The Final Deduction

by Rex Stout

  “He didn’t say that. That was a question.”

  Wolfe snorted. “A question only rhetorically. You said I was grandstanding—your word. Apparently you no longer think so, which isn’t surprising, since I have found the money. In effect, you are now demanding that I do your interpreting for you.”

  “That’s another lie. I am not.”

  “But you are.” Wolfe turned a palm up. “Consider. As I told you yesterday, my conclusions about the whereabouts of the money and Mr. Vail’s death were based on deductions and assumptions from the evidence at hand, and I have no evidence that you do not have. Yesterday you said you would leave me to my deductions and assumptions. Now you want them. You demand them, snarling a threat.”

  “You’re twisting it around as usual. I didn’t snarl.”

  “I’m clarifying it. I am under no necessity, either as a citizen or as a licensed detective, to share the product of my ratiocination with you. I am not obliged to describe the mental process by which I located the money and identified the murderer of Miss Utley and Mr. Vail. I may decide to do so, but it rests with my discretion. I shall consider it, and if and when—”

  The doorbell rang. As I went to the hall I was considering whether it was Andrew Frost with a legal chip on his shoulder or some journalist after crumbs. It was neither. It was Ben Dykes of Westchester County and a stranger. It might or might not be desirable to let them join the party, so I only opened the door to the two-inch crack the chain permitted and spoke through it. “Back again?”

  “With bells on,” Dykes said.

  “You’re Archie Goodwin?” the stranger asked. He showed a buzzer, not Westchester. New York. “Open up.”

  “It’s after office hours,” I said. “Give me three good reasons why I should—”

  “Take a look at the bells,” Dykes said and stuck a paper through the crack.

  I took it, unfolded it, and looked. Thoroughly. It was a little wordy and high-flown, but I got the idea. “Mr. Wolfe will want to see this,” I said. “He’s a great reader. Excuse me a minute.” I went to the office, waited until Wolfe finished a sentence, and told him, “Sorry to interrupt. Ben Dykes from Westchester with a New York dick for an escort, and with this.” I showed the paper. “A court order that Archie Goodwin is to be arrested and held on a charge of grand larceny. On a complaint by Mrs. Althea Vail. It’s called a warrant.” I turned to Cramer. “Got any more questions before I leave?”

  He didn’t even glance at me. His eyes were fastened on Wolfe, who had just said that he had identified a murderer. Wolfe put out a hand, and I gave him the paper, and he read it. “She’s an imbecile,” he declared. “Bring them in.”

  “We don’t need Goodwin,” Cramer said. “You’ll have him out on bail in the morning.”

  “Bring them,” Wolfe snapped.

  I returned to the front, removed the chain, pulled the door open, invited them in, and was surprised to see that there were three of them. Presumably the third one had stayed at the foot of the steps as a reserve in case I started shooting. You’ve got to use tactics when you go for a gorilla. I soon discovered how wrong I was when they followed me to the office and the third one darted by me to Wolfe’s desk, whipped a paper from a pocket, and shoved it at Wolfe. “For you,” he said and wheeled and was going, but Ben Dykes caught his arm and demanded, “Who are you?”

  “Jack Duffy, process server,” he said and jerked loose and trotted out.

  “A goddam paper boy,” Dykes said disgustedly. I stepped to the hall, saw that he shut the door as he went, and stepped back in. Wolfe had picked up the document and was scowling at it. He read it through, let it fall to the desk, leaned back, closed his eyes, and pushed his lips out. In a moment he pulled them in, then out, in, out …

  Dykes said, “All right, Goodwin, let’s go.” The New York dick had suddenly recognized Inspector Cramer and was trying to catch his eye so he could salute, but Cramer was staring at Wolfe. In a minute Wolfe opened his eyes, straightened up, and asked his expert on women, me, “Is she a lunatic?” He tapped the document. “This is a summons. She is suing me, not only for the money in the suitcase, but also to recover the fee she paid me.”

  “That hurts you,” Cramer growled.

  Wolfe regarded him. “Mr. Cramer, I have a proposal. I would prefer not to describe it for other ears, and I think you share that preference. It is within the discretion of the police to postpone service of a warrant of arrest if it is thought desirable. I suggest that you advise Mr. Dykes, who is accompanied by a member of your force, to wait until tomorrow noon to take Mr. Goodwin into custody, After they leave I’ll make my proposal.”

  Cramer cocked his head and screwed his lips. He had to pretend to give it a hard look, but actually there was nothing to it. By now he knew darned well that Wolfe wasn’t grandstanding. He spoke. “Dykes is from Westchester. He has a New York man with him for courtesy, but the arrest is up to him.” His head turned. “What about it, Dykes? Would you have to phone White Plains?”

  Dykes shook his head. “That wouldn’t be necessary, Inspector. I’m supposed to use my head.”

  “All right, use it. You heard what Wolfe said. If it’s just a stall, you can take Goodwin tomorrow.”

  Dykes hesitated. “If you don’t mind, Inspector, I’d like to be able to say that you made it a request.”

  “Then say it. It’s a request.”

  Dykes went to Wolfe’s desk and picked up the warrant, then turned to me. “You won’t leave the state, Goodwin.”

  I told him I wouldn’t dream of it, and he headed out, followed by the dick, who never had got to salute Cramer. I got in front of them, wanting to be polite to a man who had postponed tossing me in the can, and let them out. When I returned to the office Wolfe was speaking.

  “… but I must first satisfy myself. As I told you, I have no evidence. Mr. Goodwin has already been served with a warrant, and I have been served with a summons, and I prefer not to expose myself to an action for libel.”

  “Nuts. Telling me privately, libel?”

  “It’s conceivable. But in candor, that’s not the main point. I intend to take a certain step, and it’s highly likely that if I told you what I have deduced and assumed you would make it extremely difficult for me to take it, if not impossible. You wouldn’t dare to take it yourself because, like me, you would have no evidence. You’ll hear from me, probably tonight, and by tomorrow noon at the latest.”

  Cramer was anything but pleased. “This is a hell of a proposal.”

  “It’s the best I can do.” Wolfe looked at the clock. “I would like to proceed.”

  “Sure you would.” Cramer reached for his hat and put it on. “I should have let Dykes take Goodwin. I’d sleep better if I knew he was in a cell.” He rose. “You’d have had to take your certain step anyway.” He moved and, halfway to the door, turned. “If you call me tomorrow and say you’ve decided that your deductions and assumptions were wrong, God help you.” He went. That time my going to see that the hall was empty when the door closed wasn’t just routine; he might really have stayed inside to get a line on the certain step. As I stepped back in Wolfe snapped, “Get Mrs. Vail.”

  That wasn’t so simple. First I got a female, and after some insisting I got Ralph Purcell. After more insisting he told me to hold the wire, and after a wait I had him again, saying that his sister wouldn’t speak with Nero Wolfe or me either. I asked if he would give her a message, and he said yes, and I told him to tell her that Wolfe wanted to tell her how he had known the money was in the house. That did it. After another wait her voice came.

  “This is Althea Vail. Nero Wolfe?”

  He was at his phone. “Yes. I am prepared to tell you how I knew where the money was, but it’s possible that your telephone is tapped. I am also—”

  “Why on earth would it be tapped?”

  “The pervasive curiosity of the police. I am also prepared to tell you various other things. Examples: the name of the man to whom you gave the suitc
ase on Iron Mine Road; how I know that there was no Mr. Knapp; the reason why Mr. Vail had to be killed. I shall expect you at my office at nine o’clock this evening.”

  Silence. She hadn’t hung up, but the silence lasted so long that I thought she had left the phone. So long that Wolfe finally asked, “Are you there, madam?”

  “Yes.” More silence, but after half a minute: “I’ll come now.”

  “No. It will take some time and would run into the dinner hour. Nine o’clock.”

  “I’ll be there.” The connection went.

  We hung up, and I turned to Wolfe. “What’s all the hurry? You haven’t got a single solitary scrap.”

  He was glaring at the phone and switched it to me. “I will not have you carted off to jail on a complaint by that silly wretch. It should be worth keeping. Is that thing in order?”

  “I suppose so. It was the last time we used it.”

  “Test it.”

  I got up, slipped my hand in between my desk and the wall, and flipped a switch. Then I went and sat in the red leather chair and said in a fairly low voice, “Nero Wolfe is going to put on a charade, and let us hope he doesn’t break a leg.” I went to my desk and turned it off, then went to the kitchen, opened a cupboard door, did some manipulating, and flipped a switch, and in a few seconds my voice came out: “Nero Wolfe is going to put on a charade, and let us hope he doesn’t break a leg.” I reached in and turned it off, returned to the office, and reported, “It’s okay. Anything else?”

  “Yes. That idiot may have a gun or a bomb or heaven knows what. Stay near her.”

  “Or she may have a lawyer.”

  “No. No indeed. She’s not that big an idiot.” He picked up the summons and scowled at it.

  15

  She came at 8:50, ten minutes ahead of time. I was getting Wolfe’s okay on a change in the program when the doorbell rang. In order to stay near her I would have had to sit in one of the yellow chairs near the red leather chair, and I prefer to be at my desk, or I would have had to put her in one of the yellow chairs near me, and Wolfe prefers to have a caller in the red leather chair because the window is then at his back.

  It was a pleasant May Day evening, and she had no wrap over her tailored suit, so the only problem was her handbag—a big black leather one with a trick clasp. I learned about the clasp when I tried to open it, after I had got it from her lap and taken it to my desk. Her reaction to my snatching it, which I did as soon as she was seated and had no hand on it, showed the condition of her nerves. She made no sound and no movement, but merely stared at me as I took it to my desk, and she said nothing while I fiddled with it, finding the trick clasp and opening it, and inspected the contents. Nothing in it seemed to be menacing, and when I went and put it back on her lap she had transferred the stare to Wolfe. I might have felt a little sorry for her if it hadn’t been for the warrant that Ben Dykes would be back with at noon tomorrow. When you grab a woman’s bag and open it and go through it, and all she does is sit and stare, she could certainly use a little sympathy.

  There was no sympathy in Wolfe’s expression as he regarded her. “This isn’t an inquisition, Mrs. Vail,” he said. “I have no questions to ask you. It will be a monologue, not a tête-à-tête, and it will be prolonged. I advise you to say nothing whatever.”

  “I wouldn’t answer any questions if you did ask them,” she said. Her voice was good enough. “You said there was no Mr. Knapp. That’s crazy.”

  “Not as crazy as your invention of him.” Wolfe leaned back. “This will be easier to follow if I begin in the middle. Mr. Goodwin has told you how I reached the conclusion that your husband was murdered. That didn’t help much unless I could identify the murderer, and as a first step I needed to see those who were at that gathering Wednesday evening. Let’s take them in the order in which I saw them.

  “First, your son. When he came to hire me to find the money for him I suggested the possibility that he had had a hand in the kidnaping and knew where the money was, that he couldn’t very well just go and get it, and that he intended to supply hints that would lead to its discovery by me—or by Mr. Goodwin. When I made that suggestion at the beginning of our conversation, I thought it was a real possibility, but by the time our talk ended I had discarded it. For such a finesse a subtle and agile mind would be needed, and also a ready tongue. Such a witling as your son couldn’t possibly have conceived it, much less execute it. So he had come to me in good faith; he hadn’t been involved in the kidnaping; he didn’t know where the money was; and he hadn’t killed Mr. Vail.”

  “You said you would tell me how you knew there was no Mr. Knapp.”

  “That will come in its place. Second, your daughter. But you may not know even now what led Mr. Goodwin and me to suspect that Dinah Utley was a party to the kidnaping. Do you?”

  “No.”

  “Your brother hasn’t told you?”

  “No.”

  “Nor the police?”

  “No.”

  “The note that came in the mail. It had been typed by her. I won’t elucidate that; this will take long enough without such details. When Mr. Goodwin saw that the other two notes which you had found in telephone books—I know now, of course, that they were not in the books, you had them with you and went to the books and pretended to find them—when Mr. Goodwin saw that they too had been typed by her, the suspicion became a conclusion. And ten minutes’ talk with your daughter made it manifest that it was quite impossible that she had been allied with Dinah Utley in any kind of enterprise, let alone one as ambitious and hazardous as kidnaping. Your daughter is a vulgarian, a dunce, and a snob. Also she had come to demand that I find the money for her, but even without that it was plain that she, like her brother, had not been involved in the kidnaping; she didn’t know where the money was; and she hadn’t killed Mr. Vail.

  “Third, your brother. From Mr. Goodwin’s report of his behavior Wednesday afternoon, or rather, his lack of behavior, his silence, I had tentatively marked him as the one who most needed watching. After twenty minutes with him, him in the chair you are in now, I had to conclude that it was impossible. You know his habit of looking at A when B starts to speak.”

  “Yes.”

  “His explanation of that habit was enough. A man with a reaction so hopelessly out of control cannot have effective and sustained control over any of his faculties. He would never trust himself to undertake an operation that required audacity, ingenuity, and mettle. There were many other indications. His parting words were ‘I guess I am a fool,’ and he meant them. Patently he was not the man.

  “Fourth, Andrew Frost. As you know, he came yesterday morning, but I learned nothing from that interview. There was nothing in his words or tone or manner to challenge the possibility that he was the culprit, and, except for you, that was the only possibility that remained. But through an assistant I had already learned enough about him to exclude him—his record, his position in his profession and in society, his financial status. That didn’t exclude him as a possible murderer, but it was inconceivable that he had been involved in the kidnaping. He would have had to conspire with at least two others, Miss Utley and Mr. Knapp, and probably more, with the only objective in view a share of the loot, and therefore he would have been at their mercy, in mortal danger indefinitely. What if one of his confederates had been caught and had talked? To suppose that such a man had incurred such a risk for such a return? No.”

  Wolfe shook his head. “No. Therefore it was you. You had been a party to the kidnaping, you had killed Dinah Utley, and you had killed your husband. I reached that conclusion at ten o’clock Saturday evening, but I wanted to see Mr. Frost before I acted on it. It was barely possible that after talking with him I would reconsider my decision about him. I didn’t. Will you have some refreshment? A drink? Coffee?”

  No reply. No movement.

  “Tell me if you want something. I’ll have some beer.” He pushed a button and leaned back again. “Also before I acted on it I had to
examine it. I had to satisfy myself that no fact and no factor known to me rendered it untenable; and first came motive. What conceivable reason could you have had for getting half a million dollars in cash from your bank and going through that elaborate rigmarole to deliver it to a masked man at an isolated spot on a country road at midnight, other than your ostensible reason? Please bear in mind, Mrs. Vail, that from here on I am not reporting; I am only telling you how I satisfied myself. If in this instance or that I chose the wrong alternative you may correct me, but I still advise you to say nothing.”

  I never saw advice better followed. She had a good opportunity to speak, for Fritz came with beer, and Wolf poured, but she didn’t take advantage of it. He waited for the foam to sink to the proper level, then lifted the glass and drank.

  He leaned back. “I found only one acceptable answer. The man you delivered the suitcase to was your husband. He probably was masked, for both you and he gave meticulous attention to detail throughout the operation. Very well; why? What were you accomplishing? You were establishing the fact that you had suffered a loss of half a million dollars, and that fact would net you ninety-one per cent of the half a million, since you would deduct it as a casualty on your income-tax report. I haven’t inquired as to whether such a casualty would be deductible, and I don’t suppose you did, probably you merely assumed that it would be. If your income for the year would be less than half a million, no matter; you could carry the loss back for three previous years and forward for five future years. Well worth the effort, surely.”

  He came forward to drink, then back again. “Other facts and factors. Why did you and your husband bring Dinah Utley into it? You couldn’t plan it to your satisfaction without her. Take one detail, the phone call from Mr. Knapp. You wanted no doubt whatever in any quarter that the kidnaping was genuine, and you thought there must be a phone call. Mr. Vail couldn’t make it, for even if he disguised his voice it might be recognized. It would be simpler and safer to use Miss Utley, your trusted employee, than to have some man, no matter who, make the call. Of course the call was never made. Miss Utley not only typed the notes; she also typed the transcript of the supposed conversation on the phone. I presume her reward was to be a modest share of the booty.