Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 02

by The League of Frightened Men

  She was shaking her head. “I don’t believe that. It’s possible, but I don’t believe it.”

  “You say she’s crazy.”

  “No. As far as Dora could like any man, she liked Lorrie. She wouldn’t do that.”

  “Not to make a reservation for Chapin in the electric chair?”

  Mrs. Burton looked at me, and a little shudder ran over her. She said, “That’s no better … than the other. That’s horrible.”

  “Of course it’s horrible. Whatever we pull out of this bag, it won’t be a pleasant surprise for anyone concerned, except maybe Chapin. I ought to mention another possibility. Dr. Burton shot himself. He turned the light out so Chapin couldn’t see what he was doing in time to let out a yell that might have given it away. That’s horrible too, but it’s quite possible.”

  That didn’t seem to discompose her as much as my first guess. She merely said, calmly, “No, Mr. Goodwin. It might be barely conceivable that Lorrie wanted … had some reason to kill himself without my knowing it, but that he would try to put the guilt on Paul … on anyone … No, that isn’t even possible.”

  “Okay. You said it yourself a while ago, Mrs. Burton; strange things can happen. But as far as that’s concerned, anyone at all might have done it—anyone who could get into that foyer and who knew Chapin was there and that Dr. Burton would come.—By the way, what about the maid that’s out this evening? Does she have a key? What’s she like?”

  “Yes, she has a key. She is fifty-six years old, has been with us nine years, and calls herself the housekeeper. You would waste time asking about her.”

  “I could still be curious about her key.”

  “She will have it when she comes in the morning. You may see her then if you wish.”

  “Thanks. Now the other maid. Could I see her now?”

  She got up and went to the table and pushed a button, and took another cigarette and lit it. I noticed that with her back turned you could have taken her for twenty, except for the coil of hair. But she was slumping a little; as she stood her shoulders sagged. She pulled them up again and turned and came back to the couch, as the inner door opened and the whole outfit appeared: cook, maid, friend Alice, daughter and boy friend. The cook was carrying a tray. Mrs. Burton said:

  “Thank you, Henny, not now. Don’t try it again, please don’t, I really couldn’t swallow. And the rest of you … if you don’t mind … we wish to see Rose a few minutes. Just Rose.”

  “But, mother, really—”

  “No, dear. Please, just a few minutes. Johnny, this is very nice of you. I appreciate it very much. Come here, Rose.”

  The kid blushed. “Aw, don’t mention it, Mrs. Burton.”

  They faded back through the door. The maid came and stood in front of us and tried some swallowing which didn’t seem to work. Her face looked quite peculiar because it intended to be sympathetic but she was too shocked and scared, and it would have been fairly peculiar at any time with its broad flat nose and plucked eyebrows. Mrs. Burton told her I wanted to ask her some questions, and she looked at me as if she had been informed that I was going to sell her down the river. Then she stared at the pad on my knee and looked even worse. I said:

  “Rose. I know exactly what’s in your mind. You’re thinking that the other man wrote down your answers to his questions and now I’m going to do the same, and then we’ll compare them and if they’re not alike we’ll take you to the top of the Empire State Building and throw you off. Forget that silly stuff. Come on, forget it.—By the way.” I turned to Mrs. Burton: “Does Dora Chapin have a key to the apartment?”

  “No.”

  “Okay. Rose, did you go to the door when Dora Chapin came this evening?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You let her in and she was alone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When she left did you let her out?”

  “No, sir. I never do. Mrs. Kurtz don’t either. She just went.”

  “Where were you when she went?”

  “I was in the dining-room. I was there a long while. We weren’t serving dinner, and I was dusting the glasses in there.”

  “Then I suppose you didn’t let Mr. Bowen out either. That was the man—”

  “Yes, sir, I know Mr. Bowen. No, I didn’t let him out, but that was a long time before.”

  “I know. All right, you let nobody out. Let’s get back to in. You answered the door when Mr. Chapin came.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “You opened the door and he came in and you shut the door again.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Now see if you can remember this. It doesn’t matter much if you can’t, but maybe you can. What did Mr. Chapin say to you?”

  She looked at me, and aside at Mrs. Burton, and down at the floor. At first I thought maybe she was trying to fix up a fake for an answer, then I saw that she was just bewildered at the terrible complexity of the problem I had confronted her with by asking her a question that couldn’t be answered yes or no. I said, “Come on, Rose. You know, Mr. Chapin came in, and you took his hat and coat, and he said—”

  She looked up. “I didn’t take his hat and coat. He kept his coat on, and his gloves. He said to tell Dr. Burton he was there.”

  “Did he stand there by the door or did he walk to a chair to sit down?”

  “I don’t know. I think he would sit down. I think he came along behind me but he came slow and I came back in to tell Dr. Burton.”

  “Was the light turned on in the foyer when you left there?”

  “Yes, sir. Of course.”

  “After you told Dr. Burton, where did you go?”

  “I went back to the dining-room.”

  “Where was the cook?”

  “In the kitchen. She was there all the time.”

  “Where was Mrs. Burton?”

  “She was in her room dressing.—Wasn’t you, madam?”

  I grinned. “Sure she was. I’m just getting all of you placed. Did Dr. Burton go to the foyer right away?”

  She nodded. “Well … maybe not right away. He went pretty soon. I was in the dining-room and heard him go by the door.”

  “Okay.” I got up from my chair. “Now I’m going to ask you to do something. I suppose I shouldn’t tell you it’s important, but it is. You go to the dining-room and start taking down the glasses, or whatever you were doing after you told Dr. Burton. I’ll walk past the dining-room door and on to the foyer. Was Dr. Burton going fast or slow?”

  She shook her head and her lip began to quiver. “He was just going.”

  “All right, I’ll just go. You hear me go by, and you decide when enough time has passed for the first shot to go off. When the time has come for the first shot, you yell Now loud enough for me to hear you in the foyer. Do you understand? First you’d better tell—”

  I stopped on account of her lip. It was getting into high. I snapped at her, “Come on out of that. Take a look at Mrs. Burton and learn how to behave yourself. You’re doing this for her. Come on now.”

  She clamped her lips together and held them that way while she swallowed twice. Then she opened them to say:

  “The shots all came together.”

  “All right, say they did. You yell Now when the time comes. First you’d better go and tell the people inside that you’re going to yell or they’ll be running out here—”

  Mrs. Burton interposed, “I’ll tell them. Rose, take Mr. Goodwin to the study and show him how to go.”

  She was quite a person, that Mrs. Burton. I was getting so I liked her. Maybe her soul was put away in a box somewhere, but other items of her insides, meaning guts, were all where they ought to be. If I was the kind that collected things I wouldn’t have minded having one of her gloves myself.

  Rose and I went out. Apparently she avoided the bedrooms by taking me around by a side hall, for we entered the study direct from that. She showed me how to go, by another door, an
d left me there. I looked around; books, leather chairs, radio, smoke stands, and a flat-top desk by a window. There was the drawer, of course, where the gat had been kept. I went over to it and pulled it open and shut it again. Then I went out by the other door and followed directions. I struck a medium pace, past the dining-room door, across the central hall, through a big room and from that through the drawing-room; got my eye on my watch, opened the door into the foyer, went in and closed it—

  It was a good thing the folks had been warned, for Rose yelling Now so I could hear it sounded even to me, away off in the foyer, like the last scream of doom. I went back in faster than I had come for fear she might try it again. She had beat it back to the room where Mrs. Burton was. When I entered she was standing by the couch with her face white as a sheet, looking seasick. Mrs. Burton was reaching up to pat her arm. I went over and sat down.

  I said, “I almost didn’t get there. Two seconds at the most. Of course she rushed it, but it shows it must have been quick.—Okay, Rose. I won’t ask you to do any more yelling. You’re a good brave girl. Just a couple more questions. When you heard the shots you ran to the foyer with Mrs. Burton. Is that right?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What did you see when you got there?”

  “I didn’t see anything. It was dark.”

  “What did you hear?”

  “I heard something on the floor and then I heard Mr. Chapin saying Mrs. Burton’s name and then the light went on and I saw him.”

  “What was he doing?”

  “He was trying to get up.”

  “Did he have a gun in his hand?”

  “No, sir. I’m sure he didn’t because he had his hands on the floor getting up.”

  “And then you saw Dr. Burton.”

  “Yes, sir.” She swallowed. “I saw him after Mrs. Burton went to him.”

  “What did you do then?”

  “Well … I stood there I guess … then Mrs. Burton told me to go for Dr. Foster and I ran out and ran downstairs and they told me Dr. Foster had just left and I went to the elevator—”

  “Okay, hold it.”

  I looked back over my notes. Mrs. Burton was patting Rose’s arm again and Rose was looking at her with her lip ready to sag. My watch said five minutes till eleven; I had been in that room nearly two hours. There was one thing I hadn’t gone into at all, but it might not be needed and in any event it could wait. I had got enough to sleep on. But as I flipped the pages of my pad there was another point that occurred to me which I thought ought to be attended to. I put the pad and pencil in my pocket and looked at Mrs. Burton:

  “That’s all for Rose. It’s all for me too, except if you would just tell Rose—”

  She looked up at the maid and nodded at her. “You’d better go to bed, Rose. Good night.”

  “Oh, Mrs. Burton—”

  “All right now. You heard Mr. Goodwin say you’re a brave girl. Go and get some sleep.”

  The maid gave me a look, not any too friendly, looked again at her mistress, and turned and went. As soon as the door had closed behind her I got up from my chair.

  I said, “I’m going, but there’s one more thing. I’ve got to ask a favor of you. You’ll have to take my word for it that Nero Wolfe’s interest in this business is the same as yours. I’ll tell you that straight. You don’t want Paul Chapin to burn in the electric chair for killing your husband, and neither does he. I don’t know what his next move will be, that’s up to him, but it’s likely he’ll need some kind of standing. For instance, if he wants to ask Inspector Cramer to let him see the gun he’ll have to give a better reason than idle curiosity. I can’t quite see Paul Chapin engaging him, but how about you? If we could say we were acting on commission from you it would make things simple. Of course there wouldn’t be any fee, even if we did something you wanted done. If you want me to I’ll put that in writing.”

  I looked at her. Her head was still up, but the signs of a flop were in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. I said to her, “I’m going, I won’t stay and bark at you about this, just say yes or no. If you don’t lie down somewhere and relax, let it go ahead and bust, you’ll be doing another kind of relaxing. What about it?”

  She shook her head. I thought she was saying no, to me, but then she spoke—though this didn’t sound as if it was directed at me any more than the headshake: “I loved my husband, Mr. Goodwin. Oh yes, I loved him. I sometimes disapproved of things he did. He disapproved of things I did, more often—though he seldom said so. He would disapprove of what I am doing now—I think he would. He would say, let fate do her job. He would say that as he so often said it—gallantly—and about Paul Chapin too. He is dead … Oh yes, he is dead … but let him live enough to say that now, and let me live enough to say what I always said, I will not keep my hand from any job if I think it’s mine. He would not want me to make any new concessions to him, dead.” She rose to her feet, abruptly, and abruptly added, “And even if he wanted me to I doubt if I could. Good night, Mr. Goodwin.” She held out her hand.

  I took it. I said, “Maybe I get you, but I like plain words. Nero Wolfe can say he is acting in your behalf, is that it?”

  She nodded. I turned and left the room.

  In the foyer I took a glance around as I got my hat and coat from the table and put them on. I took the black bag from the closet. When I opened the door I gave the lock an inspection and saw it was the usual variety in houses of that class, the kind where you can press a button countersunk in the edge of the door to free the cylinder. I tried it and it worked. I heard a noise in the hall and stepped out and shut the door behind me. There sitting in a chair, twisting the hide on his neck to see who had been monkeying with the door but not bothering to get up, was the snoop Cramer had left to protect the family from annoyance as I had suspected he would.

  I started pulling on my gloves. I said to him friendly and brisk, “Thank you, my man. I assure you we appreciate this,” and went on to the elevator.

  Chapter 18

  At two o’clock that night—Sunday morning—I sat at my desk, in the office, and yawned. Wolfe, behind his own desk, was looking at a schedule I had typed out for him, keeping a carbon for myself, during one of the intervals in my report when he had called time out to do a little arranging in his mind. The schedule looked like this:

  6:05 Mrs. Burton arrives home. Present in apartment: Burton, daughter, Bowen, maid, cook.

  6:20 Bowen leaves.

  6:25 Daughter leaves.

  6:30 Dora Chapin arrives.

  7:20 Dora leaves.

  7:30 Paul Chapin arrives.

  7:33 Burton is shot.

  7:50 Fred Durkin phones.

  I looked at my carbon and yawned. Fritz had kept some squirrel stew hot for me, and it had long since been put away, with a couple of rye highballs because the black sauce Fritz used for squirrel made milk taste like stale olive juice. After I had imparted a few of the prominent details without saying how I had got hold of them, Wolfe had explained to Hibbard that it is the same with detectives as with magicians, their primary and constant concern is to preserve the air of mystery which is attached to their profession, and Hibbard had gone up to bed. The development that had arrived over the telephone while he was taking his bath had changed his world. He had eaten no dinner to speak of, though the need to chaperon the gold leaf on his teeth had departed. He had insisted on phoning fifty or sixty people, beginning with his niece, and had been restrained only by some tall talk about his word of honor. In fact, that question seemed not entirely closed, for Wolfe had had Fritz cut the wire of the telephone which was in Hibbard’s room. Now he was up there, maybe asleep, maybe doping out a psychological detour around words of honor. I had gone on and given Wolfe the story, every crumb I had, and there had been discussions.

  I threw the carbon onto the desk and did some more yawning. Finally Wolfe said:

  “You understand, Archie. I think it would be possible for us to go ahead without assuming the drudgery of d
iscovering the murderer of Dr. Burton. I would indeed regard that as obvious, if only men could be depended upon to base their decisions on reason. Alas, there are only three or four of us in the world, and even we will bear watching. And our weak spot is that we are committed not to refer our success to a fact, we must refer it to the vote of our group of clients. We must not only make things happen, we must make our clients vote that they have happened. That arrangement was unavoidable. It makes it necessary for us to learn who killed Dr. Burton, so that if the vote cannot be sufficiently swayed by reason it can be bullied by melodrama. You see that.”

  I said, “I’m sleepy. When I have to wait until nearly midnight for my dinner and then it’s squirrel stew …”

  Wolfe nodded. “Yes, I know. Under those circumstances I would be no better than a maniac.—Another thing. The worst aspect of this Burton development, from our standpoint, is what it does to the person of Mr. Chapin. He cannot come here to get his box—or for anything else. It will be necessary to make arrangements through Mr. Morley, and go to see him. What jail will they keep him in?”

  “I suppose, Centre Street. There are three or four places they could stick him, but the Tombs is the most likely.”

  Wolfe sighed. “That abominable clatter. It’s more than two miles, nearer three I suppose. The last time I left this house was early in September, for the privilege of dining at the same table with Albert Einstein, and coming home it rained. You remember that.”

  “Yeah. Will I ever forget it. There was such a downpour the pavements were damp.”

  “You deride me. Confound it … ah well. I will not make a virtue of necessity, but neither will I whimper under its lash. Since there is no such thing as bail for a man charged with murder, and since I must have a conversation with Mr. Chapin, there is no escaping an expedition to Centre Street. Not, however, until we know who killed Dr. Burton.”