Kearns stared at him. “I didn’t come here,” he said, “to have my grammar corrected.”
“Not grammar. Diction.”
Kearns pounded the chair arm. “What have you to say?”
“It would be futile for me to say anything whatever until you have regained your senses, if you have any. If you think your wife had affection for you until she met me twelve hours ago, you’re an ass. If you know she hadn’t your threat is fatuous. In either case what can you expect but contempt?”
“I expect an explanation! I expect the truth! I expect you to tell me why my wife refuses to see me!”
“I can’t tell you what I don’t know. I don’t even know that she has, since in your present state I question the accuracy of your reporting. When and where did she refuse?”
“This morning. Just now, in the District Attorney’s office. She won’t even talk to my lawyer. She told him she was waiting to hear from you and Goodwin.” His head jerked to me. “You’re Goodwin?”
I admitted it. His head jerked back. “It’s humiliating! It’s degrading! My wife under arrest! Mrs. Waldo Kearns in jail! Dishonor to my name and to me! And you’re to blame.”
Wolfe took a breath. “I doubt if it’s worth the trouble,” he said, “but I’m willing to try. I presume what you’re after is an account of our conversation with your wife last evening. I might consider supplying it, but first I would have to be satisfied of your bona fides. Will you answer some questions?”
“It depends on what they are.”
“Probably you have already answered them, to the police. Has your wife wanted a divorce and have you refused to consent?”
“Yes. I regard the marriage contract as a sacred covenant.”
“Have you refused to discuss it with her in recent months?”
“The police didn’t ask me that.”
“I ask it. I need to establish not only your bona fides, Mr. Kearns, but also your wife’s. It shouldn’t embarrass you to answer that.”
“It doesn’t embarrass me. You can’t embarrass me. It would have been useless to discuss it with her since I wouldn’t consider it.”
“So you wouldn’t see her?”
“Naturally. That was all she would talk about.”
“Have you been contributing to her support since she left you?”
“She didn’t leave me. We agreed to try living separately. She wouldn’t let me contribute to her support. I offered to. I wanted to.”
“The police certainly asked you if you killed Phoebe Arden. Did you?”
“No. Why in God’s name would I kill her?”
“I don’t know. Miss Judith Bram suggested that she may have had a bad cold and you were afraid you would catch it, but that seems farfetched. By the way—”
“Judy? Judy Bram said that? I don’t believe it!”
“But she did. In this room last evening, in the chair you now occupy. She also called you a sophisticated ape.”
“You’re lying!”
“No. I’m not above lying, or below it, but the truth will do now. Also—”
“You’re lying. You’ve never seen Judy Bram. You’re merely repeating something my wife said.”
“That’s interesting, Mr. Kearns, and even suggestive. You are willing to believe that your wife called you a sophisticated ape, but not that Miss Bram did. When I do lie I try not to be clumsy. Miss Bram was here last evening, with Mr. Goodwin and me, for half an hour or more; and that brings me to a ticklish point. I must ask you about a detail that the police don’t know about. Certainly they asked about your movements last evening, but they didn’t know that you had arranged with Judith Bram to call for you in her cab at eight o’clock. Unless you told them?”
Kearns sat still, and for him it is worth mentioning. With many people sitting still is nothing remarkable, but with him it was. His sitting, like his face, reminded me of a squirrel; he kept moving or twitching something—a hand, a shoulder, a foot, even his head. Now he was motionless all over.
“Say that again,” he commanded.
Wolfe obeyed. “Have you told the police that you had arranged with Miss Bram to call for you in her cab at eight o’clock last evening?”
“No. Why should I tell them something that isn’t true?”
“You shouldn’t, ideally, but people often do. I do occasionally. However, that’s irrelevant, since it would have been the truth. Evidently Miss Bram hasn’t told the police, but she told me. I mention it to ensure that you’ll tell me the truth when you recount your movements last evening.”
“If she told you that she lied.”
“Oh, come, Mr. Kearns.” Wolfe was disgusted. “It is established that her cab stood at the mouth of the alley leading to your house for more than half an hour, having come at your bidding. If you omitted that detail in your statement to the police I may have to supply it. Haven’t you spoken with Miss Bram since?”
“No.” He was still motionless. “Her phone doesn’t answer. She’s not at home. I went there.” He passed his tongue across his lower lip. I admit I have never seen a squirrel do that. “I couldn’t tell the police her cab was there last evening because I didn’t know it was. I wasn’t there.”
“Where were you? Consider that I know you had ordered the cab for eight o’clock and hadn’t cancelled the order.”
“I’ve told the police where I was.”
“Then your memory has been jogged.”
“It didn’t need jogging. I was at the studio of a man named Prosch, Carl Prosch. I went there to meet Miss Arden and look at a picture she was going to buy. I got there at a quarter to eight and left at nine o’clock. She hadn’t come, and—”
“If you please. Miss Phoebe Arden?”
“Yes. She phoned me at half past seven and said she had about decided to buy a painting, a still life, from Prosch, and was going to his studio to look at it again, and asked me to meet her there to help her decide. I was a little surprised because she knows what I think of daubers like Prosch, but I said I would go. His studio is on Carmine Street, in walking distance from my house, and I walked. She hadn’t arrived, and I had only been there two or three minutes when she phoned and asked to speak to me. She said she had been delayed and would get there as soon as she could, and asked me to wait for her. My thought was that I would wait until midnight rather than have her buy a still life by Prosch, but I didn’t say so. I didn’t wait until midnight, but I waited until nine o’clock. I discussed painting with Prosch a while, until he became insufferable, and then went down to the street and waited there. She never came. I walked back home.”
Wolfe grunted. “Can there be any doubt that it was Miss Arden on the phone? Both times?”
“Not the slightest. I couldn’t possibly mistake her voice.”
“What time was it when you left Mr. Prosch and went down to the street?”
“About half past eight. I told the police I couldn’t be exact about that, but I could about when I started home. It was exactly nine o’clock.” Kearns’s hands moved. Back to normal. “Now I’ll hear what you have to say.”
“In a moment. Miss Bram was to come at eight o’clock. Why didn’t you phone her?”
“Because I thought I would be back. Probably a little late, but she would wait. I didn’t phone her after Miss Arden phoned that she was delayed because she would be gone.”
“Where was she to drive you?”
“To Long Island. A party. What does that matter?” He was himself again. “You talk now, and I want the truth!”
Wolfe picked up his glass, emptied it, and put it down. “Possibly you are entitled to it, Mr. Kearns. Unquestionably a man of your standing would feel keenly the ignominy of having a wife in jail—the woman to whom you have given your name, though she doesn’t use it. You may know that she came to this house at twenty minutes past nine last evening.”
“I know nothing. I told you she won’t see me.”
“So you did. She arrived just as Mr. Goodwin was leaving the house on an errand and
they met on the stoop. No doubt you know that Mr. Goodwin is permanently in my employ as my confidential assistant—permanently, that is, in the sense that neither of us has any present intention of ending it or changing its terms.”
Kearns was fidgeting again. I was not. He spoke. “The paper said he had left your employ. It didn’t say on account of my wife, but of course it was.”
“Bosh.” Wolfe’s head turned. “Archie?”
“Bosh,” I agreed. “The idea of quitting on account of Miss Holt never entered my head.”
Kearns hit the chair arm. “Mrs. Kearns!”
“Okay,” I conceded. “Mrs. Waldo Kearns.”
“So,” Wolfe said, “your wife’s first contact was with Mr. Goodwin. They sat on the stoop and talked. You know, of course, that Miss Bram’s cab was there at the curb with Miss Arden’s body in it.”
“Yes. What did my wife say?”
“I’ll come to that. Police came along in a car and discovered the body, and reported it, and soon there was an army. A policeman named Cramer talked with Mr. Goodwin and your wife, I went to the door and invited them to enter—not Mr. Cramer—and they did so. We talked for half an hour or so, when Mr. Cramer came with Miss Bram, and they were admitted. Mr. Cramer, annoyed by the loquacity of Miss Bram, and wishing to speak with your wife privately, took her away. You demanded the truth, sir, and you have it. I add one item, also true: since your wife had engaged Mr. Goodwin’s services, and through him mine also, what she told us was confidential and can’t be divulged. Now for—”
Kearns bounced out of the chair, and as he did so the doorbell rang. Since a man who might have stuck a knife in a woman might be capable of other forms of violence, I was going to leave it to Fritz, but Wolfe shot me a glance and I went to the hall for a look. On the stoop was a tall guy with a bony face and a strong jaw. Behind me Kearns was yapping but had drawn no weapon. I went to the front and opened the door.
“To see Mr. Wolfe,” he said. “My name is Gilbert Irving.”
The temptation was too strong. Only twelve hours ago I had seen a confrontation backfire for Cramer, when he had brought Judy Bram in to face Mira, but this time the temperament was already in the office, having a fit, and it would be interesting to see the reaction, and possibly helpful. So I told him to come in, took his Homburg and put it on the shelf beside the floppy black number, and steered him to the office.
Kearns was still on his feet yapping, but when Wolfe’s eyes left him to direct a scowl at me he turned his head. I ignored the scowl. I had disregarded another rule by bringing in a visitor without consulting Wolfe, but as far as I was concerned Mira was still my client and it was my case. I merely pronounced names. “Mr. Gilbert Irving. Mr. Wolfe.”
The reaction was interesting enough, though not helpful, since it was no news that Kearns and Irving were not pals. Perhaps Kearns didn’t actually spit at him because it could have been merely that moisture came out with his snort. Two words followed immediately. “You bastard!”
Irving must have had lessons or practice, or both. His uppercut, with his right, was swift and sure, and had power. It caught Kearns right on the button and sent him straight up a good six inches before he swayed against the corner of Wolfe’s desk.
VIII
To do him justice, Kearns handled it as well as could be expected, even better. He surprised me. He didn’t utter a peep. The desk saved him from going down. He stayed propped against it for three seconds, straightened with his hand on it for support, moved his head backward and forward twice, decided his neck was still together, and moved. His first few steps were wobbly, but by the time he reached the door to the hall they were steadier, and he made the turn okay. I went to the hall and stood, as he got his hat from the shelf and let himself out, pulling the door shut without banging it, and re-entered the office as Irving was saying, “I should beg your pardon. I do. I’m sorry.”
“You were provoked,” Wolfe told him. He gestured at the red leather chair. “Be seated.”
“Hold it.” I was there. “I guess I should beg your pardon, Mr. Irving, for not telling you he was here, and now I just beg it again. I have to tell Mr. Wolfe something that can’t wait. It won’t take long.” I went and opened the door to the front room. “If you’ll step in here.”
He didn’t like the idea. “My business is pressing,” he said.
“So is mine. If you please?”
“Your name is Archie Goodwin?”
“Yes.”
He hesitated a second, and then came, and crossed the sill, and I closed the door. Since it and the wall were soundproofed, I didn’t have to lower my voice to tell Wolfe, “I want to report. I saw his wife.”
“Indeed. Will a summary do?”
“No.” I sat. “It will for one detail, that eighty feet from where the cab was parked there is a stoneyard that would be perfect cover, you couldn’t ask for better, but you must have my talk with Mrs. Irving verbatim.”
“Go ahead.”
I did so, starting with a description of her. It had been years since he had first told me that when I described a man he must see him and hear him, and I had learned the trick long ago. I also knew how to report conversations word for word—much longer ones than the little chat I had had with Mrs. Irving.
When I had finished he asked one question. “Was she lying?”
“I wouldn’t bet either way. If so she is good. If it was a mixture I’d hate to have to sort it out.”
“Very well.” He closed his eyes. In a moment they opened. “Bring him.”
I went and opened the door to the front room and told him to come, and he entered, crossed to the red leather chair, sat, and aimed his eyes at Wolfe. “I should explain,” he said, “that I am here as a friend of Miss Mira Holt, but she didn’t send me.”
Wolfe nodded. “She mentioned your name last evening. She said you are an intelligent man.”
“I’m afraid she flatters me.” Evidently it was normal for him to sit still. “I have come to you for information, but I can’t pretend I have any special right to it. I can only tell you why I want it. When I learned on the radio this morning that Miss Holt was in custody I started downtown to see her, to offer my help, but on the way I decided that it wouldn’t be advisable because it might be misconstrued, since I am merely a friend. So I called on my lawyer instead. His name is John H. Darby. I explained the situation and asked him to see Miss Holt, and he arranged to see her and has talked with her, but she won’t tell him anything. She even refused to authorize him to arrange bail for her. She says that Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe are representing her, and she will say nothing and do nothing without their advice.”
I touched my lips with a fingertip, the lips that Mira had kissed. I was blowing the kiss back to her. Not only had she put my name first, but also she had improved on my suggestion by combining method three and method one. She was a client in a thousand. She had even turned down two offers to spring her.
“I’m not a lawyer,” Wolfe said, “and neither is Mr. Goodwin.”
“I’m aware of that. But you seemed to have hypnotized Miss Holt. With no offense intended, I must ask, are you acting in her interest or in Waldo Kearns’s?”
Wolfe grunted. “Hers. She hired us.”
I put in, “You and Kearns agree. He thinks we hypnotized her too. Nuts.”
He regarded me. “I prefer to deal with Mr. Wolfe. This is his office.”
“You’re dealing with both of us,” Wolfe told him. “Professionally we are indiscrete. What information do you want?”
“I want to know why you are taking no steps to get her released and what action you intend to take in her interest. I also want you to advise her to accept the services of my lawyer. He is highly qualified.”
Wolfe rested his palms on the chair arms. “You should know better, Mr. Irving; you’re a man of affairs. Before I gave you an inch, let alone the mile you ask for, I would have to be satisfied that your interest runs with hers.”
“Damn
it, I’m her friend! Didn’t she say I am? You said she mentioned me.”
“She could be mistaken.” Wolfe shook his head. “No. For instance, I don’t even know what you have told the police.”
“Nothing. They haven’t asked me anything. Why should they?”
“Then you haven’t told them that Miss Holt told you on the phone Sunday evening that she was going to drive Judith Bram’s cab?”
It got him. He stared. He looked at me and back at Wolfe. “No,” he said. “Even if she had, would I tell the police?”
“Do you deny that she did?”
“I neither deny it nor affirm it.”
Wolfe upturned a palm. “How the devil can you expect candor from me? Do you want me to suspect that Miss Holt lied when she told us of that phone call?”
“When did she tell you?”
“Last evening. Here. Not under hypnosis.”
He considered. “All right. She told me that.”
“And whom did you tell?”
“No one.”
“You’re certain?”
“Of course I’m certain.”
“Then it won’t be easy to satisfy me. Assuming that Miss Holt fulfilled her intention and took the cab, and arrived with it at Mr. Kearns’s address at eight o’clock, and combining that assumption with the fact that at twenty minutes past nine the cab was standing in front of my house with a dead body in it, where are you? Miss Bram states that she told no one of the arrangement. Miss Holt states that she told no one but you. Is it any wonder that I ask where you are? And, specifically, where you were last evening from eight o’clock on?”
“I see.” Irving took a breath, and another. “It’s utterly preposterous. You actually suspect me of being involved in the murder of Phoebe Arden.”
“I do indeed.”
“But it’s preposterous! I had no concern whatever with Miss Arden. She meant nothing to me. Not only that, apparently whoever killed her managed to get Miss Holt involved—either managed it or permitted it. Would I do that?” He made his hands fists and raised them, shook them. “Damn it, I have to know what happened! You know. Miss Holt told you. I have to know!”
“There are things I have to know,” Wolfe said drily. “I mentioned one: your movements last evening. We have it from your wife, but I prefer it from you. That’s the rule, and a good one: get the best available evidence.”
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