevent publicity about a murder, but I will not have her memory defiled by a slur on her personal character-her-her purity. I have also consulted my lawyer, and he has spoken with the District Attorney, but beyond that he seems to think that nothing can be done. So I decided to come to you. If you are as efficient and resourceful as my friend Lewis Hewitt thinks you are, you will know what to do.”
Wolfe was frowning at him. “If you hope, Mr. Bynoe, to keep innuendoes out of the newspapers, abandon the idea. Short of that, what do you want?”
“I want my wife’s memory kept clear of any taint. I want the police to understand that their suspicion of Miss Innes, of her having a motive to harm my wife, is baseless and unwarranted. If my wife was killed by a poisoned needle shot by one of those people with a camera, and I accept that theory because I don’t see how else it could have happened, it must have been one of the three men, and I want him found and punished. Another reason why I came to you is that Mr. Goodwin was there. I understand that he was right next to Miss Innes, between her and one of the men, and surely he can say that her camera was merely an ordinary camera. I want you to stop these absurd and vicious speculations.” He uncurled his fists to intertwine his fingers. “My wife was a pure and fine woman, and this cannot be tolerated.”
Wolfe nodded. “That’s a natural attitude for a man in your position. You have had very little to tolerate. But speculations about a murder can be stopped only one way: expose the culprit.” His head turned. “Mr. Frimm. The most obvious question: has Miss Innes a plausible excuse for being there with a camera?”
Frimm nodded. “Oh, yes. More than plausible.
She is a professional photographer, on the staff of Seсorita, the magazine. I haven’t spoken with her since-I haven’t seen her, but I presume she was on assignment.”
“When did you see her last?”
“A month ago. When our engagement was broken off.”
“Who and what broke it off?”
“We did. By mutual consent. We agreed that we were not suited for each other.” Frimm’s lips tightened. “As I told you, Mr. Wolfe, this suspicion of the police is completely ridiculous.”
“No doubt.” Wolfe went to Bynoe. “You understand, sir, that I cannot undertake to establish negatives. I cannot end the speculations and innuendoes by proving that Mr. Frimm did not discard Miss Innes because Mrs. Bynoe had supplanted her in his desires, and that Miss Innes was not moved to avenge her smart. These facts can be established only by eliminating them; they can be eliminated only by providing a substitute; and the only acceptable substitute is one of the three men who were there with cameras. Do you know anything about them?”
“No. I have been told their names, but I don’t remember them. My mind is not working. Henry?”
“Yes, Mr. Bynoe. Joseph Herrick, a newspaper photographer, on the Gazette. Augustus Pizzi, with a firm of commercial photographers-just a moment-” Frimm closed his eyes. He opened them. “Yes. All-over Pictures, Incorporated. And Alan Geiss, a free-lance photographer.” He saw I was writing in my notebook, and asked if I had them, and I told him yes. He returned to Wolfe. “I had never heard of any of them, and neither had Mr. Bynoe. So far as we know, none of them ever had anything to do with Mrs. Bynoe or with anything she was connected with.”
Wolfe grunted. “He wouldn’t have, since that would point him. More likely, he was paid to do it; and if he won’t talk, as he surely won’t, where do we look for the man or woman who paid him? Have you any idea, Mr. Frimm?”
“No, I haven’t.”
“No faintest notion?”
“No. I don’t know of anyone who even disliked Mrs. Bynoe, let alone anyone who might want-who might want her to die.”
“Have you, Mr. Bynoe?”
“No. Naturally the police wanted to know that, and I have thought about it. In fact, they insisted, but I could give them no names.”
“Then it’s no wonder they find Miss Innes attractive.” Wolfe lifted his chin. “Let us avoid misunderstanding, sir. If you hire me to end speculations about your wife I will undertake it conditionally, the condition being that I find no reason to doubt your statement that they are without foundation. Should I find such a reason, I withdraw and bill you for my fee, and if I have acquired evidence of a crime I inform the police.”
“You will find no such reason,” Bynoe said stiffly. “And I assure you I would not expect you to suppress evidence of a crime. Your intimation that I might is offensive.” He swallowed. “Mr. Hewitt told me that you would be offensive, and I suppose I must tolerate it-either that or just… go home and sit and wait and do nothing.” His jaw worked. “I accept your condition. My only alternative-No. I accept it. Do you wish a check for a retainer?”
Wolfe said that wasn’t necessary and started asking questions. I had my notebook open, but after half an hour there wasn’t much in it but an assortment of negatives. They knew nothing at all about Herrick or Pizzi or Geiss; they could name no one who might have had a motive; Mrs. Bynoe had come from an old and respected family, the daughter of an Episcopalian bishop, and to their knowledge there was no scar on her past; and so on down the line. The only faint glimmer was contributed by Bynoe: that on Friday evening he had thought something was troubling her and had asked her what it was, and she had said that Good Friday was no day to speak of human failings and she wouldn’t bother him with it until after Easter. That wasn’t much help, since he couldn’t furnish a guess on what it had been.
When I went to let them out I stood on the sill long enough to see that the limousine waiting for them at the curb was a Rolls-Royce, and then returned to the office. Wolfe was hunched forward in his chair with his eyes closed and his lips screwed up.
“Does it hurt?” I asked cheerfully.
He grunted.
I stood and looked down at him. “A very fine client,” I declared. “He probably has a couple of hundred million left and that pink Vanda plant. It’s too bad you can’t fill his order. The way it stacks up, your best move is to hide the orchids. If only we could figure a way to frame Tabby-”
“Shut up,” he growled. His eyes opened. “That woman. I’ll have to see her.” He glanced up at the wall clock. “Tonight if possible. Get her here.”
“Sure. In a box. She’s probably downtown with the DA, if they like her as much as Frimm thinks they do, but you need her worse than they do. I’ll whistle her out. First I’ll see if she’s listed.” I went to my desk for the Manhattan phone book, turned to the I’s and found an entry: “Innes Iris 116 Arbor… SUlvn 7-6608.” I told Wolfe, “This must be her,” and reached for the phone.
“One moment,” he said. “I have a suggestion.”
Chapter 5
AT MIDNIGHT OF THAT Easter Sunday I was propped against the wall of a corridor on an upper floor of 155 Leonard Street, and getting tired of it, having been there well over an hour. After Wolfe had made his suggestion, and I had dialed the Sullivan number and got no answer, I had rung the Gazette. Lon Cohen wasn’t there, but his assistant told me that the latest report was that Iris Innes was still at the DA’s office, and, knowing that they rarely keep at a woman all night even when she is charged, I had got the sedan from the garage, and driven downtown and posted myself outside the anteroom. At midnight I was still posted. Three minutes later she showed. The door opened and there she was, but not alone.
It took me two seconds to size up her escort. He was not an assistant DA. He was not her lawyer. He was therefore a dick on the DA’s staff, one I didn’t know, and he did not have her in custody. His mission was merely to see her to a police car for transportation. With that settled, I fronted them as they started down the corridor and said, “Hi, Iris. I’ll take you home.”
“Who are you?” the dick demanded.
“A friend of hers. Any objection?”
“I can use a friend,” she said, and took my arm, and we headed for the elevator. The dick said something to our backs, and we ignored it. When we reached the elevator and I glanced back, he was standing there making up his mind whether action was called for, and he was still there when the door opened and I ushered her in. Down in the ground-floor corridor a journalist tried to head us off, and, recognizing me as well as her, tagged along out to the sidewalk, where I got rude and gave him an elbow in the ribs.
When we were half a block away I spoke. “I’ve got a car parked around the corner.”
“No, thanks,” she said. “Just find me a taxi. I’ve never been put in a taxi by a prince of the blood. Only you’re more like a Boy Scout.”
We turned the corner. “Why I took your cue,” she said, “he was going to take me home and I had had all I could stand of cops for one day. How did you know I wasn’t under arrest?”
“The look on his face. I’m an expert on cops’ faces. Also the way he walked.” I touched her arm to stop her. “Here’s my car.” I pulled the door open. “Climb in. You know who I am, and you know I want to say something, or what was I there for? I’ll say it on the way to one-sixteen Arbor Street.”
She gave me a look. In the dim street light her face was more like the one I had seen twelve hours earlier peering down at me from her perch on the box, not as shadowed and saggy as it had been in the corridor. Apparently I passed, for she turned and got in, and I went around to the other side, ducked in behind the wheel, started the engine, and rolled.
She spoke. “You wanted to say something.”
“Yeah. You may know I work for Nero Wolfe.”
“Of course.”
“Millard Bynoe and Henry Frimm came to see him this evening.”
Her head jerked around. “What for?”
“It was confidential. But do you happen to know that you were going to marry Frimm and now you’re out?”
“Oh my Lord, here we go again. Let me out. If I can’t find a taxi I’ll walk.”
“I merely ask if you know it.”
“Certainly I know it.”
“Then I can admit that that entered into the conversation.” I took time out to make a left turn. “I presume you also know that the cops think a poisoned needle was shot at Mrs. Bynoe by one of us there with cameras. Or have they saved that for tomorrow?”
“They have not. They have my camera. They showed me the needle.”
“Then you’re caught up and I can speak my piece. It is widely known that I am a sharp observer, and I have good eyes. If I go to the DA’s office to answer questions, say tomorrow morning, and if I say I got a good look at your camera at close range, and I am positive that it had no trick gadgets on it, that may not make them cross you off, but it will certainly cool them down. Especially if I add that I will swear to it on a witness stand. Of course at present it’s just an if. What I want to suggest is this, that we go and talk it over with Nero Wolfe. Now.”
Her face was turned to me, and, stopping for a red light, I turned mine to her.
“I don’t get it,” she said.
“It’s simple enough. If they suspect that you shot that needle-”
“Oh, I get that. It’s you I don’t get, and Nero Wolfe.” She shut her eyes tight. “I’m too tired to think. It wasn’t Henry Frimm that got you-not Henry-and why would Millard Bynoe? Take me home.”
My eyes had left her because the light had changed and we were moving. “Mr. Wolfe will explain,” I assured her. “When you’ve had something to eat and drink you’ll feel better. He’ll tell you what-”
“No! I’m going home!” Her voice was up. “I’ll get out at the next light!”
She would have. It was no go. We would have a red light in twenty seconds, and that wasn’t time enough to talk her around, and if I pulled over and stopped she would hop out, and if I tried holding her she would yell. Her nerves had had all they could take. “Okay,” I told her, “skip it. Home it is. I’ll ring you in the morning.”