Wolfe kept going. “But if you insist on minimizing Koven’s dependence as a fact, let me assume it as a hypothesis in order to put a question. Say, just for my question, that Koven felt strongly about his debt to Getz and his reliance on him, that he proposed to do something about it, and that he found it necessary to confide in one of you people, to get help or advice. Which of you would he have come to? We must of course put his wife first, ex officio and to sustain convention—and anyway, out of courtesy I must suppose you incapable of revealing your employer’s conjugal privities. Which of you three would he have come to—Mr. Hildebrand, Mr. Jordan, or you?”
Miss Lowell was wary. “On your hypothesis, you mean.”
“Yes.”
“None of us.”
“But if he felt he had to?”
“Not with anything as intimate as that. He wouldn’t have let himself have to. None of us three has ever got within miles of him on anything really personal.”
“Surely he confides in you, his agent and manager?”
“On business matters, yes. Not on personal things, except superficialities.”
“Why were all of you so concerned about the gun in his desk?”
“We weren’t concerned, not really concerned—at least I wasn’t. I just didn’t like it’s being there, loaded, so easy to get at, and I knew he didn’t have a license for it.”
Wolfe kept on about the gun for a good ten minutes—how often had she seen it, had she ever picked it up, and so forth, with special emphasis on Sunday morning, when she and Hildebrand had opened the drawer and looked at it. On that detail she corroborated Hildebrand as I had heard him tell it to Cramer. Finally she balked. She said they weren’t getting anywhere, and she certainly wasn’t going to stay for dinner if afterward it was only going to be more of the same.
Wolfe nodded in agreement. “You’re quite right,” he told her. “We’ve gone as far as we can, you and I. We need all of them. It’s time for you to call Mr. Koven and tell him so. Tell him to be here at eight-thirty with Mrs. Koven, Mr. Jordan, and Mr. Hildebrand.”
She was staring at him. “Are you trying to be funny?” she demanded.
He skipped it. “I don’t know,” he said, “whether you can handle it properly; if not, I’ll talk to him. The validity of my claim, and of his, depends primarily on who killed Mr. Getz. I now know who killed him. I’ll have to tell the police but first I want to settle the matter of my claim with Mr. Koven. Tell him that. Tell him that if I have to inform the police before I have a talk with him and the others there will be no compromise on my claim, and I’ll collect it.”
“This is a bluff.”
“Then call it.”
“I’m going to.” She left the chair and got the coat around her. Her eyes blazed at him. “I’m not such a sap!” She started for the door.
“Get Inspector Cramer, Archie!” Wolfe snapped. He called, “They’ll be there by the time you are!”
I lifted the phone and dialed. She was out in the hall, but I heard neither footsteps nor the door opening.
“Hello,” I told the transmitter, loud enough. “Manhattan Homicide West? Inspector Cramer, please. This is—”
A hand darted past me, and a finger pressed the button down, and a mink coat dropped to the floor. “Damn you!” she said, hard and cold, but the hand was shaking so that the finger slipped off the button. I cradled the phone.
“Get Mr. Koven’s number for her, Archie,” Wolfe purred.
VII
AT TWENTY minutes to nine Wolfe’s eyes moved slowly from left to right, to take in the faces of our assembled visitors. He was in a nasty humor. He hated to work right after dinner, and from the way he kept his chin down and a slight twitch of a muscle in his cheek I knew it was going to be real work. Whether he had got them there with a bluff or not, and my guess was that he had, it would take more than a bluff to rake in the pot he was after now.
Pat Lowell had not dined with us. Not only had she declined to come along to the dining room; she had also left untouched the tray which Fritz had taken to her in the office. Of course that got Wolfe’s goat and probably got some pointed remarks from him, but I wasn’t there to hear them because I had gone to the kitchen to check with Fritz on the operation of the installation that had been made by Levay Recorders, Inc. That was the one part of the program that I clearly understood. I was still in the kitchen, rehearsing with Fritz, when the doorbell rang and I went to the front and found them there in a body. They got better hall service than I had got at their place, and also better chair service in the office.
When they were seated Wolfe took them in from left to right—Harry Koven in the red leather chair, then his wife, then Pat Lowell, and, after a gap, Pete Jordan and Byram Hildebrand over toward me. I don’t know what impression Wolfe got from his survey, but from where I sat it looked as if he was up against a united front.
“This time,” Koven blurted, “you can’t cook up a fancy lie with Goodwin. There are witnesses.”
He was keyed up. I would have said he had had six drinks, but it might have been more.
“We won’t get anywhere that way, Mr. Koven,” Wolfe objected. “We’re all tangled up, and it will take more than blather to get us loose. You don’t want to pay me a million dollars. I don’t want to lose my license. The police don’t want to add another unsolved murder to the long list. The central and dominant factor is the violent death of Mr. Getz, and I propose to deal with that at length. If we can get that settled—”
“You told Miss Lowell you know who killed him. If so, why don’t you tell the police? That ought to settle it.”
Wolfe’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean that, Mr. Koven—”
“You’re damn right I mean it!”
“Then there’s a misunderstanding. I heard Miss Lowell’s talk with you on the phone, both ends of it. I got the impression that my threat to inform the police about Mr. Getz’s death was what brought you down here. Now you seem—”
“It wasn’t any threat that brought me here! It’s that blackmailing suit you started! I want to make you eat it and I’m going to!”
“Indeed. Then I gather that you don’t care who gets my information first, you or the police. But I do. For one thing, when I talk to the police I like to be able—”
The doorbell rang. When visitors were present Fritz usually answered the door, but he had orders to stick to his post in the kitchen, so I got up and went to the hall, circling behind the arc of the chairs. I switched on the stoop light for a look through the one-way glass. One glance was enough. Stepping back into the office, I stood until Wolfe caught my eye.
“The man about the chair,” I told him.
He frowned. “Tell him I’m—” He stopped, and the frown cleared. “No. I’ll see him. If you’ll excuse me a moment?” He pushed his chair back, made it to his feet, and came, detouring around Koven. I let him precede me into the hall and closed that door before joining him. He strode to the front, peered through the glass, and opened the door. The chain bolt stopped it at a crack of two inches.
Wolfe spoke through the crack. “Well, sir?”
Inspector Cramer’s voice was anything but friendly. “I’m coming in.”
“I doubt it. What for?”
“Patricia Lowell entered here at six o’clock and is still here. The other four entered fifteen minutes ago. I told you Monday evening to lay off. I told you your license was suspended, and here you are with your office full. I’m coming in.”
“I still doubt it. I have no client. My job for Mr. Koven, which you know about, has been finished, and I have sent him a bill. These people are here to discuss an action for damages which I have brought against Mr. Koven. I don’t need a license for that. I’m shutting the door.”
He tried to, but it didn’t budge. I could see the tip of Cramer’s toe at the bottom of the crack.
“By God, this does it,” Cramer said savagely. “You’re through.”
“I thought I was already through. But t
his—”
“I can’t hear you! The wind.”
“This is preposterous, talking through a crack. Descend to the sidewalk, and I’ll come out. Did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. To the sidewalk.”
Wolfe marched to the big old walnut rack and reached for his overcoat. After I had held it for him and handed him his hat I got my coat and slipped into it and then took a look through the glass. The stoop was empty. A burly figure was at the bottom of the steps. I unbolted the door and opened it, followed Wolfe over the sill, pulled the door shut, and made sure it was locked. A gust of wind pounced on us, slashing at us with sleet. I wanted to take Wolfe’s elbow as we went down the steps, thinking where it would leave me if he fell and cracked his skull, but knew I hadn’t better.
He made it safely, got his back to the sleety wind, which meant that Cramer had to face it, and raised his voice. “I don’t like fighting a blizzard, so let’s get to the point. You don’t want these people talking with me, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You have blundered and you know it. You arrested Mr. Goodwin on a trumpery charge. You came and blustered me and went too far. Now you’re afraid I’m going to explode Mr. Koven’s lies. More, you’re afraid I’m going to catch a murderer and toss him to the district attorney. So you—”
“I’m not afraid of a goddam thing.” Cramer was squinting to protect his eyes from the cutting sleet. “I told you to lay off, and by God you’re going to. Your suit against Koven is a phony.”
“It isn’t, but let’s stick to the point. I’m uncomfortable. I am not an outdoors man. You want to enter my house. You may, under a condition. The five callers are in my office. There is a hole in the wall, concealed from view in the office by what is apparently a picture. Standing, or on a stool, in a nook at the end of the hall, you can see and hear us in the office. The condition is that you enter quietly—confound it!”
The wind had taken his hat. I made a quick dive and stab but missed, and away it went. He had only had it fourteen years.
“The condition,” he repeated, “is that you enter quietly, take your post in the nook, oversee us from there, and give me half an hour. Thereafter you will be free to join us if you think you should. I warn you not to be impetuous. Up to a certain point your presence would make it harder for me, if not impossible, and I doubt if you’ll know when that point is reached. I’m after a murderer, and there’s one chance in five, I should say, that I’ll get him. I want—”
“I thought you said you were discussing an action for damages.”
“We are. I’ll get either the murderer or the damages. Do you want to harp on that?”
“No.”
“You’ve cooled off, and no wonder, in this hurricane. My hair will go next. I’m going in. If you come along it must be under the condition as stated. Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
“You accept the condition?”
“Yes.”
Wolfe headed for the steps. I passed him to go ahead and unlock the door. When they were inside I closed it and put the bolt back on. They hung up their coats, and Wolfe took Cramer down the hall and around the corner to the nook. I brought a stool from the kitchen, but Cramer shook his head. Wolfe slid the panel aside, making no sound, looked through, and nodded to Cramer. Cramer took a look and nodded back, and we left him. At the door to the office Wolfe muttered about his hair, and I let him use my pocket comb.
From the way they looked at us as we entered you might have thought they suspected we had been in the cellar fusing a bomb, but one more suspicion wouldn’t make it any harder. I circled to my desk and sat. Wolfe got himself back in place, took a deep breath, and passed his eyes over them.
“I’m sorry,” he said politely, “but that was unavoidable. Suppose we start over”—he looked at Koven—“say with your surmise to the police that Getz was shot by Mr. Goodwin accidentally in a scuffle. That’s absurd. Getz was shot with a cartridge that had been taken from your gun and put into Goodwin’s gun. Manifestly Goodwin couldn’t have done that, since when he first saw your gun Getz was already dead. Therefore—”
“That’s not true!” Koven cut in. “He had seen it before, when he came to my office. He could have gone back later and got the cartridges.”
Wolfe glared at him in astonishment. “Do you really dare, sir, in front of me, to my face, to cling to that fantastic tale you told the police? That rigmarole?”
“You’re damn right I do!”
“Pfui.” Wolfe was disgusted. “I had hoped, here together, we were prepared to get down to reality. It would have been better to adopt your suggestion to take my information to the police. Perhaps—”
“I made no such suggestion!”
“In this room, Mr. Koven, some fifteen minutes ago?”
“No!”
Wolfe made a face. “I see,” he said quietly. “It’s impossible to get on solid ground with a man like you, but I still have to try. Archie, bring the tape from the kitchen, please?”
I went. I didn’t like it. I thought he was rushing it. Granting that he had been jostled off his stride by Cramer’s arrival, I felt that it was far from one of his best performances, and this looked like a situation where nothing less than his best would do. So I went to the kitchen, passing Cramer in his nook without a glance, told Fritz to stop the machine and wind, and stood and scowled at it turning. When it stopped I removed the wheel and slipped it into a carton and, carton in hand, returned to the office.
“We’re waiting,” Wolfe said curtly.
That hurried me. There was a stack of similar cartons on my desk, and in my haste I knocked them over as I was putting down the one I had brought. It was embarrassing with all eyes on me, and I gave them a cold look as I crossed to the cabinet to get the player. It needed a whole corner of my desk, and I had to shove the tumbled cartons aside to make room. Finally I had the player in position and connected, and the wheel of tape, taken from the carton, in place.
“All right?” I asked Wolfe.
“Go ahead.”
I flipped the switch. There was a crackle and a little spitting, and then Wolfe’s voice came:
“It’s not that, Mr. Koven, not at all. I only doubt if it’s worth it to you, considering the size of my minimum fee, to hire me for anything so trivial as finding a stolen gun, or even discovering the thief. I should think—”
“No!” Wolfe bellowed.
I switched it off. I was flustered. “Excuse it,” I said. “The wrong one.”
“Must I do it myself?” Wolfe asked sarcastically.
I muttered something, turning the wheel to rewind. I removed it, pawed among the cartons, picked one, took out the wheel, put it on, and turned the switch. This time the voice that came on was not Wolfe’s but Koven’s—loud and clear.
“This time you can’t cook up a fancy lie with Goodwin. There are witnesses.”
Then Wolfe’s: “We won’t get anywhere that way, Mr. Koven. We’re all tangled up, and it will take more than blather to get us loose. You don’t want to pay me a million dollars. I don’t want to lose my license. The police don’t want to add another unsolved murder to the long list. The central and dominant factor is the violent death of Mr. Getz, and I propose to deal with that at length. If we can get that settled—”
Koven’s: “You told Miss Lowell you know who killed him. If so, why don’t you tell the police? That ought to settle it.”
Wolfe: “You don’t mean that, Mr. Koven—”
Koven: “You’re damn right I mean it!”
Wolfe: “Then there’s a misunderstanding. I heard Miss Lowell’s talk with you on the phone, both ends of it. I got the impression that my threat to inform the police—”
“That’s enough!” Wolfe called. I turned it off. Wolfe looked at Koven. “I would call that,” he said dryly, “a suggestion that I take my information to the police. Wouldn’t you?”
Koven wasn’t saying. Wolfe’s eyes moved. “Wouldn’t you, Miss Low
ell?”
She shook her head. “I’m not an expert on suggestions.”
Wolfe left her. “We won’t quarrel over terms, Mr. Koven. You heard it. Incidentally, about the other tape you heard the start of through Mr. Goodwin’s clumsiness, you may wonder why I haven’t given it to the police to refute you. Monday evening, when Inspector Cramer came to see me, I still considered you as my client and I didn’t want to discomfit you until I heard what you had to say. Before Mr. Cramer left he had made himself so offensive that I was disinclined to tell him anything whatever. Now you are no longer my client. We’ll discuss this matter realistically or not at all. I don’t care to badger you into an explicit statement that you lied to the police; I’ll leave that to you and them; I merely insist that we proceed on the basis of what we both know to be the truth. With that understood—”
“Wait a minute,” Pat Lowell put in. “The gun was in the drawer Sunday morning. I saw it.”
“I know you did. That’s one of the knots in the tangle, and we’ll come to it.” His eyes swept the arc. “We want to know who killed Adrian Getz. Let’s get at it. What do we know about him or her? We know a lot.
“First, he took Koven’s gun from the drawer sometime previous to last Friday and kept it somewhere. For that gun was put back in the drawer when Goodwin’s was removed shortly before Getz was killed, and cartridges from it were placed in Goodwin’s gun.
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