Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe

by Three at Wolfe's Door

  “You’ve already talked,” Laura said. “What did you tell him?”

  “Nothing yet but I’m going to. If you don’t want to listen I know who will—Inspector Cramer if I phone him and say I’m ready to unload. Sit down!”

  Laura sat in the other chair. Cal sat on the edge of the bed. “I guess you got the drop on us, Archie,” he said. “I hope you don’t feel as mean as you sound.”

  “I don’t feel mean at all.” I sat. “I’m going to tell you a love story. I take valuable time to tell it because if I don’t God only knows what Laura will be up to next. Yesterday she told you a colossal lie. Today she told me she killed Wade Eisler. Then she—shut up, both of you! Then she pointed a loaded gun at my back and would have plugged me if she hadn’t been interrupted. Then she told another lie, trying to frame Mel Fox for the murder. That’s—”

  “No!” Laura cried. “That was the truth!”

  “Nuts. You and Cal didn’t go to the lobby after breakfast. You went to the Garden and from there to Miss Rowan’s. You didn’t tell Mel Fox what you said you did. You were framing him, or trying to.”

  “You’re talking pretty fast,” Cal said. “Maybe you’d better slow down and back it up a little. If you can. What was the lie she told me yesterday?”

  “That she had gone to Eisler’s apartment Sunday night. She hadn’t. She has never been there. It was Nan Karlin that Eisler took there Sunday night, and Nan told Laura about it when she got back to the hotel. Laura told you she had been there for two reasons: she didn’t want to admit she had been careless about a horse and got her ear bruised, and the real reason, she hoped it would make you realize it was time to break out the bridle. All for love. You are her dream man. She wants to hook you. She wants you to take her for better or for worse, and she has done her damnedest to make it worse.”

  “I didn’t say that!” Laura cried.

  “Not in those words. Was that why you told him that lie or wasn’t it? Try telling the truth once.”

  “All right, it was!”

  Cal stood up. “You might go and leave us alone awhile. You can come back.”

  “This is a respectable hotel. A gentleman isn’t supposed to be in his room alone with a lady. I’ll go pretty soon, after I fill in a little. Sit down. She came today and told me she killed Eisler because she thought you had—she still thinks so—and it was her fault and she wanted to take the rap. When I showed her that wouldn’t work she took a gun from her bag—she had thoughtfully brought it along—when my back was turned, and got set to let me have it, the idea being that I was the only one who knew you had a motive. She can tell you why that didn’t work either. Then—”

  “She wouldn’t of shot you,” Cal said.

  “The hell she wouldn’t. Then Mel and Nan and Roger came, and she got another idea. She announced that she had told Mel about Nan going to Eisler’s place Sunday night, the idea being to give Mel a motive for killing Eisler. She said she told him yesterday morning when you and she went to the lobby after breakfast and you went to buy cigarettes. I have now stepped on that one.” I turned to Laura. “You’d better see Mel and tell him. Tell him you had a fit.”

  I returned to Cal. “Of course that’s fairly thick, trying to dump a murder on a guy, but after all, she would have dumped it on herself if she could. She tried that first, so I admit I should make allowances. I’m telling you all this for three reasons: first, so you’ll know what she’s capable of and you’ll head her off. No one else can. If she keeps on having ideas there’ll be hell to pay and you’ll probably do the paying. Second, I want you both to realize that whoever killed Eisler is going to get tagged, and the sooner the better. It’s one of six people: Nan Karlin, Anna Casado, Harvey Greve, Mel Fox, and Roger Dunning and his wife. If you know of any reason, anything at all, why one of them might have wanted Eisler dead, I expect you to tell me and tell me now.”

  “You say Laura still thinks I killed him,” Cal said.

  “She may be losing her grip on that. After the way her other ideas have panned out she must be shaky on that one.” I looked at her. “Make it hypothetical, Laura. If Cal didn’t, who did?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about Harvey Greve? He’s a friend of mine, but I’ll overlook that if he’s it. Could he have had a motive?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What about Roger Dunning? Did Eisler make passes at his wife?”

  “If he did I never saw him. Neither did anybody else. She’s not—well, you saw her—why would he? With all the girls to paw at. She must be nearly fifty.”

  Ellen Dunning probably wasn’t a day over forty, but I admit she was a little faded. I turned to Cal. “Your turn. If you didn’t kill him who did?”

  He shook his head. “You got me. Does it have to be one of them six?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I pass. I just couldn’t guess.”

  “It will take more than a guess. My third reason for taking up your time, not to mention mine: I wanted to have another look at you and listen to you some more. You’re the only one with a known motive, and I’m the one that knows it. Nero Wolfe has bought my conclusion that you’re out, and I haven’t told the cops, and if I’m wrong I’m sunk. Besides, Laura would have the laugh on me, and I’d hate that. Did you kill him?”

  “I’ll tell you, Archie.” He was actually grinning at me, and there was nothing but me between him and a murder trial. “I wouldn’t want her to have the laugh on me, either. And she won’t.”

  “Okay,” I got up. “For God’s sake keep an eye on her. Do you know Harvey’s room number?”

  “Sure. He’s down the hall. Five-thirty-one.”

  I went.

  Knocking on the door of Room 531, first normal and then loud, got no result. I intended to see Harvey. He might be down in the lobby, and if he wasn’t I would try the Garden. There was no hurry about getting back to the office, since it was only four-thirty and Wolfe wouldn’t be down from the plant rooms until six. Taking the elevator down, I found that there were more people in the lobby than when I came. Moving around, I didn’t see Harvey, but I saw a man I knew, standing over in a corner chinning with a couple of cowboys. It was Fred Durkin. Fred, a free-lance, was second-best of the three operatives whom Wolfe considers good enough to trust with errands when we need help on a job. I looked at my watch: 4:32. Nearly an hour and a half since I had left with Laura, time enough for Wolfe to get Fred on the phone, brief him, and put him to work. Had he? Of course it could be that Fred was there on a job for one of the agencies that used him, but that would have been quite a coincidence and I don’t like coincidences.

  That question would have to wait for an answer. Knowing that Harvey Greve liked a drink when one was handy, I crossed the lobby and entered the bar. The crowd there was smaller but noisier. No Harvey, but there were booths along the wall, and I strolled back for a look, and found him. He was in a booth, deep in conversation with a man. Neither of them saw me, and I went on by, circled and backtracked, returned to the lobby, and on out to the street.

  The man with Harvey was Saul Panzer. Saul is not only the first-best of the three men Wolfe uses for errands, he is the best operative south of the North Pole. That settled it. Fred could have been a coincidence, but not both of them. Wolfe had got busy on the phone the minute I was out of the house, or darned soon after. What had stung him? No answer. At Ninth Avenue I flagged a taxi. When I gave the hackie the number on West 35th Street, he said, “What a honor. Archie Goodwin in person. Your name in the paper again but no picture this time. Stranglin’ a guy with a lasso right on Park Avenue, can you beat that? Whodunit?”

  I’m all for fame, but I was too busy guessing to smirk.

  The hackie had another honor coming. When the cab rolled to a stop in front of the old brownstone and I climbed out, a man appeared from behind a parked car and spoke to him. It was Sergeant Purley Stebbins. He said to the hackie, “Hold it, driver. Police.” He said to me, “You’re under arrest. I�
�ve got a warrant.” He took a paper from a pocket and offered it.

  He was enjoying it. He would have enjoyed even more to see me squirm, so I didn’t. I didn’t bother to look at the paper. “Information received?” I asked politely. “Or just on general principles?”

  “The inspector will tell you. We’ll use this cab. Get in.”

  I obeyed. He climbed in beside me and told the driver, “Two-thirty West Twentieth,” and we rolled.

  I chose to snub him. He was of course expecting me to try some appropriate cracks, so of course I didn’t. I didn’t open my trap from the time I climbed in the cab until he ushered me into the office of Inspector Cramer, which is on the third floor of the dingy old building that houses the precinct. I didn’t open it even then. I waited until I was in a chair at the end of Cramer’s desk, and he said, “I’ve been going over your statement, Goodwin, and I want to know more about your movements yesterday afternoon. The District Attorney does too, but I’ll have a go at it first. You left with Wolfe, to drive him home, at twelve minutes after three. Right?”

  I spoke. “It’s all in my statement, and I answered a thousand questions, some of them a dozen times. That’s enough. I am now clamming, unless and until you tell me why I am suddenly grabbed. If you think you dug up something, what?”

  “That will develop as we go along. You left with Wolfe at three-twelve?”

  I leaned back and yawned.

  He regarded me. He looked up at Stebbins, who was standing. Stebbins said, “You know him. He hasn’t said a word since I took him.”

  Cramer looked at me. “A woman phoned headquarters this afternoon and said she saw you there yesterday at half past three on the terrace in the rear of the penthouse. She was sure about the time. She didn’t give her name. I don’t have to tell you that if Wolfe came home in a taxi we’ll find the driver. You left with him at three-twelve?”

  “Thanks for the warning. What time did the woman phone?”

  “Three-thirty-nine.”

  I looked at it. Laura and I had got to the hotel about twenty-five to four. The first thing on my program when I got loose would be to wring her neck and toss her in the river. “Okay,” I said, “naturally you’re curious. You say the DA is too, so it will be a long discussion. I’ll talk after I make a phone call. May I use your phone?”

  “In my hearing.”

  “Certainly, it’s your phone.”

  He moved it across and I got it and dialed. Fritz answered and I asked him to buzz the plant rooms. After a wait Wolfe’s voice came, cranky, as it always is when he is interrupted up there.

  “Yes?”

  “Me. I’m with Cramer in his office. When I got home Stebbins was waiting for me out front with a warrant. A woman, name unknown, phoned the police that she saw me at half past three yesterday afternoon on Miss Rowan’s terrace. If you think you’ll need me tomorrow you’d better get Parker. Of the two contradictory statements you sent me to check, the first one is true. Tell Fritz to save some of the veal knuckle for me. He can warm it over tomorrow.”

  “At half past three yesterday afternoon you were with me in the car.”

  “I know it, but they don’t. Cramer would give a month’s pay to prove I wasn’t.”

  I hung up and sat back. “Where were we? Oh yes. I left with Mr. Wolfe at three-twelve. Next question?”

  VII

  At 10:39 Wednesday morning, standing at the curb on Leonard Street waiting for an empty taxi, I said to Nathaniel Parker, the lawyer, “It’s a dirty insult. Did you say five hundred?”

  He nodded. “It is rather a slap, isn’t it? As your attorney, I could hardly suggest a higher figure. And of course the cost will be much—here comes one.” He stepped off the curb and raised an arm to stop an approaching cab.

  The insult, having my bail set at a measly five C’s, one-sixtieth of Cal Barrow’s, was merely an insult. The injuries were what I would some day, preferably that one, get even for. I had spent fourteen hours in a detention room with too much heat and not enough air; I had asked for corned-beef sandwiches and got ham and rubbery cheese; I had been asked the same question over and over by four different county and city employees, none of whom had a sense of humor; I had been served lukewarm coffee in a paper thing that leaked; I had not been allowed to use the phone; I had been told three times to take a nap on a bumpy couch and had been roused for more questions just as I was fading out; and I had been asked to sign a statement that had four mistakes in content, three misspelled words, and five typographical errors. And at the end of it all, which must have cost the taxpayers at least a thousand bucks, counting overhead, they were exactly where they had been when they started.

  After climbing out of the taxi in front of the old brownstone and thanking Parker for the lift, I mounted the stoop, let myself in, and headed for the office to tell Wolfe that I would be available as soon as I had showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, cleaned my nails, brushed my hair, dressed, and had breakfast. It was five minutes past eleven, so he would be down from the plant rooms.

  But he wasn’t. The overgrown chair behind his desk was empty. Four of the yellow chairs were grouped in front of his desk, facing it, and Fritz was emerging from the front room carrying two more of them. On the couch at the far side at right angles to my desk two people sat holding hands—Cal Barrow and Laura Jay. As I entered Cal jerked his hand away and stood up.

  “We came a little early,” he said. “We thought you might tell us what’s up.”

  “Roping contest,” I said. “I run down the block and you snare me from the stoop. Orchids for prizes.” I turned to Fritz. “There’s a mermaid in the sink.” I wheeled and went to the kitchen, and in a moment he came.

  “Where is he?” I demanded.

  “In his room with Saul and Fred. Your tie’s crooked, Archie, and your—”

  “I fell off a horse. Having a party?”

  “Yes. Mr. Wolfe—”

  “What time?”

  “I was told they would come at half past eleven. The lady and gentleman on the couch—”

  “Came early to hold hands. Excuse my manners, I spent the night with louts and it rubbed off on me. I’ve got to rinse it off. Could you possibly bring up toast and coffee in eight minutes?”

  “Easy. Seven. Your orange juice is in the refrigerator.” He went to the range.

  I got the glass of juice from the refrigerator, got a spoon and stirred it, took a healthy sip, and headed for the hall and the stairs. One flight up the door of Wolfe’s room was at the left, but I kept going and mounted another flight to my room, which was to the right, at the front of the house.

  Ordinarily, what with my personal morning fog, it takes me around forty minutes to get rigged for the day, but that time I made it in thirty, with time out for the juice, toast and jam, and coffee. When Fritz came with the tray I asked him to tell Wolfe I was there, and he said he had done so on his way up, and Wolfe was pleased. I don’t mean Wolfe said he was pleased; Fritz said he was. Fritz thinks he is a diplomat. At 11:42, cleaner and neater but not gayer, I went down to the office.

  They were all there, all of Lily’s Monday luncheon guests but Wade Eisler. Lily was in the red leather chair. Cal and Laura were still on the couch, but not holding hands. The other six were on the yellow chairs, Mel Fox, Nan Karlin, and Harvey Greve in front, and Roger Dunning, his wife, and Anna Casado in the rear. Saul Panzer and Fred Durkin were off at the side, over by the big globe.

  Wolfe, at his desk, was speaking as I entered. He stopped to dart a glance at me. I halted and inquired politely, “Am I intruding?”

  Lily said, “You look pretty spruce for a man who spent the night in jail.”

  Wolfe said, “I have told them why you were delayed. Now that you’re here I’ll proceed.” As I circled around the company to get to my desk he went on, to them, “I repeat, I have been employed by Miss Rowan and am acting in her interest, but I am solely responsible for what I am about to say. If I defame I alone am liable; she is not. You are here
at my invitation, but you came, of course, not to please me but to hear me. I won’t keep you longer than I must.”

  “We have to be at the Garden by a quarter after one,” Roger Dunning said. “The show starts at two.”

  “Yes, sir, I know.” Wolfe’s eyes went right and then left. “I think it likely that one of you won’t be there. I am not prepared to say to one of you, ‘You killed Wade Eisler and I can prove it,’ but I can offer a suggestion. All of you had the opportunity and the means; you were there, the steel rod was there, the rope was there. None of you was eliminated with a certainty by a check of your movements. I made no such check, but the police did, and at that sort of thing they are inimitable. So it was a question of motive, as it often is.”

  He pinched his nose with a thumb and forefinger, and I suppressed a grin. He is convinced that when a woman is present, let alone four of them, the air is tainted with perfume. Sometimes it is, naturally, but not then and there. I have a good nose and I hadn’t smelled any on the cowgirls, and you have to get a good deal closer to Lily than Wolfe was to catch hers. But he pinched his nose.

  He resumed. “From the viewpoint of the police two facts pointed to Mr. Barrow: it was his rope, and he found the body. Rather, it seemed to me, they pointed away from him, but let it pass. He had a motive, but no one knew it but Miss Jay and Mr. Goodwin. If the police had known it he would have been charged with murder. I learned of it only yesterday, and I ignored it because Mr. Goodwin told me to. He was convinced that Mr. Barrow was innocent, and he is not easy to convince. Mr. Barrow, you and I are in his debt—you because he saved you from a mortal hazard, and I because he saved me from wasting time and trouble on you.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cal said. “That’s not all I owe him.” He looked at Laura, and for a second I thought he was going to take her hand in public, but he reined in.

  “I also learned yesterday,” Wolfe went on, “that Miss Karlin had had a motive, and, according to Miss Jay, that Mr. Fox had had one. But later Miss Jay recanted. Miss Jay, did you tell Mr. Fox of Miss Karlin’s experience at Eisler’s apartment?”