“It must have been quite a while. You left the cab to go to the house at eight-thirty. How long were you gone?”
“I don’t know. I knocked several times, and looked in at the windows, and then knocked some more.” She considered. “At least ten minutes.”
“Then you were back at the cab at eight-forty, and from there to here wouldn’t take more than ten minutes, and you got here at nine-twenty. Did you sit there half an hour?”
“No. I decided to get her—to get it out of the cab. I found that canvas under the panel. I thought the best place would be somewhere along the river front, and I drove there but didn’t see a good place, and men tried to stop me twice, and once when I stopped for a light a man opened the door and when I told him I was making a delivery he almost climbed in anyway. Then I thought I would just leave the cab somewhere, anywhere, and I went to a phone booth to call Judy and tell her to say the cab had been stolen, but there was no answer. Then I thought of Nero Wolfe and you, and I drove here. I didn’t have much time to make that up about the bet, just on my way here. I knew it wasn’t much good while I was telling it.”
“So did I.” I was frowning at her. “I want you to realize one thing. I believe you when you say you didn’t kill her, but it doesn’t follow that I swallow you whole. For instance, the divorce situation. If the fact is that your husband wanted one so he could marry Phoebe Arden, and you balked, that would make it different.”
“No.” She was frowning back. “I’ve told you the truth, every word. I lied to you out there, but if I lied to you now I’d be a fool.”
“You sure would. How good a friend of yours is Judy Bram?”
“She’s my best friend. She’s a little wild, but I like her. I love her.”
“Are you sure she rates it?”
“Yes.”
“You’d better cross your fingers.” I turned to Wolfe. “Since you’re helping on this, and I fully appreciate it, our minds should meet. Do you accept it that she didn’t kill her?”
“As a working hypothesis, yes.”
“Then isn’t it likely that she was killed by someone who knew that Miss Holt would be driving the cab? Since Kearns didn’t show, taking her away from the cab, and the radio or television was on in the house?”
“Likely, but far from certain. It could have been impromptu. Or the embarrassment could have been meant for Miss Bram, not for Miss Holt.”
I returned to Mira. “How close are Judy Bram and your husband?”
“Close?” The frown was getting chronic. “They aren’t close. If you mean intimate, I doubt if Judy has ever allowed any man to be intimate. My husband may have tried. I suppose he has.”
“Could Judy have had any reason to kill Phoebe Arden?”
“Good lord, no.”
“Isn’t it possible that Judy, unknown to you, had got an idea that she would like to break the ice with your husband, and Phoebe Arden was in the way?”
“I suppose it is, if you want to say that anything is possible, but I don’t believe it.”
“You heard what I asked Mr. Wolfe and what he answered. I still like it that whoever killed her knew that you were going to drive the cab there. It’s certainly possible that Judy Bram told someone.”
“Yes, it’s possible, but I don’t believe it. Judy wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t.”
“It’s also possible that you told someone. Did you?”
Her lips twitched. Twice. Two seconds. “No,” she said.
“You’re lying. I haven’t time to be polite. You’re lying. Whom did you tell?”
“I’m not going to say. The person I told couldn’t possibly have … have done anything. Some things are not possible.”
“Who was it?”
“No, Mr. Goodwin. Really.”
I got the twenty and ten from my pocket and twenty from my wallet, got up, and went to her. “Here’s your fifty bucks,” I said. “Count me out. You can leave the back way.”
“But I tell you he couldn’t!”
“Then he won’t get hurt. I won’t bite him. But I’ve got to know everything you do or it’s no good.”
Her lips twitched again. “You would really do that? Just give me up?”
“I sure would. I will. With regrets and best wishes.”
She breathed. “I phoned a friend of mine last evening and told him. His name is Gilbert Irving.”
“Is he more than a friend?”
“No. He is married and so am I. We’re friends, that’s all.”
“Does he know your husband?”
“Yes. They’ve known each other for years, but they’ve never been close.”
“Did he know Phoebe Arden?”
“He had met her. He didn’t know her.”
“Why did you tell him about your plan to drive the cab?”
“Because I wanted to know what he thought of it. He is very—a very intelligent man.”
“What did he think of it?”
“He thought it was foolish. Not foolish exactly, useless. He thought my husband would refuse to listen to me. Honestly, Mr. Goodwin, this is foolish. There is absolutely no—”
The doorbell rang. I had taken three steps before I remembered that I no longer worked there; then, not wishing to be frivolous, I continued to the hall and took a look through the one-way glass panel of the front door. A man and a woman were there on the stoop. A glance was enough to recognize Inspector Cramer, but it took closer inspection for the woman, and I moved down the hall. Even then I wasn’t positive, since the light had been dim on the picture of the female hackie in the taxi, but I was sure enough. It was Judith Bram.
V
It was up to me, since it was my case and Wolfe was merely helping, but he had many times asked for my opinion and it wouldn’t hurt to reciprocate, so I stepped to the office door and said, “Cramer and Judy Bram. Shall I—”
“Judy!” Mira cried. “She’s here?”
I ignored her. “Shall I scoot with Miss Holt and leave them to you?”
He closed his eyes. In three seconds he opened them. “I would say no. The decision is yours.”
“Then we stick. I want to meet Judy anyhow. Sit tight, Miss Holt. Never drop a simple basic lie until it drops you.”
As I turned the bell rang again. I went to the front, put the chain bolt on, opened the door the two inches the chain allowed, and spoke through the crack. “Do you want me, Inspector?”
“I want in. Open up.”
“Glad to for you, but not for strangers. Who is the lady?”
“Her name is Judith Bram. She’s the owner and driver—”
“I want to see Mira Holt!” the lady said, meaning it. “Open the door!”
I removed the chain, but didn’t have to swing the door because she saved me the trouble. She came with it and darted down the hall. Seeing that Cramer, after her, would brush me, I stiffened to make the brush a bump, and he wobbled and lost a step, giving me time to shut the door and reach the office at his heels. When we entered Judy was sitting on the arm of the red leather chair with her arm across Mira’s shoulders, jabbering. Cramer grabbed her arm and barked at her, but she ignored him.
“—and I said yes, the cab might have still been there in front when you left, but I was sure you wouldn’t take it, and anyway—”
Cramer yanked her up and around, and as she came she swung with her free hand and smacked him in the face. There was too much of him to be staggered by it, but the sound effect was fine. She jerked loose and glared at him. Her big, brown, well-spaced eyes were ideal for glaring. I had a feeling that I had seen her before, but I hadn’t. It was just an old memory: a seventh-grade classmate out in Ohio whom I had been impelled to kiss, and she had socked me on the ear with her arithmetic. She is now married, with five children.
“That’s not advisable, Miss Bram,” Cramer stated. “Striking a police officer.” He moved, got a yellow chair, and swung it around. “Here. Sit down.”
“I’ll sit where I please.” She perched agai
n on the red leather arm. “Is it advisable for a police officer to manhandle a citizen? When I got a hack license I informed myself about laws. Am I under arrest?”
“No.”
“Then don’t touch me.” Her head swung around. “You’re Nero Wolfe? You’re even bigger.” She didn’t say bigger than what. “I’m Judy Bram. Are you representing my friend Mira Holt?”
His eyes on her were half closed. “‘Representing’ is not the word, Miss Bram. I’m a detective, not a lawyer. Miss Holt has hired Mr. Goodwin, and he has hired me as his assistant. You call her your friend. Are you her friend?”
“Yes. And I want to know. She left my place around half past seven, and about an hour later I went out to keep a date. I had left my cab out front and it wasn’t there, but I supposed—”
“Hold it,” Cramer snapped. He was on the yellow chair, and I was at my desk. “I’ll do the talking—”
She merely raised her voice. “—I supposed a man from the garage had come and got it, I have that arrangement—”
“Shut up!” Cramer roared. “Or I’ll shut you up!”
“How?” she asked.
It was a question. He had several choices: clamp his paw on her mouth, or pick her up and carry her out, or call in a couple of big strong men from out front, or hit her with a blunt instrument, or shoot her. All had drawbacks.
“Permit me,” Wolfe said. “I suggest, Mr. Cramer, that you have bungled it. The notion of suddenly confronting Miss Holt with Miss Bram was of course tempting, but your appraisal of Miss Bram’s temperament was faulty. Now you’re stuck. You won’t get the contradictions you’re after. Miss Holt would be a simpleton to supply particulars until she knows what Miss Bram has said. As you well know, that does not necessarily imply culpability for either of them.”
Cramer rasped, “You’re telling Miss Holt not to answer any questions.”
“Am I? If so, unwittingly. Now, of course, you have made it plain. It would appear that you have only two alternatives: either let Miss Bram finish her account, or remove her.”
“There’s a third one I like better. I’ll remove Miss Holt.” Cramer got up. “Come on, Miss Holt. I’m taking you down for questioning in connection with the murder of Phoebe Arden.”
“Is she under arrest?” Judy demanded.
“No. But if she doesn’t talk she will be. As a material witness.”
“Can he do that, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Yes.”
“Without a warrant?”
“In the circumstances, yes.”
“Come on, Miss Holt,” Cramer growled.
I was sitting with my jaw set. Wolfe would rather miss a meal than let Cramer or any other cop take a client of his from that office into custody, and over the years I had seen and heard him pull some fancy maneuvers to prevent it. But this was my client, and he wasn’t batting an eye. I admit that it would have had to be something extra fancy, and it was up to me, not him, but I had split the fee with him. So I sat with my jaw set while Mira left the chair and Judy jabbered and Cramer touched Mira’s arm and they headed for the door. Then I came to, scribbled on my memo pad—formerly my memo pad—tore the sheet off, and made for the hall. Cramer had his hand on the knob.
“Here’s the phone number,” I told her. “Twenty-four-hour service. Don’t forget method three.”
She took the slip, said, “I won’t,” and crossed the sill, with Cramer right behind. I noted that the floodlights and the taxi were still there before I shut the door.
Back in the office, Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed and Judy Bram was standing scowling at him. She switched the scowl to me and demanded, “Why don’t you put him to bed?”
“Too heavy. How many people did you tell that Mira was going to drive your cab to her husband’s house?”
She eyed me, straight, for two breaths, then went to the red leather chair and sat. I took the yellow one, to be closer.
“I thought you were working for her,” she said.
“I am.”
“You don’t sound like it. She didn’t drive my cab.”
I shook my head. “Come on down. Would I be working for her if she hadn’t opened up? You told her yesterday that Kearns had phoned you to call for him at eight o’clock today, and she asked you to let her go instead of you. She wanted to have a talk with him about a divorce. How many people did you tell about it?”
“Nobody. If she opened up what’s the rest of it?”
“Ask her when you see her. Did you kill Phoebe Arden?”
From the flash in her eye she would have smacked me if I had been close enough. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. “Get a club. Drag me by the hair.”
“Later maybe.” I leaned to her. “Look, Miss Bram. Give your temperament a rest and use your brain. I am working for Mira Holt. I know exactly where she was and what she did, every minute, from seven o’clock this evening on, but I’m not going to tell you. Of course you know that the dead body of a woman named Phoebe Arden was found in your cab. I am certain that Mira didn’t kill her, but she is probably going to be charged. I am not certain that the murderer tried to get her tagged for it, but it looks like it. I would be a fathead to tell the murderer about her movements. Wouldn’t I? Answer with your brain.”
“Yes.” She was meeting my eyes.
“Okay. Give me one good reason why I should cross you off. One you would accept if you were in my place. Mira has, naturally, but why should I?”
“Because there’s not the slightest—” She stopped. “No. You don’t know that. All right. But don’t try twisting my arm. I know some tricks.”
“I’ll keep my distance if you will. Did you kill Phoebe Arden?”
“No.”
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Have you any suspicions? Any ideas?”
“Yes. Or I would have if I knew anything—where and when it happened. Did Phoebe come out to the cab with Waldo Kearns?”
“No. Kearns didn’t show up. Mira never saw him.”
“But Phoebe came?”
“Not alive. When Mira saw her she was dead. In the cab.”
“Then my idea is Waldo. The sophisticated ape. You know, you’re not any too bright. If I killed her in my own cab while Mira was driving it, I already know everything you do and more. Why not tell me?”
I looked at Wolfe, who had opened his eyes off and on. He grunted. “You told her to use her brain,” he muttered.
I returned to Judy. “You certainly would know this: Mira got there before eight o’clock and parked in front. When Kearns hadn’t showed at eight-thirty she went to the house and spent ten minutes knocking and looking in windows. When she returned to the cab the dead body was in it. She never saw Kearns.”
“But my God.” Her brows were up. She turned her hands over. “All she had to do was dump it out!”
“She hasn’t got your temperament. She—”
“She drove here with it? To consult with you?”
“She might have done worse. In fact, she tried to. She phoned you, and got no answer. What’s your idea about Kearns?”
“He killed Phoebe.”
“Then that’s settled. Why?”
“I don’t know. He tried to shake her and she hung on. Or she cheated on him. Or she had a bad cold and he was afraid he would catch it. He put the body in the cab to fix Mira. He hates her because she told him the truth about himself once.”
“Did you know Phoebe well? Who and what was she?”
“Well enough. She was a widow at thirty, roaming around. I might have killed her, at that. About a year ago she started scattering remarks about me, and I broke her neck. Almost. She spent a week in a hospital.”
“Did it cure her? I mean of remark-scattering?”
“Yes.”
“We might as well finish with you. You told Mr. Wolfe Mira left your place around half past seven and about an hour later you went out to keep a date. So you might have left at a quarter after eight.”<
br />
“I might, but I didn’t. I walked to Mitchell Hall on Fourteenth Street to make a speech at a cab drivers’ meeting, and I got there at five minutes to nine. After the meeting I walked back home, and two cops were there waiting for me. They were dumb enough to ask me first where my cab was, and I said I supposed it was in the garage. When they said no, it was parked on Thirty-fifth Street, and asked me to come and identify it, naturally I went. I also identified a dead body, which they hadn’t mentioned. Is that Inspector Cramer dumb?”
“No.”
“I thought not. When he asked me if I knew Mira Holt of course I said yes, and when he asked when I last saw her I told him. Since I had no idea what had happened I thought that was safest, but I said I hadn’t told her she could take the cab and I knew she wouldn’t take it without asking me. Does that finish with me?”
“It’s a good start. How well do you know Gilbert Irving?”
That fazed her. Her mouth opened and she gawked with her big, brown, well-spaced eyes. “Are my ears working?” she demanded. “Did you say Gilbert Irving?”
“That’s right.”
“Who let him in?”
“Mira mentioned him. How well do you know him?”
“Too well. I dream about a lion standing on a rock about to spring at me, and I suspect it’s him. If my subconscious is yearning for him it had better go soak its head, because first he’s married and his wife has claws, and second, when he looks at Mira or hears her voice he has to lean against something to keep from trembling. Did she tell you that?”
“No. Who is he? What does he do?”
“Something in Wall Street, but he doesn’t look it. Why did Mira mention him?”
“Because I made her. She phoned him last evening and told him she was going to drive your cab and why. She wanted to know what he thought of it. I want to know what motive he might have for killing Phoebe Arden.”
She opened her mouth to reply, then decided to laugh instead. It was a real laugh, no giggle.
I raised a brow. “Your subconscious taking over?” I inquired.
“No.” She sobered. “I couldn’t help it. It struck me, of course Gil killed her. He couldn’t bear the thought of Mira’s husband being unfaithful to her, it was an insult to her womanhood, so he killed Phoebe. Do you blame me for laughing?”
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