Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 02

by The League of Frightened Men

  I undertake to remove from the league all apprehension and expectation of injury from

  (a) Paul Chapin.

  (b) The person or persons who sent the metrical typewritten warnings.

  (c) The person or persons responsible for the deaths of Wm. R. Harrison and Eugene Dreyer, and for the disappearance of Andrew Hibbard.

  Decision as to the satisfactory performance of the undertaking shall be made by a majority vote of the members of the league.

  The expenses of the undertaking shall be borne by me, and in the event of my failure to perform it satisfactorily the league shall be under no obligation to pay them, nor any other obligation.

  Upon decision that the undertaking has been satisfactorily performed, the members of the league will pay me, each the amount set after his name on the attached list; provided, that the members mil be severally and jointly responsible for the payment of the total amount.

  “I believe that covers it. Of course, should you wish to make it terminable after a stated period—”

  Nicholas Cabot cut in, “It’s preposterous. I won’t even discuss it.” Julius Adler said with a smile, “I think we should thank Mr. Wolfe’s secretary for adding it up and saving us the shock. Fifty-six thousand, nine hundred and fifteen dollars. Well!” His brows went up and stayed up. Kommers, who had spent at least ten bucks coming from Philadelphia, made his maiden speech, “I don’t know much about your abilities, Mr. Wolfe, but I’ve learned something new about nerve.” Others began to join in the chorus; they were just going to crowd us right in the ditch.

  Wolfe waited, and in about a minute put up his hand, palm out, which was a pretty violent gesture for him. “Please, gentlemen. There is really no ground for controversy. It is a simple matter: I offer to sell you something for a stated price on delivery. If you think the price exorbitant you are under no compulsion to buy. However, I may observe in that connection that on Saturday Miss Evelyn Hibbard offered to pay me ten thousand dollars for the service proposed. There is no single item on that list as high as ten thousand dollars; and Miss Hibbard is not herself in jeopardy.”

  George Pratt said, “Yeah, and you turned her down so you could soak us. You’re just out to do all the good you can, huh?”

  “Anyhow, the memorandum is preposterous throughout.” Nicholas Cabot had gone to Wolfe’s desk and reached for the memorandum, and was standing there looking at it. “What we want is Paul Chapin put where he belongs. This attempt at evasion—”

  “I’m surprised at you, Mr. Cabot.” Wolfe sighed. “I phrased it that way chiefly because I knew two shrewd lawyers would be here and I wished to forestall their objections. Circumstances have got the idea of Paul Chapin’s guilt so firmly fixed in your mind that you are a little off balance. I could not undertake specifically to remove your apprehension by getting Mr. Chapin convicted of murder, because if I did so and investigation proved him innocent two difficulties would present themselves. First, I would have to frame him in order to collect my money, which would be not only unfair to him but also a great bother to me, and second, the real perpetrator of these indiscretions would remain free to continue his career, and you gentlemen would still be scared—or dead. I wished to cover—”

  “Rubbish.” Cabot pushed the memorandum impatiently away. “We are convinced it is Chapin. We know it is.”

  “So am I.” Wolfe nodded, down, and up, and at rest again. “Yes, I am convinced that it is Chapin you should fear. But in preparing this memorandum I thought it well to cover all contingencies, and you as a lawyer must agree with me. After all, what is really known? Very little. For instance, what if Andrew Hibbard, tormented by remorse, was driven to undertake vengeance on behalf of the man you all had injured? Ye should have killed me. What if, after killing two of you, he found he couldn’t stomach it, and went off somewhere and ended his own life? That would contradict nothing we now know. Or what if another of you, or even an outsider, proceeded to balance some personal accounts, and took advantage of the exudations of the Chapin stew to lay a false scent? That might be you, Mr. Cabot, or Dr. Burton, or Mr. Michael Ayers … anyone. You say rubbish, and really I do too, but why not cover the contingencies?”

  Cabot pulled the memorandum back beneath his eyes. Julius Adler got up and went to the desk and joined in the inspection. There was some murmuring among the others. Mike Ayers was sprawled in his chair with his hands deep in his pockets and his eyes shut tight. Julius Adler said:

  “This last provision is out of the question. This joint responsibility for the total amount. We wouldn’t consider it.”

  Wolfe’s cheeks unfolded a little. “I agree with you, Mr. Adler. I shall not insist upon it. As a matter of fact, I inserted it purposely, so there would be something for you to take out.”

  Adler grunted. Drummond the florist, who had gone to join them, as had Pratt and Arthur Kommers, giggled again. Cabot looked at Wolfe with a frown and said, “You aren’t at all nimble, are you?”

  “Moderately. I’m really not much good at negotiation, I am too blunt. It is a shortcoming of temperament not to be overcome. For instance, my proposal to you. I can only present it and say, take it or leave it. I compensate for the handicap by making the proposal so attractive that it cannot very well be refused.”

  I was surprised, all of a sudden, to see the shadow of a smile on Cabot’s face, and for a second I damn near liked him. He said, “Of course. I sympathize with your disability.”

  “Thank you.” Wolfe moved his eyes to take in the others. “Well, gentlemen? I will mention two little points. First, I did not include in the memorandum a stipulation that you should co-operate with me, but I shall of course expect it. I can do little without your help. I would like to feel free to have Mr. Goodwin and another of my men call upon you at any reasonable time, and I would like to talk with a few of you myself. I may?”

  Three or four heads nodded. George Pratt, with the group at the desk, said, “Good here.” Cabot smiled openly and murmured, “Don’t forget your disability.”

  “Good. The second point, about the money. In my opinion, the sums I have listed are adequate but not extortionate. If I fail to satisfy you I get nothing, so it comes to this: would Mr. Gaines be willing at this moment to pay me eight thousand dollars, and Dr. Burton seven thousand, and Mr. Michael Ayers one hundred and eighty, in return for a guarantee of freedom from the fear which has fastened itself upon them? I take it that you agree that it is proper to have the amounts graded in accordance with ability to pay.”

  Again heads nodded. He was easing them into it; he was sewing them up. I grinned to myself, “Boss, you’re cute, that’s all, you’re just cute.” Lee Mitchell from Boston spoke again:

  “Of course I can’t speak definitely for Mr. Collard and Mr. Gaines. I think I may say—you can probably count them in. I’ll go back to Boston tonight and they’ll wire you tomorrow.”

  Cabot said, “You can cross Elkus out. He wouldn’t pay you a cent.”

  “No?”

  “No. He’s as sentimental as Andy Hibbard was. He’d sooner see us all killed than help catch Paul Chapin.”

  “Indeed. It is disastrous to permit the vagaries of the heart to infect the mind. We shall see—Gentlemen. I would like to satisfy myself now on one point. Frankly, I do not wish it to be possible for any of you to say, at any time in the future, that I have acted with a ruthlessness or vindictiveness which you did not contemplate or desire. My understanding is that you are all convinced that Paul Chapin is a murderer, that he has threatened you with murder, and that he should be caught, discovered, convicted and executed. I am going to ask Mr. Goodwin to call off your names. If my understanding is correct, you will please respond with yes.”

  He nodded at me. I took up the list on which I had checked those present. Before I could call one, Lee Mitchell said, “On that I can answer for Mr. Collard and Mr. Gaines. Unqualifiedly. Their response if yes.”

  There was a stir, but no one spoke. I said, “Ferdinand Bowen.”

&n
bsp; The broker said, husky but firm, “Yes.”

  “Dr. Loring A. Burton.”

  For a moment there was no reply, then Burton murmured in a tone so low it was barely heard, “No.” Everyone looked at him. He looked around, swallowed, and said suddenly and explosively, “Nonsense! Yes, of course! Romantic nonsense. Yes!”

  Farrell said to him, “I should hope so. The wonder is you weren’t first.”

  I went on, “Augustus Farrell.”

  “Yes.”

  I called the others, Drummond, Cabot, Pratt, Byron, Adler, Kommers; they all said yes. I called, “Michael Ayers.” He was still sprawled in his chair. I said his name again. Farrell, next to him, dug him in the ribs: “Mike! Hey! Say yes.” Mike Ayers stirred a little, opened his eyes into slits, bawled out, “Yes!” and shut his eyes again.

  I turned to Wolfe, “That’s all, sir.”

  I usually heard Fritz when he went down the front hall to answer the doorbell, but that time I didn’t; I suppose because I was too interested in the roll I was calling. So I was surprised when I saw the door of the office opening. The others saw me look and they looked too. Fritz came in three steps and waited until Wolfe nodded at him. “A gentleman to see you, sir. He had no card. He told me to say, Mr. Paul Chapin.”

  “Indeed.” Wolfe didn’t move. “Indeed. Show him in.”

  Chapter 6

  Fritz went back to the hall to get the visitor. I missed a bet, but Wolfe probably didn’t—I don’t know; I should have been taking notice of the expressions on the faces of our guests, but I wasn’t; my eyes were glued on the door. I imagine all the others’ were too, except Wolfe’s. I heard the thud of Paul Chapin’s walking-stick on the rubber tile of the hall.

  He limped in and stopped a few paces from the door. From where he was he couldn’t see Wolfe, on account of the group gathered at the desk. He looked at the group, and at those around on chairs, and tossed his head up twice, his chin out, like a nervous horse trying to shake the rein. He said, “Hello, fellows,” and limped forward again, far enough into the room so he could see Wolfe, first sending a quick sharp glance at me. He was standing less than eight feet from me. He was dressed for evening, a dinner coat. He wasn’t a big guy at all, rather under medium size than over; you couldn’t call him skinny, but you could see the bone structure of his face—flat cheeks, an ordinary nose, and light-colored eyes. When he turned his back to me so as to face Wolfe I saw that his coat didn’t hang straight down over his right hip pocket, and I uncrossed my legs and brought my feet back to position, just in case.

  There had been no audible replies to his salutation. He looked around again, back again at Wolfe, and smiled at him. “You are Mr. Wolfe?”

  “Yes.” Wolfe had his fingers intertwined on his belly. “You are Mr. Chapin.”

  Paul Chapin nodded. “I was at the theater. They’ve done a book of mine into a play. Then I thought I’d drop in here.”

  “Which book? I’ve read all of them.”

  “You have? Really. I wouldn’t suppose … The Iron Heel.”

  “Oh yes. That one. Accept my congratulations.”

  “Thank you. I hope you don’t mind my dropping in. I knew of this gathering, of course. I learned of it from three of my friends, Leo Elkus and Lorry Burton and Alex Drummond. You mustn’t hold it against them, except possibly Leo. He meant well, I think, but the others were trying to frighten me. They were trying it with a bogy, but for a bogy to be effective its terrors must be known to the victim. Unfortunately you were unknown to me. You have terrors, I suppose?”

  Since Chapin’s first word he had kept his eyes on Wolfe, ignoring the others. They were regarding him with varying reactions on their faces: Mitchell of Boston with curiosity, Bowen with a sour poker face, Cabot with uncomfortable indignation, Mike Ayers with scowling disgust … I was looking them over. Of a sudden Dr. Burton left his chair, strode to the desk, and grabbed Chapin by the arm. He said to him:

  “Paul, for God’s sake. Get out of here! This is terrible. Get out!”

  Drummond the florist put in, his cultured tenor transformed by intensity into a ferocious squeal, “This is the limit, Paul! After what we—after what I—you dirty murdering rat!”

  Others, breaking their tension, found their tongues. Wolfe stopped them. He said sharply, “Gentlemen! Mr. Chapin is my guest!” He looked at Chapin, leaning on his stick. “You should sit down. Take a chair.—Archie.”

  “No, thanks. I’ll be going in a moment.” Chapin sent a smile around; it would have been merely a pleasant smile but for his light-colored eyes where there was no smile at all. “I’ve been standing on one foot for twenty-five years. Of course all of you know that; I don’t need to tell you. I’m sorry if I’ve annoyed you by coming here; really, I wouldn’t disconcert you fellows for anything. You’ve all been too kind to me, you know very well you have. If I may get a little literary and sentimental about it—you have lightened life’s burden for me. I’ll never forget it, I’ve told you that a thousand times. Of course, now that I seem to have found my métier, now that I am standing on my own feet—that is, my own foot—” he smiled around again—“I shall be able to find my way the rest of the journey without you. But I shall always be grateful.” He turned to Wolfe. “That’s how it is, you see. But I didn’t come here to say that, I came to see you. I was thinking that possibly you are a reasonable and intelligent man. Are you?”

  Wolfe was looking at him. I was saying to myself, look out, Paul Chapin, look out for those half-closed eyes, and if you take my advice you’ll shut up and beat it quick. Wolfe said:

  “I reach that pinnacle occasionally, Mr. Chapin.”

  “I’ll try to believe you. There are few who do. I just wanted to say this to you: my friends have wasted a lot of time and money pursuing a mirage which someone has cleverly projected for them. I tell you straight, Mr. Wolfe, it’s been a shock to me. That they should suspect me, knowing as they do how grateful I am for all their kindness! Really, incredible. I wanted to put this before you and save you from the loss of your time and money too. You would not be so fatuous as to chase a mirage?”

  “I assure you, sir, I am far too immobile to chase anything whatever. But perhaps—since you are by your own admission definitely out of it—perhaps you have a theory regarding the incidents that have disturbed your friends? It might help us.”

  “I’m afraid not.” Chapin shook his head regretfully. “Of course, it appears more than likely that it’s a practical joke, but I have no idea—”

  “Murder isn’t a joke, Mr. Chapin. Death is not a joke.”

  “Oh, no? Really, no? Are you so sure? Take a good case. Take me, Paul Chapin. Would you dare to assert that my death would not be a joke?”

  “Why, would it?”

  “Of course. A howling anticlimax. Death’s pretensions to horror, considering what in my case has preceded it, would be indescribably ludicrous. That is why I have so greatly appreciated my friends, their thoughtfulness, their solicitude—”

  A cry from behind interrupted him; a cry, deeply anguished, in the voice of Dr. Burton: “Paul! Paul, for God’s sake!”

  Chapin wheeled about on his good leg. “Yes?” Without raising his voice a particle he got into it a concentrated scorn that would have withered the love of God. “Yes, Lorry?”

  Burton looked at him, said nothing, shook his head, and turned his eyes away. Chapin turned back to Wolfe. Wolfe said:

  “So you adhere to the joke theory.”

  “Not adhere precisely. It seems likely. So far as I am concerned, Mr. Wolfe, the only point is this: I suffer from the delusion of my friends that I am a source of peril to them. Actually, they are afraid of me. Of me! I suffer considerably, I really do. The fact is that it would be difficult to conceive of a more harmless creature than I am. I am myself afraid! Constitutionally afraid of all sorts of things. For instance, on account of my pathetic physical inadequacy, I go in constant fear of this or that sort of violent attack, and I habitually am armed. See—”<
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  Paul Chapin had us going all right. As his right hand came around behind him and his fingers started under the edge of his dinner coat, there were two or three cries of warning from the group, and I took it on the jump. With my momentum and him balanced against his walking-stick, I damn near toppled him over, but I had my grip on his right wrist and saved him from a tumble. With my left hand I jerked the gat from his hip pocket.

  “Archie!” Wolfe snapped at me. “Release Mr. Chapin.”

  I let go his wrist. Wolfe was still snapping: “Give him back his—article.”

  I looked at the gat. It was a thirty-two, an old veteran, and a glance showed me it wasn’t loaded. Paul Chapin, his light-colored eyes having no look in them at all, held out his hand. I put the gun in it and he let it sit there on his palm as if it was a dish of applesauce.

  Wolfe said, “Confound you, Archie. You have deprived Mr. Chapin of the opportunity for a dramatic and effective gesture. I know, Mr. Chapin. I am sorry. May I see the gun?”

  Chapin handed it to him and he looked it over. He threw the cylinder out and back, cocked it, snapped the trigger, and looked it over again. He said, “An ugly weapon. It terrifies me. Guns always do. May I show it to Mr. Goodwin?”

  Chapin shrugged his shoulders, and Wolfe handed the gat to me. I took it under my light and gave it a few warm glances; cocked it, saw what Wolfe had seen, and grinned. Then I looked up and saw Paul Chapin’s eyes on me and stopped grinning. You could still have said there was no look in them, but behind them was something I wouldn’t have cared to bring into plain sight. I handed him the gun, and he stuck it back into his hip pocket. He said, half to me and half to Wolfe, in an easy tone:

  “That’s it, you see. The effect is psychological. I learned a good deal about psychology from my friend Andy Hibbard.”

  There were ejaculations. George Pratt stepped to Chapin and glared at him. Pratt’s hands were working at his sides as he stammered, “You—you snake! If you weren’t a goddam cripple I’d knock you so far I’ll say you’d be harmless—”