“So you shall have them, Inspector,” Wolfe replied calmly. “Saul, if you please.” Panzer rose and left the room while Cramer fumed and Purley Stebbins slipped a hand inside his suit jacket.
The next scene is one I will never forget. The two glowering Bagleys, with wrists manacled in front of them, were led into the room by a grinning Orrie Cather, who was followed by Fred Durkin and Bill Gore. Mouths dropped open, gasps broke out, and Mrs. Price leaped to her feet, jabbing a fat finger at one of the Bagleys. “That’s him! That’s the one who came into my kitchen with those groceries that I hadn’t ordered! He’s the man, yes he is!” Before Wolfe could introduce the brothers, Stebbins stepped toward them. “I’ll take it from here,” he barked, drawing his revolver.
“Sergeant, these brothers go by several first and last names,” Wolfe said, “although it appears probable that their birth certificates read Chester and Calvin Bagley. It is more than probable that they killed both Barney Haskell and Charles Bell.”
“And just how are we supposed to know that?” Cramer said.
“Who has their guns?” Wolfe asked.
“I do, in here.” It was Fred Durkin, who held up a paper sack.
“Inspector, these weapons were taken from the Bagleys. If you get that Bureau of Forensic Ballistics to run tests on them, I am confident you will find that one or both of these weapons fired the shots that killed Messrs. Haskell and Bell.”
“Don’t try to tell me my business,” Cramer said.
“Far be it for me to do that,” Wolfe said as Stebbins led the Bagleys out, presumably to the waiting squad car. The last we heard from one of them, Chester, I think, was a demand to see his lawyer.
“Well, you have meddled in police business yet again,” Cramer snarled, getting to his feet.
“If you please, sir,” Wolfe said, “I was about to review the inside aspects of the kidnapping and the reasons for the deaths of two men.”
The inspector snorted but sat. “It seems to me the ‘inside aspects,’ as you call them, consist of the chauffeur’s cooperation with those brothers.”
“In part,” Wolfe agreed. “The Bagleys had somehow come to know Mr. Bell. Perhaps your department’s investigation will discover the connection. What likely happened is that the Bagleys approached the Williamson chauffeur and inveigled him into being part of the plot to seize Tommie and hold him for ransom. Then, one of two things almost surely occurred: either the brothers reneged on the deal or Mr. Bell demanded a larger share than originally agreed upon. In either case, he became expendable in the eyes of the Bagleys.”
“Since you claim to be so smart,” Cramer shot back, “why did this Haskell character also find himself on a slab in the morgue?”
“I concede this is conjecture, but it seems likely that Mr. Haskell, a small-time confidence man living on life’s margins, somehow learned of the kidnapping plan through underworld channels and pressed the Bagleys for a share of the proceeds, threatening them with exposure if they did not come across with a substantial emolument. As with Mr. Bell, he had to be disposed of.”
Cramer gnawed on his stogie, eyeing Wolfe from under bushy eyebrows. “Okay, let us move on to what you term these ‘inside aspects’ of yours.”
Wolfe drank beer and set his glass down. “Let us by all means. There is an individual in this room who must bear some of the responsibility for the kidnapping of Tommie Williamson.”
CHAPTER 28
If Wolfe’s intent was to further shock his audience, he hit the jackpot. Members of the household staff tensed up and snuck sidelong glances at one another. Lillian Williamson kneaded her hands, and Tommie looked over at me with a grin. “You had better know what you’re talking about,” Burke Williamson said sternly.
“I second that,” Cramer growled. “There’s such a thing as slander, and plenty of witnesses heard you.”
“I am familiar with the statutes,” Wolfe said, clearly pleased with the stir he had generated. “After I have identified the individual in question, I invite anyone to initiate a lawsuit against me.”
I scanned the group, trying to spot someone wearing a guilty or a nervous expression on their mug, but all I saw were shocked faces. We had a very good actor or actress in our midst.
“Not that I necessarily believe you, but who is it?” Williamson demanded, leaning forward and glaring at Wolfe.
“Don’t try to rush him,” Cramer said. “I’ve been a party to these melodramas before, and he moves at his own speed, regardless of how hard he gets pushed.”
“You, an officer of the law, intimidated by this man!”
“I am not intimidated,” Cramer flared. “But since we are all here, I am willing to hear him out, Mr. Williamson. I remember that you praised him not so long ago for helping to get your son freed.”
For the moment, that silenced the hotel magnate, who sank back into his chair wearing a scowl.
All eyes focused on Wolfe, who seemed determined to take his time. “The more I learned about the kidnapping, the more I recognized it had to be a complex and well-coordinated operation, one requiring several individuals working in concert,” he said. “Two of these persons, at the very least, had to be members of the Williamson staff. It seemed conclusive to me that Mr. Bell was one of them. In an attempt to determine the identity of others involved, I dispatched Mr. Goodwin here to work among them both as Tommie’s bodyguard and as a chauffeur.”
“He never seemed like a chauffeur to me,” Carstens snorted. “Too doggone young, for one thing. And, of course, we all knew he was there as some sort of detective. Pretty young for that, too.”
“Perhaps,” Wolfe allowed, “although young he has skills, among them a well-developed sense of observation and an ability to repeat extended conversations verbatim. The second of those attributes has been particularly helpful, but more about that later.” He paused to drink beer.
“In reviewing the events leading up to the kidnapping, I became intrigued with the alleged telephone call that drew Miss Moore into the house, leaving Tommie alone in the yard.”
“Oh, there truly was a call,” Waverly attested. “I was in the parlor when I heard the instrument ring. I am prepared to swear to it. Miss Trent answered the instrument and she said something like ‘Oh dear, oh my!’ and then ran to the terrace doors to call to Miss Moore.”
“So noted, sir,” Wolfe told the butler, shifting his attention to Sylvia Moore. “I understand your mother in Virginia has been seriously ill, suffering with a heart condition. Is that correct?”
She nodded somberly. “Yes, sir, it is.”
“What is her medical condition at present?”
“She is much better, thank you.”
“Have you visited her recently?”
Sylvia’s cheeks reddened. “No, not for several months now. But I really should.”
“Yes, you should indeed. Tell us about the telephone call.”
“Mary—Miss Trent here—called out to me from the terrace, saying that a man was on the wire and said he had to talk to me right away, that it was a matter of life and death. Of course I immediately thought of my mother. I became terribly upset, as anyone in that situation would.”
“Understandable,” Wolfe said, turning to Mary Trent. “Can you recall the exact words spoken by the caller?”
The young woman shifted in her chair, clearly uneasy with the attention now focused on her. “It was just as Miss Moore told you,” she said, clearing her throat. “The man sounded very excited and told me that he had to speak to her right away, that it was a matter of life and death. Those are the words he used. I knew about her mother, so I ran onto the terrace and called her to the instrument.”
“Did you recognize the voice?”
“At first I thought maybe I did, but now I don’t believe so.”
“Who did you initially think it was?”
She looked down onto her lap. “I would prefer not to say.”
“Come, come, Miss Trent. We are investigating a kidnapping a
nd two murders. This is not a time to become coy.”
“He’s right,” Cramer said. “Answer the question, or you may find it being asked of you in a far less pleasant environment.”
She took in air and let it out slowly. “The voice sounded somewhat like, well ... like Mr. Simons.”
“This is both ridiculous and slanderous!” the stable master snapped, rising. “I don’t have to sit here and take this.” He started for the door.
“If you like your job, sit back down right now!” Burke Williamson growled at him. Simons sat.
Wolfe turned back to Sylvia Moore. “Tell us exactly what happened when you picked up the receiver.”
“Nothing. That is to say, no one was on the other end. I must have yelled into the mouthpiece several times. I became panicked, and I ... I forgot all about Tommie.” She looked mournfully at the boy as tears welled up in her eyes. He smiled back at her as if to say “no hard feelings.”
“Did it not occur to you, Mr. Waverly, or you, Miss Trent, to look out into the yard to check on Tommie while Miss Moore was at the instrument?”
The butler, obviously embarrassed, shook his head and said nothing. The housemaid continued to stare at her lap.
“That telephone call is, of course, the key to everything that subsequently occurred,” Wolfe pronounced.
“I don’t believe there was a telephone call at all,” Cramer said, fixing an intense gaze on Mary Trent.
“There I must now disagree, sir. Both Mr. Waverly and Miss Trent attest to hearing the ring, and Miss Trent tells us she heard a man’s voice through the instrument. I believe a call was made, a call perfectly timed to coincide with the arrival in the yard of a closed truck containing produce—produce that Mrs. Price has said was not requested by her.”
“That is correct,” the cook declared. “I had never heard of that particular purveyor before, and I even looked them up in our New York telephone directories later. They were not listed.”
Wolfe nodded. “Given your reaction moments ago, may I assume you would be willing to identify one of the men who left here in handcuffs?”
“Yes, indeed, sir. That was him, no doubt whatever about it. I will not ever forget that face as long as I live,” Mrs. Price asserted dramatically, folding her chubby arms across her chest to underscore her certainty.
“You will be hearing from us,” Cramer told her. “Okay, Wolfe, are you now ready to share your conjecture with us?”
“It is not a conjecture, but rather a fact. Early on, I correctly identified those in the Williamson world whom I felt had conspired in the kidnapping. You will have to believe me when I tell you that even before his disappearance and murder, I had marked Mr. Bell as one of the in-house cabal.”
Cramer snorted. “And I suppose you’re going to take your own sweet time telling us who else was in on the plot.”
“Only as long as it takes to explain my reasoning, sir. Back to the telephone call. Given all the outside lines that feed into the Williamson estate, that call could have come from any number of locations: the kitchen, the stables, the greenhouse, the garage, an upstairs bedroom, even Mr. Williamson’s own study. Of all these, the telephones with the best view of the driveway that curves around to the back of the house are those in the garage and in Mr. Bell’s lodgings over the garage.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Cramer said sourly.
“No, it does not. Mr. Bell, like everyone else on the staff, could easily have known Tommie would be outside gathering leaves with Miss Moore. I understand that you all discuss household activities when you gather for meals,” Wolfe said, looking at each of them in turn.
“Quite often,” Mrs. Price piped up. “I can’t remember if the leaf project came up. Can anyone else?”
“Oh, I’m almost positive I mentioned something about it,” Sylvia Moore said. “I always talk a lot about what Tommie and I are doing. Some of the others on the staff like to hear about his activities.” She looked at the boy again and got another smile from him.
“So the call is made, and Miss Moore is drawn into the house in terror, fearful of her mother’s condition,” Wolfe continued. “The kidnappers must act quickly, and they do. The one brother posing as a purveyor knows he will be rejected in the kitchen and leaves, although he has kept Mrs. Price occupied just long enough for Tommie to get hustled into the windowless rear of the truck by the second brother. Likewise, Miss Moore is fruitlessly occupied on the telephone during the same few minutes.
“Both the butler, Waverly, and Miss Trent presumably are so distracted by Miss Moore’s panic in trying to reach someone on the other end of the line that they neglect to look after Tommie. The kidnappers gamble, correctly, that Miss Stratton and Messrs. Carstens and Simons are so busy with their own work elsewhere on the estate that the snatching of the boy will go unnoticed. In all, this was an efficient, well-executed operation.”
Burke Williamson cleared his throat. “You appear to have just disproved your own point that someone other than Charles Bell on my staff was involved in this ugly business.”
“Such was not my intent, sir. One of those mentioned above played a pivotal role in the event, and several seemingly innocuous occurrences pointed me toward this accomplice. As I said earlier, Mr. Goodwin is precise in recounting conversations, and my realization of this individual’s culpability began with the use of a pronoun in a sentence that was spoken in his presence: ‘I would never let anything happen to Tommie myself.’
“I stressed the final word, which I believe was included to suggest that someone other than the speaker was responsible for Tommie’s being seized. Later, the same individual drew Mr. Goodwin aside, telling him a most implausible story about overhearing part of a conversation in the dining room of the Williamson home between Miss Stratton and Mr. Carstens in which they seem to be speaking in a conspiratorial manner about the kidnapping.”
“That is ridiculous!” Lloyd Carstens stormed, popping out of his chair. “I have never—repeat never—set foot in the dining room of the house. The only room I’ve ever been in is Mr. Williamson’s study, and then to discuss the maintenance of the grounds. Who told that outlandish story?”
Wolfe held up a hand. “Please be seated, sir. I have stated that the story was implausible, and I would like to move on. The individual in question had suggested to Mr. Goodwin that she tell him her eavesdropping story in his chauffeur’s quarters, suggesting that she had spent time there before, perhaps when Mr. Bell occupied those rooms.” As he spoke, Wolfe turned to Mary Trent, who, small as she was, seemed to be shrinking in her chair.
“That’s, that’s ... not true,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.
“What is true, Miss Trent, is that you have said consistently that you did not recognize the voice on the telephone—until now,” Wolfe remarked. “And tonight you tell us the voice just might be that of Mr. Simons.”
“But I just cannot be sure,” she said, near tears and holding her head in her hands.
“You do not seem to be sure of anything,” Wolfe said sharply as Inspector Cramer moved to stand behind Mary Trent. “You have variously suggested that Miss Stratton, Mr. Carstens, and Mr. Simons have been involved in the kidnapping. Is there anyone else you would like to implicate?”
She was sobbing now, although the expressions of those around her showed no sign of sympathy.
“Miss Trent,” Wolfe said, “I am going to imagine a scenario, and I invite you to comment upon it. In your time as an employee in the Williamson household, you and Mr. Bell became extremely good friends, although you both went to lengths to keep the extent of your friendship from your coworkers.”
“They certainly didn’t do all that good a job of keeping it a secret,” Emily Stratton huffed. “You should have seen the way she would look at him across the dinner table. We all knew what was going on. We are not blind. And heaven knows what happened when she went over to the garage to clean his rooms. He used to say he didn’t want his rooms cle
aned, but little Goody-Two Shoes here often disappeared for certain periods, and I know just where she disappeared to.”
“Did you ever share your observations about this relationship with any of my investigators?” Wolfe asked sharply.
“No, I certainly did not,” she snapped. “I am not a gossip. I hardly feel that it is my place to comment on or judge the morals, or the lack of morals, of other members of the staff. If people exercised more self-discipline, the world would be a better place. I will say no more than that.”
Wolfe glared at the housekeeper, then turned back to Mary Trent. “The two of you made plans to start a new life, but you had big dreams, dreams that would take money. Mr. Bell had come to know the Bagley brothers, and perhaps you are familiar with the circumstances of their meeting. Together, the three of them conceived Tommie Williamson’s kidnapping. Mr. Bell quickly realized he would need an accomplice within the household to make the plan work, and who better to play that role than his closest friend on the staff?
“You may originally have been conflicted about the plot and your role in it. Only you can know how enthusiastically you took part. In any event, you became the fourth member of the team, if we can so term it.
“The Bagley brothers rented a truck in the Bronx. This we know from the investigative work of Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Bascom. On the morning of the kidnapping, the Bagleys drove to the Williamson estate, timing their arrival to coincide with the period when Tommie would be out in the yard collecting leaves before leaving for school.
“Mr. Bell, stationed either in the garage itself or at a window in one of his rooms above it, dialed the number of the instrument on the first floor the moment the truck pulled around to the back of the house. Expecting the call, you, Miss Trent, were hovering around the telephone and picked it up, probably on the first ring. Mr. Bell likely spoke no more than a word or two, perhaps something like ‘They’re here!’ You made an exclamation of some sort for the benefit of anyone within earshot. You then ran out onto the terrace, frantically calling to Miss Moore and telling her that she had an emergency call.
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