Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe

by Three at Wolfe's Door

  Laura retrieved her handbag, a big gray leather one, from the floor where it had dropped when she went for Cramer, and I escorted her to the office, took her jacket and put it on the couch, moved a chair for her to face my desk, swiveled my chair around, and sat. I looked at her. She was a wreck. I wouldn’t have known her, especially since I had previously seen her all rigged out, and now she was in a plain gray dress with a black belt. Her cheeks sagged, her hair straggled, and her eyes were red and puffed. You wouldn’t suppose a dashing cowgirl could get into such a state.

  “First,” I said, “why? Why did you go for him?”

  She swallowed. “I just lost my head.” She swallowed again. “I ought to thank you for helping me, when he asked what I came to see you for. I didn’t know what to say.”

  “You’re welcome. What do you say if I ask you?”

  “I came to find out something. To find out if you told them what Cal told you yesterday. I know you must have because they’ve arrested him.”

  I shook my head. “They’re holding him as a material witness because it was his rope and he found the body. I promised Cal I wouldn’t repeat what he told me, and I haven’t. If I did they’d have a motive for him, they couldn’t ask for better, and they’d charge him with murder.”

  “You haven’t told them? You swear you haven’t?”

  “I only swear on the witness stand and I’m not there yet. I have told no one, but I am now faced with a problem. Miss Rowan has hired Nero Wolfe to investigate the murder, and he will ask me for a full report of what happened there yesterday. I can’t tell him what Cal told me because of my promise to Cal, and I’ll have to tell him I am leaving something out, which he won’t like. If Cal were available I would get his permission to tell Mr. Wolfe, but he isn’t.”

  “Then you haven’t even told Nero Wolfe?”

  “No.”

  “Will you promise me you won’t tell the police? That you’ll never tell them no matter what happens?”

  “Certainly not.” I eyed her. “Use your head if you’ve found it again. Their charging Cal with murder doesn’t depend only on me. They have found out that Eisler took a woman to his apartment Sunday night and they’re going over it for fingerprints. If they find some of yours, and if they learn that you and Cal are good friends, as they will, he’s in for it, and I would be a damn fool to wait till they get me on the stand under oath.”

  I turned a palm up. “You see, one trouble is, you and me talking, that you think Cal killed him and I know he didn’t. You should be ashamed of yourself. You have known him two years and I only met him last week, but I know him better than you do. I can be fooled and have been, but when he got me aside yesterday and asked me how to go about taking some hide off a toad he was not getting set to commit a murder, and the murder of Wade Eisler was premeditated by whoever took Cal’s rope. Not to mention how he looked and talked when he showed me the body. If I thought there was a chance that Cal killed him I wouldn’t leave anything out when I report to Mr. Wolfe. But I can’t promise to hang on to it no matter what happens.”

  “You can if you will,” she said. “I don’t think Cal killed him. I know he didn’t. I did.”

  My eyes widened. “You did what? Killed Eisler?”

  “Yes.” She swallowed. “Don’t you see how it is? Of course I’ve got to tell them I killed him, but when they arrest me Cal will say he killed him because I told him about Sunday night. But I’ll say I didn’t tell him about Sunday night, and it will be my word against his, and they’ll think he’s just trying to protect me. So it does depend on you. You’ve got to promise you won’t tell them what Cal told you yesterday. Because I killed him, and why should you protect me? Why should you care what happens to me if I killed a man?”

  I regarded her. “You know,” I said, “at least you’ve answered my question, why you went for Cramer. You wanted to plant the idea that you’re a holy terror. That wasn’t so dumb, in fact it was half bright, but now listen to you. You might possibly sell it to the cops that you killed him, at least you could ball them up a while, but not me. When I went to the shack yesterday and found you there with Cal, the first thing he said was that you thought he had killed him. And now you—”

  “Cal was wrong. How could I think he had killed him when I knew I had?”

  “Nuts. I not only heard what he said, I saw his face, and I saw yours. You still think Cal killed him and you’re acting like a half-wit.”

  Her head went down, her hands went up to cover her face, and she squeezed her breasts with her elbows. Her shoulders shook.

  I sharpened my voice. “The very worst thing you could do would be to try telling the cops that you killed him. It would take them about ten minutes to trip you up, and then where would Cal be? But maybe you should tell them about Sunday night, but of course not that you told Cal about it. If they find your fingerprints in Eisler’s apartment you’ll have to account for them, and it will be better to give them the account before they ask for it. That won’t be difficult; just tell them what happened.”

  “They won’t find my fingerprints,” she said, or I thought she did. Her voice was muffled by her hands, still over her face.

  “Did you say they won’t find your fingerprints?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’m sure they won’t.”

  I gawked at her. It wasn’t so much the words as the tone—or not the tone, muffled as it was, but something. Call it a crazy hunch, and you never know exactly what starts a hunch. It was so wild that I almost skipped it, but it never pays to pass a hunch. “You can’t be sure,” I said. “You must have touched something. I’ve been to a party in that apartment. When you entered did you stop in the hall with the marble statues?”

  “No. He … we went on through.”

  “To the living room. You stopped there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he take you across to look at the birds in the cages? He always does. The cages are stainless steel, perfect for prints. Did you touch any of them?”

  “No, I’m sure I didn’t.” She had dropped her hands and lifted her head.

  “How close did you go to them?”

  “Why … not very close. I’m sure I didn’t touch them.”

  “So am I. I am also sure that you’re a damn liar. There are no marble statues or bird cages in Eisler’s apartment. You have never been there. What kind of a double-breasted fool are you, anyway? Do you go around telling lies just for the hell of it?”

  Naturally I expected an effect, but not the one I got. She straightened up in her chair and gave me a straight look, direct and steady.

  “I’m not a liar,” she said. “I’m not a fool either, except about Cal Barrow. The kind of a life I’ve had a girl gets an attitude about men, or anyway I did. No monkey business. Keep your fences up and your cinch tight. Then I met Cal and I took another look, and after a while I guess you would say I was in love with him, but whatever you call it I know how I felt. I thought I knew how he felt too, but he never mentioned it, and of course I didn’t. I only saw him now and then, he was mostly up north, and when I came to New York for this rodeo here he was. I thought he was glad to see me, and I let him know I was glad to see him, but still he didn’t mention it, and when two weeks went by and pretty soon we would scatter I was trying to decide to mention it myself, and then Sunday night Nan told me about Wade Eisler, how he had—”

  “Nan Karlin?”

  “Yes. He had told her he was having a party at his apartment, and she went with him, and when they got there there wasn’t any party, and he got rough, and she got rough too, and she got away.”

  “She told you this Sunday night?”

  “Yes, when she got back to the hotel she came to my room. It’s next to hers. Then there was this ear.” She lifted a hand to push her hair back over her left ear. “I’m telling you the whole thing. I got careless with a bronc Sunday night and got bruised by a buckle, and I didn’t want to admit to Cal that I didn’t know how to keep clear around a horse. So when
we met for breakfast yesterday morning I told him—you know what I told him. I guess I thought when he heard that, how a man had tried to bulldog me, he would see that it was time to mention something. I know I was a damn fool, I said I’m a fool when it comes to Cal Barrow, but I guess I don’t know him as well as I thought I did. He never goes looking for trouble. I thought he would just ride herd on me, and that would be all right, I wanted him to. I never dreamt he would kill him.”

  “He didn’t. How many times do I have to tell you he didn’t? Who else did Nan tell about it?”

  “She was going to tell Roger, Roger Dunning. She asked me if I thought she should tell Roger, and I said yes, because he had asked us to go easy with Eisler, not to sweat him unless we had to, so I thought he ought to know. Nan said she would tell him right away.”

  “Who else did she tell?”

  “I guess not anybody. She made me promise not to tell Mel.”

  “Mel Fox?”

  “Yes. She and Mel are going to tie up, and she was afraid he might do something. I’m sure she didn’t tell him.”

  “Did you tell him?”

  “Of course not. I promised Nan I wouldn’t.”

  “Well.” I lifted my hands and dropped them. “You’re about the rarest specimen I’ve ever come across. I know something about geniuses. I work for one, but you’re something new, an anti-genius. It wouldn’t do any good to try to tell you—”

  The phone rang, and I swiveled my chair around to get it. It was Lon Cohen of the Gazette. He wanted to know how much I would take for an exclusive on who roped Wade Eisler and why, and I told him I did and when I typed my confession I would make an extra carbon for him but at the moment I was busy.

  As I reached to cradle the receiver Wolfe’s voice sounded behind me, not loud but clear enough though it was coming through the waterfall that covered the hole. “Archie, don’t move. Don’t turn around. She has taken a gun from her bag and is pointing it at you. Miss Jay. Your purpose is clear. With Mr. Goodwin dead there will be no one to disclose what you told Mr. Barrow at breakfast yesterday but Mr. Barrow himself, and you will deny it. You will of course be doomed since you can’t hope to escape the due penalty for killing Mr. Goodwin, but you accept it in order to save Mr. Barrow from the doom you think you have contrived for him. A desperate expedient but a passable one; but it’s no good now because I have heard you. You can’t kill me too; you don’t know where I am. Drop the gun. I will add that Mr. Goodwin has worked with me many years; I know him well; and I accept his conclusion that Mr. Barrow did not kill Wade Eisler. He is not easily gulled. Drop the gun.”

  I had stayed put, but it wasn’t easy. Of course tingles were chasing up and down my spine, but worse than that I felt so damned silly, sitting there with my back to her while Wolfe made his speech. When he stopped it was too much. I swiveled. Her hand with the gun was resting on her knee, and she was staring at it, apparently wondering how it got there. I got up and took it, an old snub-nosed Graber, and flipped the cylinder. Fully loaded.

  As I jiggled the cartridges out Wolfe entered from the hall. As he approached he spoke. “Archie. Does Mr. Barrow cherish this woman?”

  “Sure he does. This could even key him up to mentioning it.”

  “Heaven help him.” He glared down at her. “Madam, you are the most dangerous of living creatures. However, here you are, and I may need you.” He turned his head and roared, “Fritz!” Fritz must have been in the hall; he appeared immediately. “This is Miss Laura Jay,” Wolfe told him. “Show her to the south room, and when lunch is ready take her a tray.”

  “I’m going,” Laura said. “I’m going to—I’m going.”

  “No. You’d be up to some mischief within the hour. I am going to expose a murderer, and I have accepted Mr. Goodwin’s conclusion that it will not be Mr. Barrow, and you will probably be needed. This is Mr. Fritz Brenner. Go with him.”

  “But I must—”

  “Confound it, will you go? Mr. Cramer would like to know why you came to see Mr. Goodwin. Do you want me to ring him and tell him?”

  She went. I got her jacket from the couch and handed it to Fritz, and he convoyed her out and to the elevator. Wolfe commanded me, “Get Mr. Dunning,” and went to his desk and sat. I put the Graber and the cartridges in a drawer, looked in the book for the number of the Paragon Hotel, got at the phone, and dialed. The girl said Dunning’s room didn’t answer, and I asked her to have him paged. When he couldn’t be found I left a message, and tried Madison Square Garden, and finally got him.

  Wolfe took his phone. I stayed on mine. “Mr. Dunning? This is Nero Wolfe. We met yesterday at the home of Miss Lily Rowan. Miss Rowan has hired me to investigate what she calls an abuse of her hospitality—the death by violence of one of her guests—and I would like to see you. If you will please come to my office, say at a quarter past two?”

  “I can’t,” Dunning said. “Impossible. Anyway, I’ve told the police everything I know. I suppose Miss Rowan has a right to hire you if she wants to, but I don’t see why … anyhow, I can’t. It’s a nightmare, this is, a nightmare, but we’re going to have a performance tonight if I live that long.”

  “Murder hatches nightmares. Did you tell the police about Miss Karlin’s visit to Mr. Eisler’s apartment Sunday night?”

  Silence. Five seconds.

  “Did you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “That won’t do, Mr. Dunning. I can ask the police that question if I must, but I would rather not. I would prefer to discuss it with you, and with Miss Karlin and Mr. Fox. If you will please be here with them at a quarter past two? A yes or no will be sufficient. It might be unwise to discuss it on the phone.”

  Another silence. Six seconds.

  “I’ll be there.”

  “With Miss Karlin and Mr. Fox?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. I’ll expect you.” He hung up and looked at me. “Archie. Will that woman try climbing out a window?”

  “No. She’s hooked.”

  “Very well.” He looked up at the wall clock. “Lunch in forty minutes. Report.”

  IV

  When the company arrived I wasn’t there to let them in. They came five minutes early, at ten after two, and I was upstairs with Laura Jay. The south room is two flights up, on the same floor as my room, in the rear, above Wolfe’s room. I left the lunch table before Wolfe finished his coffee, and mounted the two flights, partly to make sure she was still there, partly to see if she had eaten anything from the tray Fritz had taken up, and partly to tell her that Nan and Mel and Roger Dunning were expected and if Wolfe wanted her to join the party later I would either come and get her or send Fritz for her. All three purposes were served. She was there, standing at a window, the sun setting fire to her honey-colored hair. There was only one Creole fritter left on the plate and no salad in the bowl. I had expected her to insist on going down with me instead of waiting for a summons, but she didn’t. Just for curiosity I asked her if she had intended to pull the trigger as soon as I hung up or wait until I turned around, and she said I ought to know she wouldn’t shoot a man in the back.

  When I descended to the office they were there—Roger Dunning in the red leather chair, and Nan Karlin and Mel Fox in two of the yellow ones facing Wolfe’s desk. When I entered and circled around them I got no glances; they were too intent on Wolfe, who was speaking.

  “… and the source of my information is not important. If you persist in your denial you will merely be postponing your embarrassment. The police have learned, not from me, that Eisler took a woman to his apartment Sunday night, and they are going over it for fingerprints. Almost certainly they will find some of yours, Miss Karlin, and Mr. Goodwin has told me that all of you permitted them to take samples last evening. You’re in a pickle. If you refuse to discuss it with me I advise you to tell the police about it at once, before they confront you with it.”

  Nan turned her head to look at Mel, and I had her full-face. Ev
en without her pink silk shirt and Levis and boots, in a blouse and skirt and pumps, she would have been spotted by any New Yorker as an alien. The skin of a girl’s face doesn’t get that deep tone from week ends at the beach or even a two weeks’ go-now-pay-later trip to Bermuda.

  Mel Fox, meeting her look, said, “What the hell.”

  Nan went back to Wolfe. “Laura told you,” she said. “Laura Jay. She’s the only one that knew about it except Roger Dunning and he didn’t.”

  “He says he didn’t,” Mel said. His eyes went to Dunning. “You wouldn’t be letting out anybody’s cinch, would you, Roger?”

  “Of course not,” Dunning said. It came out a little squeaky, and he cleared his throat. His narrow, bony face was just a sliver. I have noticed over and over that under strain a fat face gets fatter and a long face gets longer. He asked Wolfe, “Did I tell you?”

  “No.” To Nan: “You say that Miss Jay and Mr. Dunning are the only ones who knew about it. When did you tell them?”

  “Sunday night when I got back to the hotel. Laura’s room is next to mine and I went in and told her. I thought I ought to tell Roger and so did she, and when I went to my room I phoned him and he came and I told him.”

  “Why him? Are you on terms of intimacy with him?”

  “With him? Good lord. Him?”

  “The question arises. It is conceivable that he was so provoked by the outrage that he decided to kill Eisler, moved perhaps by an unavowed passion. Is it not?”

  “Look at him,” Nan said.

  We did so. With no desire to slander him, it must be admitted that he didn’t look like a man apt to burn with passion, avowed or unavowed.

  “I never killed a man yet,” he said. “Why Nan told me, she thought she ought to and she was absolutely right. It was partly my fault she had gone with Eisler to his apartment, I had asked the girls to let him have a little rope as long as he didn’t get too frisky, I knew they could take care of themselves, and Nan wanted to tell me that if he ever came near her again she would give him worse than a scratch, and I couldn’t blame her.”