by Rex Stout
Wolfe frowned. "I'm afraid your mind isn't working very well, Miss Hawthorne. No wonder, with the jolts you've had. You say you believe-- when did your brother tell you he was leaving a million to your fund?" "He mentioned it two or three times. A year ago last winter he informed me he intended to make it a million instead of half that amount. Last summer he told me he had done so." "The summer of 193 8 ?" "Yes." "Well. You say you are convinced he wasn't deceiving you. That he had done what he said. But the will which Mr. Prescott presents as authentic is dated March 7th, 1958, and it was after that date that your brother told you he had changed it to a million for your fund. Therefore you are charging Mr. Prescott with fraud." WHERE THERE^S A WILL 89 "Not at all," she declared impatiently. "If I had to base my contention on a supposition as improbable as that, I'd abandon it. I know Glenn Prescott. He's a fairly shrewd and capable Wall Street lawyer, with the natural flexibility in ethics and morals that is a functional necessity in his environment, but he totally lacks the daring and imagination that are required for banditry in the grand manner. I would be as likely to write a great epic poem as he would be to steal three million dollars by substituting a forgery for my brother's will. I suppose that's what you meant--that about his splitting with Miss Karn." "Roughly, yes. Some degree of forgery. Not necessarily counterfeiting signatures. Have you seen the document?" "Yes." "Is it all on one page?" "No. Two." "Typewritten, of course?" "Yes." "Are any of the main provisions on page two?" She frowned. "I don't-- Wait. Yes, I do. Most of the typed matter is on page one. A little on page two, and of course the signatures--my brother's and the witnesses'." "Then it might not have been necessary to attempt the hazardous process of forging signatures. FR1;90 WHERE THERE'S A WILL But if you rule out fraud on. the part of Prescott, on what ground can you contend--" "I was coming to it. That's what I came to tell you. I think it happened like this. Noel did have Prescott draw that will for him, just as it is now, and keep it in his office vault. But at the same time, or rather a little later, perhaps the next day, Noel superseded it by drawing another will, himself, without Prescott's knowledge, which disposed of his fortune as he did in fact desire to dispose of it. The question is, where is the last will? The only valid one?" Wolfe grunted. "There seems to be a prior question. Why did your brother have Mr. Prescott draw a will which he intended so promptly to supersede? So much trouble." May shook her head. "Not much, since he had to. Prescott himself furnished the hint for that. We asked him last night if Miss Karn knew about the will, and he said yes. He said that the day after it was drawn Miss Karn saw the will and read it through. She went to Prescott's office--the appointment was made by Noel, and Noel instructed Prescott to show her the will." "I see," Wolfe murmured. "So that answers your question." A faint, almost imperceptible tinge of color appeared in the college president's cheeks. "I don't pretend to know FR1;WHERE THERE^S A WILL 91 anything about sex and what it does to people. There is very little else about men and women that I don't understand fairly well, but I confess that sex is beyond me. It missed me, or perhaps I dodged it. I have my college, my achievement, my career, I have myself. It is only by a rational process, not by any emotional comprehension, that it becomes intelligible to me that my brother descended to such trickery. He wished to keep his word to me and to fulfill his obligations to others. But he had to have Miss Karn, and he could keep her only by showing her that if he died she would get her--reward. I admit that I am incapable of understanding why he had to have Miss Karn specifically, with so fierce a necessity, but there are thousands of experts, from Shakespeare to Faith Baldwin, to back me up." Wolfe nodded. "We won't quarrel about that. It's a neat theory you've built up. Is it yours exclusively?'*
"I contrived it. My sisters incline to it. Mr. Prescott weakly contends that Noel was above such a trick, but I think he secretly agrees with me. I suspect he knows as little about sex as I do. He has never married." "Are you here as a representative of the group who hired me to negotiate with Miss Karn?" "Yes. That is, my sisters--not my sister-in-law, Daisy. She won't talk sense. The fact is, they're in FR1;92 WHERE THERE'S A WILL such a state about the--development regarding my brother's death--that the will doesn't matter to them. It does to me. My brother is dead. We have buried him. He desired and intended that in the unhappy event of his death, my college should benefit. I am going to see to it that his intention is fulfilled. With my sisters' acquiescence--we want you to postpone the negotiations with Miss Karn--" "I have offered to let her keep two hundred thousand dollars, the remainder to be divided by Mrs. Hawthorne and the rest of you." May gawked at him. "You don't mean she accepted that offer?" "No. But she may--tomorrow, any time. She's scared." "What's she scared about?" "Murder. A murder investigation is a whirlpool of menace. Miss Hawthorne. I confess it doesn't seem to have frightened you very much." "I'm tough. The Hawthorne girls are all tough. But damn it, do you mean Miss Karn murdered Noel herself?" She was still gawking. "My mind was so--that never occurred to me!" "I have no idea who murdered your brother. Let's stick to the will. I was only explaining Miss Karn's fright. In spite of your interesting theory, and granting that it's sound and even correct, if Miss FR1;WHERE THERE'S A WILL 95 Karn accepts my offer I shall execute an agreement and have her sign it, and I shall advise you people to sign it also." "She won't accept it." "I speak of a contingency." "Which we'll meet if it arises." She matched his crispness. "What I came here for, and it's taken me long enough to get to it, was to ask you to find my brother's will. The last one, the real one. If it gives anything to Miss Karn, she's welcome to it." Wolfe shook his head. "I was afraid you were going to say that. I'm not a ferret, madam. I can't undertake it." That started a wrangle. It lasted for a quarter of an hour, and got nowhere. Wolfe's position was that it would be farcical for him to try such a job, since he didn't have access to the various buildings, offices, dwellings, rooms and enclosures in which Noel Hawthorne might have deposited the will, that to gain such access through the authority of the executor of the estate, the Cosmopolitan Trust Company, would be difficult if not impossible, and that if there was such a will it would be found in good time by the persons who went through the dead man's papers. May contended that detectives were supposed to find things and that he was a detective.
It came out a tie. Like the man trying to pull up FR1;94 WHERE THERE'S A WILL an oak tree who finally quit and muttered, "You can't pull me up, either." Miss Hawthorne didn't actually mutter as she got up and walked out of the office, but she wasn't admitting she was licked, either by her words or the expression of her face. I let her into the hall, and wasn't sorry when she accepted my offer to drive her home, since it meant a breath of cooler midnight air. She took off her hat, stuck her chin out, closed her eyes, and let her hair fly as we rolled up Fifth Avenue. The Hawthorne residence on 67th Street, which I eyed with moderate curiosity as I drew up in front, was a big old gray stone four-storied affair with iron grills on the windows, a few doors east of Fifth. May smiled sweetly when she thanked me and said good night. Back home, I went to the kitchen and snared a glass of milk before proceeding to the office. Wolfe had just finished number two of a pair of beer bottles. I stood sipping milk and looking down at him approvingly. The milk was a little too cold and I took my time sipping. "Stop smirking!" he yapped. "Hell, I'm not smirking." I lowered the back of my lap to the edge of a chair. "I think you're wonderful. The things you put up with to keep Fri'z and Theodore and me off of relief! What do you think of the famous Hawthorne girls?" FR1;||i WHERE THERE^S A WILL 95 He grunted. "The murder part of it," I declared, "is a cinch. Titus Ames did it because he wants to dress up like a girl himself and go to Varney College and study science, and on account of loyalty to the alma mater he's going to have he killed Noel so the science fund would get the million. Now May's furious because the million has shrunk to a tithe of its former self, and with a daring imagination she sells you a fairy tale about a secret will hid in a hollow tree and that kind of crap--" "She sold me nothing. Go to bed." "Do you give credence to her theory about the second
will?" He put his hands on the rim of the desk, getting ready to push his chair back, and seeing that I beat him to it by arising and striding from the scene. I kept on going, up two flights of stairs, to my own room. There, after finishing the milk, I undraped my form, shaved my legs and removed my elelashes, and dropped languorously into the arms of the sandman. When I rolled out at eight in the morning it was tuning up for another hot one. The air coming in at the window made you gasp for more when what you really wanted was less. So I kept the shower moderately cool and selected a palm beach for the day's apparel. Down in the kitchen Fritz was puffFR1;96 WHERE THERE'S A WILL ing, having just returned from delivering Wolfe's breakfast tray to his room on the second floor. Glancing over the Times as I sat negotiating with my orange juice and eggs and rolls, I found no Indication that Skinner, Cramer & Co., had opened the big bag of news regarding the death of Noel Hawthorne; there wasn't any hint of it. Apparently they realized it was going to be a busy intersection and were taking no chances. I poured my second cup of coffee and turned to the sports page, and the phone rang. I took it there in the kitchen, on Fritz's extension, and got Fred Durkin's voice in my ear, in an urgent kind of a whisper that gave me the idea he had stepped on somebody's foot and got arrested again. "Archie?" "Me talking." "You'd better come up here right away." Then I was sure of it. I asked wearily, "Which precinct?" "No, listen. Come on up here. 913 West llth, an old brownstone. I'm here and I'm not supposed to be. Push the button under Dawson and up two flights. I'll let you in." "What the hell kind of a--" "You come on, and step on it.** The connection clicked off. I said something exvr s WHERE THERE'S A WILL 97 pressive. Fritz giggled, and I threw a roll at him which he caught with one hand and threw back, but missed me. I had to gulp the coffee, and it was as hot as hell's dishwater. Giving Fritz a message for Wolfe, I stopped in at the office for my shoulder strap and automatic just in case, trotted a block to the garage to get the roadster, and headed downtown.
But nobody got shot. I parked a hundred feet east of the number on llth Street, mounted the stoop to the old-fashioned vestibule, punched the button under Earl Dawson, pushed through when the click came, and went up two flights of narrow dark stairs. A door at the end of the hall opened cautiously and gave me a glimpse of Fred's map of Ireland. I walked to it, shoved it open and went in, and closed it again. Fred whispered, "Jesus, I didn't know what to do." I glanced around. It was a big room with nice rugs on a polished floor and comfortable chairs and so forth. No inhabitants were in sight. "Lovely place you've got," I observed. "It would look better--" "Shut up," Fred hissed. He was making for a door to an inner room and crooking a finger at me. "Come here and look." I followed him through the door. This room was FR1;98 WHERE THERE'S A WILL smaller, with another nice rug, a couple of chairs, a dressing table, a chest of drawers, and a big finelooking bed. I focused my gaze on the man who was lying on the bed, and saw that he checked with the description Saul had given of the item Naomi Karn had met at Santoretti's, in spite of a couple of missing details. The blue shirt, gray four-in-hand, and gray tropical worsted coat were there on him, but below them was only white drawers, bare legs, and blue socks and garters. He was breathing like a geyser getting ready to shoot. Fred, looking down at him proudly, whispered, "He groaned when I pulled his pants off, so I quit." I nodded. "He don't look very dignified. Have you named him yet?'* "Yeah, but it's a mix-up. It says Dawson downstairs, and this is where he said to bring him, and he had keys, but that's not his name. His name's Eugene Davis, and he's in a law firm; Dunwoodie, Prescott & Davis, 40 Broadway." CHAPTER SEVEN I gave fred an eye. The comic aspect of things retreated into the wings. "What makes you think so?" I demanded. "I frisked him. Look, there on the dresser." I tiptoed across to inspect the little heap of articles. Among other things, a driving license for Eugene Davis. A membership card in the New York County Bar Association for Eugene Davis, of Dunwoodie, Prescott & Davis. A pass to the New York World's Fair 1939, with a picture of him thereon. An accident insurance identification card. Three letters received by Eugene Davis at his business address. Two snapshots of Naomi Karn, one in a bathing suit. . . . I told Fred, "Go and stay at the hall door and scream if anyone comes. I'm going to browse around." I made it snappy but thorough. Davis lay there sucking it in like a bear caught short on Atmosphere common. I covered it all, that bedroom and a smaller one, bathroom, kitchenette, and the big living room, including closets. I would have floated right out of a window if I had found a last will and testament of Noel Hawthorne dated sub99
100 WHERE THERE'S A WILL sequent to March 7th, 1938, but I didn't. Nor anything else that seemed pertinent to a will or a murder or any phenomenon I was interested in, unless you want to count eight more pictures of Naomi Karn, of various shapes and sizes, three of them inscribed "To Gene," with dates in 193 5 and 1936. Even the refrigerator was empty. I took a parting look at the member of the bar, collected Fred and escorted him out and down to the street and into the roadster, drove around the corner onto Sixth Avenue, drew up at the curb in the morning shadow of the buildings, and demanded: "How come?" Fred protested, "We ought to park where we can see--" "He'll be there for hours. Tell Papa.'* "Well, I tailed him--" "Did he and the female subject leave Santoretti's together?" "Yeah, at eleven o'clock. They walked west to Lexington, with me on foot and Saul stringing along in his bus. He put her in a taxi and Saul followed it. He stood and watched the taxi, going uptown, until it was out of sight, and then he started walking south as if he'd just remembered something he'd left in Florida. He's a giraffe. I damn near ran my legs off. The damn fool walked clear to 8th Street!" WHERE THERE'S A WILL 101 "We'll warn him not to do that again. How you must have suffered. Skip things like that. I can't bear it." "Go spit up a rope. He went into a place on 8th Street near Sixth, a bar and restaurant named Wellman's. I happen to know a guy that works there. I waited outside a while, and then I went in and saw that Sam was there filling and spilling�he's the guy I know. I bought a drink and chinned with him. The subject was there at the bar taking on cargo. He would sip at one maybe ten minutes and then down it would go and he'd get a refill. After that had been going on for an hour and a half Sam began frowning at him and I asked Sam about him. By the way, I had to turn loose of two dollars and sixty cents for refreshments." "I'll bet you did. Wait till Wolfe sees the expense account. I won't pass it." "Now, look here, Archie�" "I'll see. Finish your report to your superior." "Wait till I laugh. Haw. Sam said the subject was a good customer, too damn good sometimes. His name was Dawson and he lived in the neighborhood. A dozen times in the past two years Sam had had to get him home in a taxi. Well, it went on and on. After a while he staggered over to a table and sat down and asked for more. Finally he flopped. Sam and I made a couple of efforts to straighten him up, 102 WHERE THERE'S A WILL but he was out. So I offered to see him home, and Sam thought that was swell of me, and so did I until I started carrying him up that two flights of stairs. He weighs two hundred if he weighs an ounce." "Saul says a hundred and seventy." "Saul didn't carry him upstairs. It was a quarter after five when I got him here. I took his pants and shoes off, and then sat and thought it over. The main thing was, why should I get you out of bed at that hour? I know how you are before breakfast--"