The Final Deduction

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The Final Deduction Page 5

by Rex Stout

“You haven’t said where,” Jimmy Vail said. “Where was it?”

  Mrs. Vail’s eyes had opened, and I preferred to tell her, since she was the client. “Iron Mine Road. That’s a narrow rocky lane off of Route One Twenty-three. Route One Twenty-three goes into Route Thirty-five seven miles east of Katonah, not far from the state line.”

  Her eyes had widened. “My God,” she said, staring at me. “They killed her.” She turned to Andrew Frost. “The kidnapers. They killed her.” Back to me. “Then you were right, what Mr. Wolfe said about suspecting her. That’s where—”

  “Wait a minute, Althea,” Frost commanded her. “I must speak with you privately. This is dangerous business, extremely dangerous. You should have told me Monday when you got that note. As your counselor, I instruct you to say nothing more to anyone until you have talked with me. And I don’t—Where are you going?”

  She had left the couch and was heading for the door. She said over her shoulder, “I’ll be back,” and kept going, on out. Jimmy moved. He went halfway to the door, stopped and stood, his back to us, and then came back to the fireplace. Ralph Purcell, Mrs. Vail’s brother, said something to Frost and got no response. I had never seen Purcell and knew next to nothing of him, either hearsay or personal knowledge. Around fifty, take a couple of years either way, with not much hair left and a face as round as his sister’s, he had a habit I had noticed: when someone started to say something he looked at someone else. If he was after an effect he got it; it made you want to say something to him and see if you could keep his eye.

  Noel Tedder, who was leaning against George Washington, asked me, “What’s this about suspecting her? Suspecting her of what?” The lawyer shook his head at him, and Margot said, “What’s the difference now? She’s dead.” Purcell was looking at me, and I was deciding what to say to him and try to hold his eye when Mrs. Vail came in. She had an envelope in her hand. She came back to the couch, sat on the edge, and took papers from the envelope. Frost demanded, “What have you got there? Althea, I absolutely insist—”

  “I don’t care what you insist,” she told him. “You’re a good lawyer, Andy, Harold thought so and so do I, and I trust your advice on things you know about, you know I do, but this is different. I told you about it because you could tell me about the legal part of it, but now I don’t need just legal advice, now that I know Dinah was killed there on Iron Mine Road. I think I need something more than legal advice, I think I need Nero Wolfe.” She turned to me. “Would he come here? He wouldn’t, would he?”

  I shook my head. “He never leaves the house on business. If you want to see him he’ll be available at six—”

  “No. I don’t feel like—no. I can tell you. Can’t I?”

  “Certainly.” I got my notebook and pen from a pocket, went to a chair near the end of the couch, and sat.

  She looked around. “I want you to hear it, all of you. You all knew Dinah. I’m sure you all thought of her as highly as I did—I don’t mean you all liked her, that’s not it, but you thought she was very competent and completely reliable. But apparently she—but wait till you hear it.” She fingered in the papers, extracted one, handed it to me, and looked around again. “I’ve told you about the note I got Monday morning saying they had Jimmy and I would get a phone call from Mr. Knapp. Nero Wolfe has it. And I’ve told you, haven’t I—yes, I did—that when the phone call came Monday afternoon Dinah listened in and took it down. Later she typed it from her notes, and that’s it. Read it aloud, Mr. Goodwin.”

  A glance had shown me that the typing was the same as the note, the same faint letters, but on a better grade of paper and a different size, 8½ by 11. I read it to them:

  MRS. VAIL: This is Althea Vail. Are you—

  KNAPP: I’m Mr. Knapp. Did you get the note?

  MRS. VAIL: Yes. This morning. Yes.

  KNAPP: Is anyone else on the wire?

  MRS. VAIL: No. Of course not. The note said—

  KNAPP: Keep it strictly to yourself. You had better if you want to see your Jimmy again. Have you got the money?

  MRS. VAIL: No, how could I? I only got the note—

  KNAPP: Get it. You’ve got until tomorrow. Get it and put it in a suitcase. Five hundred thousand dollars in used bills, nothing bigger than a hundred. You understand that?

  MRS. VAIL: Yes, I understand. But where is my husband? Is he—

  KNAPP: He’s perfectly all right. Safe and sound, not a scratch on him. That’s absolutely straight, Mrs. Vail. If you play it straight, you can count on us. Now listen. I don’t want to talk long. Get the money and put it in a suitcase. Tomorrow evening, Tuesday, put the suitcase in the trunk of your blue sedan, and don’t forget to make sure the trunk’s locked. Take the Merritt Parkway. Leave it at the Westport exit, Route 33. You know Route 33?

  MRS. VAIL: Yes.

  KNAPP: Do you know where Fowler’s Inn is?

  MRS. VAIL: Yes.

  KNAPP: Go to Fowler’s Inn. Get there at ten o’clock tomorrow evening. Don’t get there much before ten, and not any later than five after ten. Take a table on the left side and order a drink. You’ll get a message. Understand?

  MRS. VAIL: Yes. What kind of a message? How will I know—

  KNAPP: You’ll know. You’re sure you understand?

  MRS. VAIL: Yes. Fowler’s Inn at ten o’clock tomorrow evening. But when—

  KNAPP: Just do as you’re told. That’s all.

  I looked up. “That’s all.”

  “But my God, Mom,” Noel Tedder blurted, “if you had told me!”

  “Or me,” Andrew Frost said grimly.

  “Well?” Mrs. Vail demanded. “What could you have done? Jimmy’s here, isn’t he? He’s here alive and well. I went to Nero Wolfe, I’ve told you about that, and what he did may have helped, I don’t know and I don’t care now.”

  “I think you were extremely wise,” Margot Tedder said, “not to tell either of them. Mr. Frost would have tried to make you wait until he looked it up in the books. Noel would have gone to Fowler’s Inn in disguise, probably with a false beard. You went, Mother? To Fowler’s Inn?”

  Mrs. Vail nodded. “I did exactly what he told me to. Of course Mr. Graham at the bank was suspicious—no, not suspicious, curious—and he wanted me to tell him what the money was for, but I didn’t. It was my money. I got to Fowler’s Inn too early, and sat in the car until ten o’clock, and then went in. I tried not to show how nervous I was, but I suppose I did; I kept looking at my watch, and at twenty after ten I was called to the phone. It was in a booth. The voice sounded like the other one, Mr. Knapp, but he didn’t say. He told me to look in the Manhattan phone book where Z begins, and hung up. I looked in the phone book, and there was a note. I have it.” She extracted another sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Read it, Mr. Goodwin.”

  “Wait a minute.” It was Jimmy Vail. He had moved and was standing looking down at his wife. “I think you’d better call a halt, Al. You and I had better have a talk. Telling Goodwin all this, telling Frost—it’s not Friday yet.”

  She lifted a hand to touch his arm. “I have to, Jimmy. I have to, now that Dinah—my God, they killed her! Read it, Mr. Goodwin.”

  It was the same typing, and on the same cheap paper as the note that had come in the mail. I read it aloud.

  Leave immediately. Speak to no one. Go to car. Read the rest of this after you are in the car. Drive to Route 7 and turn right. Beyond Weston leave Route 7 on any byroad and turn off of it in a mile or so onto some other byroad. Do this, taking turns at random, for half an hour, then return to Route 7 and go towards Danbury. A mile beyond Branchville stop at The Fatted Calf, take a table and order a drink. You’ll get a message.

  “I’ll take that,” Jimmy Vail said. “And the other one.” His hand was there for them. From his tone, it seemed likely that if I tried to argue that I wanted to show them to Wolfe I would lose the debate, so I got the texts in my notebook in shorthand. That wasn’t really necessary, since after years of practice I can report long convers
ations verbatim, but with such documents as those it was desirable. Transferring typed text to shorthand was practically automatic, so my ears could take in what Mrs. Vail was saying:

  “I did what the note said. I think a car was following me all the time, but I wasn’t sure. I think I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to be sure. The same thing happened at The Fatted Calf, the same as Fowler’s Inn. At ten minutes after eleven I was called to the phone, and the same voice told me to look in the phone book where U begins, and there was another note.” She handed it to me. “Read it.”

  Same typing, same paper. I read:

  Leave immediately. Speak to no one. Read the rest of this in the car. Continue on Route 7 to the intersection with Route 35. Turn left on Route 35, and continue on 35 through Ridgefield. Two miles beyond Ridgefield turn left onto Route 123. Go 1.7 miles on Route 123 and turn right onto Iron Mine Road. Go slow. When a car behind blinks its lights three times, stop. The car will stop behind you. Get out and open the trunk. A man will approach and say, “It’s time for a Knapp,” and you will give him the suitcase. He will tell you what to do.

  “He did,” Mrs. Vail said. “He told me to drive straight back to New York, here, without stopping. He told me not to tell anyone anything until Jimmy came back or he would never come back. He said he would be back within twenty-four hours. And he was! He is! Thank God!” She put out a hand to touch her Jimmy, but had to stretch because he was sticking with me to get the notes. I was getting the last one in my notebook. The Tedder son and daughter were saying something, and so was Andrew Frost. Finishing with my shorthand, I reached around Jimmy to hand the papers to Mrs. Vail. He had a hand there, but I ignored it, and she took them. She spoke to me.

  “You see why I had to tell Nero Wolfe. Or you.”

  “I can guess,” I told her. “Mr. Wolfe told you we suspected that Dinah Utley was implicated in the kidnaping. Now I tell you that her body was found on Iron Mine Road, at the spot where you turned over the suitcase, or near there. That complicates your problem when Westchester County comes to ask you about Dinah Utley and why you had her go to see Mr. Wolfe, especially if you and your husband still want to save it until Friday. Haven’t they been here yet?”

  “No.”

  “They soon will be. As for Mr. Wolfe and me, we’ll stand pat until eleven o’clock Friday morning. He made it eleven o’clock because that’s when he comes down from the plant rooms. As for you and your husband, and now also your son and daughter and brother and lawyer, you’ll have to decide for yourselves. It’s risky to withhold information material to a murder, but if it’s for self-protection from a real danger, if you think Mr. Knapp meant business when he told your husband he’d regret it if he or you spilled it before Friday, I doubt if you’ll have any serious trouble. Is that what you want from Mr. Wolfe or me?”

  “No.” She had the papers back in the envelope and was clutching it. “Only partly that. I want to know why you thought Dinah was implicated.”

  “Naturally.” I put the notebook back in my pocket. “You didn’t see her there? At Iron Mine Road?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Not of course not, since she was there. Was the man alone in the car behind you?”

  “I didn’t see anyone else. It was dark. I wasn’t—I wasn’t caring if there was anyone else.”

  “What did the man look like?”

  “I don’t know. He had a coat and a hat pulled down, and his face was covered with something, all but his eyes.”

  “Who left first, him or you?”

  “I did. He told me to. I had to go on up the road to find a place to turn around.”

  “Was his car still there when you came back past the spot?”

  “Yes. He had it up against the bank so I could get by.”

  “Did you see any other car anywhere on that road?”

  “No.” She gestured impatiently. “What has this to do with Dinah?”

  “Nothing,” Noel Tedder said. “He’s a detective. It’s his nature. He’s putting you through the wringer.”

  “I insist,” Andrew Frost said emphatically, “that this is ill-advised. Very ill-advised. You’re making a mistake, Althea. Don’t you agree, Jimmy?”

  Jimmy was back at the fireplace. “Yes,” he said. “I agree.”

  “But Jimmy, you must see,” she protested. “She was there! And they killed her! You must see I want to know why Nero Wolfe suspected her!” To me: “Why did he?”

  I shook my head. “I only run errands. But you’re welcome to a hint.” I stood up. “That phone talk you had with Mr. Knapp Monday afternoon, that Dinah listened to and took down. May I see the machine she typed it on?”

  The three men spoke at once. Jimmy Vail and Andrew Frost both said, “No!” and Noel Tedder said, “Didn’t I tell you?” Mrs. Vail ignored them and asked, “Why?”

  “I’ll probably tell you after I see it. And I may have a suggestion to make. Is it here?”

  “It’s in my study.” She arose. “Will you tell me why you suspected Dinah?”

  “I’ll either tell you or you’ll have a healthy idea.”

  “All right, come with me.” She moved, paying no attention to protests from the men. I followed her out and along the hall to a door frame where she pressed a button. The door of a do-it-yourself elevator slid open, and we entered. That elevator was a much newer and neater job than the one in Wolfe’s house that took him up to his room or the roof. No noise or jiggle. When it stopped and the door opened, she stepped out and led the way down the hall, some narrower than the one below. The room we entered was much smaller than the Harold F. Tedder library. Inside, I stopped for a glance around—that’s habit. Two desks, one large and one small, shelves with books and magazines, filing cabinet, a large wall mirror, a television set on a table, framed photographs. Mrs. Vail had crossed to the small desk. She turned and said, “It’s not here! The typewriter.”

  I went to her. At the end of the desk was a typewriter stand on casters. There was nothing on it. She had turned again and was staring at it. There were only two questions worth asking, and I asked them.

  “Is it always kept here, or is it sometimes taken to another room?”

  “Never. It is kept here.”

  “When did you last see it here?”

  “I don’t—I’d have to think. I haven’t been in here today, until just now, when I came to get this envelope. I didn’t notice it was gone. Sometime yesterday—I’d have to think. I can’t imagine …”

  “Someone may have borrowed it.” I went to the door and turned. “I’ll report to Mr. Wolfe. If he has anything to say we’ll ring you. The main thing is we’ll stay put until Friday unless you—”

  “But you’re going to tell me why you suspected Dinah!”

  “Not now. Find the typewriter, and we’ll see.” I left. As I went down the hall her voice followed me, but I kept going. I was in no mood for talk. I should never have mentioned the typewriter, since it had nothing to do with the job Wolfe had been paid for, but I had wanted to get a sample from it to take along. Noel Tedder had been right; I was a detective, and it was my nature. Nuts. Skipping the elevator, I took the stairs, three flights down, and when I reached the ground floor the square-faced female appeared through an arch. She got my coat and held it, and went and opened the door; and there entering the vestibule was Ben Dykes, head of the Westchester County detectives.

  I said, “Hello there. Get stopped for speeding?”

  He said, “I’ve been in the park feeding pigeons. I didn’t want to butt in.”

  “That’s the spirit. I fully appreciate it. May your tribe increase.” I circled around him, on out, and headed for 81st Street, where I had left the car.

  5

  At six o’clock, when the sound came of Wolfe’s elevator descending, I was in my chair in the office, my feet up on the desk, my weight on the base of my spine, and my head back.

  For twenty minutes I had been playing a guessing game, which was all it amounted t
o, since we had nothing to do but sit on it, and since I didn’t have enough bones to make a skeleton, let alone meat. But some day all the details of the Jimmy Vail kidnaping, including the murder of Dinah Utley, would be uncovered, whether they got Mr. Knapp or not, and if I could dope it here and now with what little I had, and it turned out that I was right, I could pin a medal on myself. So I worked at it.

  Question: Was Dinah Utley in on it?

  Answer: Certainly. She typed the note that came by mail and those Mrs. Vail found in the phone books.

  Q: Who took the typewriter?

  A: Dinah Utley. When she learned that Mrs. Vail had gone to Nero Wolfe, and when I took her prints and asked about her fingers, she got leery and ditched the typewriter.

  Q: Was she with the man who got the suitcase from Mrs. Vail?

  A: No. She was in her car somewhere along Iron Mine Road, and when Mrs. Vail drove back out she drove on in. She wanted to be sure of getting her cut. The man who had got the suitcase, probably Mr. Knapp, didn’t care for that and killed her.

  Q: Was anyone at the Vail house in on it besides Dinah Utley?

  A: Yes. Jimmy Vail. He kidnaped himself. He had another man in it too, because he wasn’t Mr. Knapp on the phone; it would have been too risky trying to disguise his voice. But he might have been the man who got the suitcase and therefore the man who killed Dinah Utley. That disagrees with the “probably Mr. Knapp” in the preceding answer, but we’re not in court. Items: Jimmy scooted from this office when he heard Wolfe tell Mrs. Vail that we suspected Dinah Utley, he told her she’d better call a halt when she produced the notes she had got from the phone books, and he tried to take the notes from me. Also his reactions in general. Also his insisting on saving it until Friday.

  Q: Why did he have Dinah in on it?

 

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