Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe - Final Deduction

by Final Deduction (lit)

  It was one of those days. Shad roe again for lunch, this time larded with pork and baked in cream with an assortment of herbs. Every spring I get so fed up with shad roe that I wish to heaven fish would figure out some other way. Whales have. Around three o'clock, when we were back in the office, there was a development, if you don't care what you call it. The phone rang and it was Orrie Cather. He said his and Fred's subjects were together, so they were. He was in a booth at 54th and Lexington. Noel Tedder and Ralph Purcell had just entered a drugstore across the street. That was all. Ten seconds after I hung up it rang again. Noel Tedder. You couldn't beat that for a thrill to make your spine tingle: Fred and Orrie across the street, eagle-eyed, and the subject talking to me on the phone. He said he had persuaded Purcell to come and talk with Wolfe and he would be here in twenty minutes. I turned and asked Wolfe, and he looked at the clock and said of course not, and I turned back to the phone.

  "Sorry, Mr Tedder, Mr Wolfe will be-"

  "I knew it! My sister!"

  "Not your sister. He turned her down, and the arrangement with you stands. But he'll be busy from four to six. Can Mr Purcell come at six?"

  "I'll see. Hold the wire." In half a minute: "Yes, he'll be there at six o'clock."

  "Good." I hung up and swiveled. "Six o'clock. Wouldn't it be amusing if he gives us a hot lead and Fred and I hop on it-of course Fred will tail him here and be out front-and we're two hours late getting there and someone already has it? Just a lousy two hours."

  Wolfe grunted. "You know quite well that if I permit exceptions to my schedule I soon will have no schedule. You would see to that."

  I could have made at least a dozen comments, but what was the use? I turned to the typewriter and the cards. When he left for the plant rooms at 3:59 I turned on the radio. Nothing new. Again at five o'clock. Nothing new. When the Gazette came it had pictures of fourteen people who had been at Fowler's Inn or The Fatted Calf Tuesday evening, which showed what a newspaper that's on its toes can do to keep the public informed. I was back at the typewriter when the doorbell rang at 5:55. I went to the hall, saw Ralph Purcell through the one-way glass, and stepped to the door and opened it, and he said apologetically, "I guess I'm a little early," and offered a hand. I took it.

  What the hell, it wouldn't be the first murderer I had shaken hands with.

  As I took his hat the elevator jolted to a stop at the bottom, the door opened, and Wolfe emerged, three minutes ahead of time because he likes to be in his chair when company comes.

  Purcell went to him. "I'm Ralph Purcell, Mr Wolfe." He had a hand out. "I'm a great admirer of yours. I'm Mrs Jimmy Vail's brother."

  Of course Wolfe had to take the hand, and when he does take a hand, which is seldom, he really takes it. As we went to the office Purcell was wiggling his fingers. Wolfe told him to take the red leather chair, went to his, got his bulk arranged, and spoke.

  "I assume Mr Tedder has explained the situation to you?"

  Purcell was looking at me. When I gave Wolfe a report I am supposed to include everything, and I usually do, and I had had all the time there was Thursday afternoon at Doc Vollmer's, but I had left out an item about Purcell. I had described him, of course-round face like his sister's, a little pudgy, going bald-but I had neglected to mention that when someone started to say something he looked at someone else. I now learned that he didn't go so far as to look at A when he was speaking to B. His eyes went to Wolfe.

  "Yes," he said, "Noel explained it, but I'm not sure-it seems a little-"

  "Perhaps I can elucidate it. What did he say?"

  "He said you were going to find the money for him-the money my sister paid the kidnaper. He asked me if I remembered that my sister had told him he could have the money if he found it, and of course I did. Then it seemed to be a little confused, but maybe it was just confused in my mind. Something about you wanted to ask me some questions because you thought one of us might know something about it on account of Dinah, Dinah Utley, and I thought he said something about one of us putting something in Jimmy's drink, but when I asked about it he said you would explain that part of it."

  So Noel had been fairly tactful after all, at least with Uncle Ralph.

  Wolfe nodded. "It's a little complicated. The best- Why do you look at Mr Goodwin when I speak?"

  As Purcell's eyes left me a flush came to his cheeks. "It's a habit," he said, "a very bad habit."

  "It is indeed."

  "I know. You notice my eyes stick out?"

  "Not flagrantly."

  "Thank you, but they do. When I was a boy people said I stared. One person especially. She-" He stopped abruptly. In a moment he went on. "That was long ago, but that's why I do it. I only do it when someone starts speaking. After I talk a little I'm all right. I'm all right now."

  "Then I'll proceed." Wolfe propped his elbows on the chair arms and joined his fingertips to make a tent. "You know that Miss Utley had a hand in the kidnaping."

  "No, sir, I don't. I mean I don't know it, and I guess I don't believe it. I heard what my sister said to Mr Goodwin and what he said to her, and that's all I know. The reason I don't believe it, kidnaping is so dangerous, if you get caught you don't stand any chance, and Dinah wasn't like that. She wasn't one to take big chances. I know that from how she played cards. Gin. She would hang onto a card she couldn't possibly use if she thought it might fill me. Of course everyone does that if you know it will, but she did it if she only thought it might. You see?"

  Wolfe didn't, since he never plays cards, gin or anything else, but he nodded. "But you do take chances?"

  "Oh, yes, I'm a born gambler. Three times my sister has staked me to some kind of wild idea I had-no, four-and none of them panned out. I'll bet on anything. When I have anything to bet with."

  "Life needs some seasoning," Wolfe conceded. "As for Miss Utley, you are wrong. She was involved in the kidnaping. If I told you how that has been established to my satisfaction you would probably still be skeptical. But having come to indulge Mr Tedder, now that you're here you might as well indulge me. If Miss Utley was involved, at least one of the kidnapers is someone she knew, and therefore I want information about her friends and acquaintances. I suppose you know them, some of them?"

  "Well." Purcell shifted his weight in the chair. "Now, that's funny. Dinah's friends. Of course she had friends, she must have, but I don't really know any. She often went out evenings, movies and shows and so on, but I don't know who she went with. That's funny. I thought I knew her pretty well. Of course for acquaintances, she met a lot of people-"

  The phone rang. I took it and got a familiar voice. "Archie? Fred. In a booth at the corner. Do I snatch a bite and come back or do I call it a day? I'm supposed to stay on him till he goes home. How long will he be there?"

  "Hold it." I turned to Wolfe. "Fred. His subject has entered a building, a tumbledown dump that could be a den of vice. He wants instructions. Should he crash it?"

  Wolfe shot me a mean glance. "Tell him to quit for the day and resume in the morning." To Purcell: "You were saying?"

  But Uncle Ralph waited until I had relayed the order, hung up, and swiveled. Good manners, even if he didn't belong. "About Dinah's acquaintances," he said, "she met a lot of people there at the house, dinner guests and now and then a party, but that wouldn't be what you want. You want a different type, someone she might use for something dangerous like kidnaping."

  "Or someone who might use her."

  Purcell shook his head. "No, sir. I don't think Dinah would take a chance at kidnaping, but if she did she would be in charge. She would be the boss." He lifted a hand for a gesture. "I said I'm an admirer of yours, Mr Wolfe, and I really meant it. A great admirer. I know you're never wrong about anything, and if you're sure Dinah was involved you must have a good reason. I thought I knew her pretty well, and naturally I'm curious, but of course if you're not telling anyone..."

  "I have told someone." Wolfe regarded him. "I have told the police, and it will probably soon be pu
blic knowledge, so I may as well satisfy your curiosity. Miss Utley typed the notes-the one that your sister received in the mail and the two she found in telephone books. Indubitably."

  No perceptible reaction. You might have thought Purcell hadn't heard. The only muscles that moved were the ones that blinked his eyelids as he kept focused on Wolfe. Then he said, "Thank you for telling me. That shows I'm not as big a ninny as some people think I am. I suspected something like that when they asked me if I knew who had taken the typewriter from my sister's study."

  "The police asked you?"

  "Yes. I didn't tell them, because I- Well, I didn't, but I'll tell you. I saw Dinah take it. Tuesday evening. Her car was parked in front, her own car, and I saw her take the typewriter out of the house, so she must have put it in the car."

  "What time Tuesday evening?"

  "I didn't notice, but it was before nine o'clock. It was about an hour after my sister had left in her car with the suitcase in it."

  "How did you know the suitcase was in it?"

  "I carried it out for her and put it in the trunk. I saw her with it upstairs and offered to take it. She didn't tell me where she was going, and I didn't ask her. I thought something was wrong, but I didn't know what. I thought she was probably going wherever Jimmy was. He had been gone since Sunday, and I didn't think he was at Katonah, and my sister hadn't told us where he was." Purcell shook his head. "So Dinah typed the notes, and so she took the typewriter. I've got to thank you for telling me. So you're right about her, and I thought I knew her. You know, I was playing gin with her a week ago Thursday-no, Friday-and of course she had it all planned then. That's hard to believe, but I guess I've got to believe it, and I can see why you want to know about her friends. If I could tell you I would. Is it all right to tell my sister about her typing the notes?"

  "Your sister has probably already been told by the police." Wolfe palmed the chair arms. "You haven't been much help, Mr Purcell, but you have been candid, and I appreciate it. Mr Tedder should thank you, and no doubt he will. I needn't keep you longer."

  "But you were going to explain about someone putting something in Jimmy's drink."

  "So I was. Wednesday evening in the library. You were there."

  "Yes."

  "You served brandy to Mr Frost."

  "Yes, I believe I did. How did- Oh, Noel told you."

  "No, his sister told me. I had the idea of trying to get from her who could, and who could not, have drugged Mr Vail's drink, but abandoned it. Such an inquiry is nearly always futile; memories are too faulty and interests too tangled. The point is simple: Mr Vail must have been drugged when he was pulled off the couch and across to the statue, therefore someone put something in his drink. That's the explanation."

  The reaction to that was perceptible. Purcell stared, not blinking. "Pulled?" he asked. "You said pulled?"

  "Yes."

  "But he wasn't pulled. Unless you mean he pulled himself."

  "No. He was unconscious. Someone pulled him across to the statue, to the desired spot, and pushed the statue over on him. I'm not going to elaborate on that, not now, to you; I mentioned it only because I felt I owed you an explanation of Mr Tedder's remark about Mr Vail's drink."

  "But you're saying Jimmy was murdered."

  "Yes."

  "But the police don't say he was."

  "No?"

  "But you didn't tell Noel that."

  "But I did."

  "You told Noel Jimmy was murdered?"

  "Yes."

  "You don't know that. You can't."

  "The word `know' has various connotations. I have formed that conclusion."

  "Then you didn't really-you don't care about Dinah Utley. You've been taking advantage of me." His cheeks were red. "You've been making a fool of me." He got to his feet. "Noel should have told me. That wasn't fair. You should have told me too. I guess I am a fool." He turned and headed for the door.

  I stayed in my chair. There are times when it's better to let a departing guest get his own hat and open the door for himself. When I heard it close I went to the hall to see that he had remembered to cross the sill before he shut it, then went back to my desk. Wolfe had straightened up and was making faces.

  "If he's it," I said, "if he's not a fool, you might as well cross it off."

  He made another face.

  CHAPTER 10

  I have never completely understood Wolfe's attitude on food and eating and probably never will. In some ways it's strictly personal. If Fritz presents a platter of broiled squabs and one of them is a little plumper or a more beautiful brown than the others, Wolfe cops it. If the supply of wild thyme honey from Greece is getting low, I am given to understand, through Fritz, that plain American honey on griddle cakes is quite acceptable. And so on. But it really pains him if I am out on a prolonged errand at mealtime because I may insult my palate with a drugstore sandwich, and, even worse, I may offend my stomach by leaving it empty. If there is reason to believe that a caller is hungry, even if it is someone whom he intends to take apart, he has Fritz bring a tray, and not scraps. As for interruptions at meals, for him there is absolutely nothing doing; when he is once in his chair at the table he leaves it only when the last bite of cheese or dessert is down. That's personal, but he has tried off and on to extend it to me, and he would if I would stand for it. The point is, does he hate to have my meal broken into because it interrupts his, or because it interrupts mine, or just on general principles? Search me.

  Anyhow, he does. So when the phone rang while I was helping myself to another beef fillet, and Fritz answered it and came to say that Mrs Vail wished to speak to Mr Wolfe, and I pushed back my chair to go, Wolfe growled and glowered. He didn't tell me not to go, because he knew I would go anyway.

  When I told our former client that Wolfe was at dinner and said he could call her back in half an hour, she said she wanted to see him. Now. I said okay, if she left in ten minutes he would be available when she arrived, and she said no, she couldn't come, she was worn out, and she sounded like it.

  "That narrows it down," I told her, "if it's too private for the phone. Either I come there and get it and bring it back, or let it wait."

  "It mustn't wait. Doesn't he ever go anywhere?"

  "Not on business."

  "Can you come now?"

  I glanced at my wrist. "I can be there by nine o'clock. Will that do?"

  She said she supposed it would have to, and I returned to the dining room and my place and asked Fritz to bring my coffee with my pie. The routine is back to the office for coffee because that's where the one and only chair is, and Wolfe's current book is there if I'm going out. When he had finished his pie and put his fork down, I said I was going to call on Mrs Vail by request and asked for instructions.

  He grunted. "Intelligence guided by experience. You know the situation. We owe her nothing."

  I went. Having gone out to the stoop to feel the weather and decided I could survive without a coat, I walked to Eighth Avenue and got an uptown taxi. On the way uptown I looked it over. Wolfe's statement that I knew the situation left out something: I knew it from my angle, but not from his. He might already have made some deduction, not final; for instance, that Noel Tedder was a kidnaper, a murderer, and a liar. Or sister Margot, or Uncle Ralph. It wouldn't be the first time, or even the twentieth, that he had kept a deduction to himself.

  Noel must have been waiting in the hall, for two seconds after I pushed the button he opened the door. He did own some regular clothes-a plain dark gray suit, white shirt, and gray tie, but of course he might have bought them for the funeral. He shut the door, turned to me, and demanded, "Why the hell did Wolfe tell Uncle Ralph that Jimmy was murdered?"

  "You may have three guesses," I told him. "Mine is that he had to, since you had told Uncle Ralph that someone had put something in Jimmy's drink and Mr Wolfe would explain it. Did you have to mention Jimmy's drink?"

  "No. That slipped out. But what the hell, if Wolfe's so damn smart co
uldn't he have dodged it?"

  "Sure he could. As for why he didn't, sometimes I know why he does a thing while he's doing it, sometimes I know an hour later, sometimes a week later, and sometimes never. Why, did Purcell tell your mother?"

  "Certainly he did. There's hell to pay."

  "All right, I'm the roving paymaster. Where is she?"

  "What are you going to tell her?"

  "I'll know when I hear myself. I play by ear. I told her I'd be here by nine o'clock, and it's five after."

  He thought he had more to say, decided he hadn't, told me to come along, and led the way to the rear. I was looking forward to seeing the library again, especially if Benjamin Franklin was still there on the floor, but in the elevator he pushed the button marked 3. When it stopped I followed him out, along the hall, and into a room that one glance told me would suit my wife fine if I ever had a wife, which I probably wouldn't because she would probably want that kind of room. It was a big soft room-soft lights, soft grays and pinks, soft rug, soft drapes. I crossed the rug, after Noel, to where Mrs Vail was flat in a big bed, most of her covered by a soft pink sheet that could have been silk, her head propped against a couple of soft pink pillows.

  "You may go, Noel," she said.

  She looked terrible. Of course any woman is something quite different if you see her without any make-up, but even allowing for that she still looked terrible. Her face was pasty, her cheeks sagged, and she was puffed up around the eyes. When Noel had gone, closing the door, she told me to sit down, and I moved a chair around.

  "I don't know what good it will do, you coming," she said. "I want to ask Nero Wolfe what he means by this-this outrage. Telling my brother and my son that my husband was murdered. Can you tell me?"

  I shook my head. "I can't tell you what he means by telling them. I assume you know why your son came to see him yesterday."

  "Yes. To get him to help him find the money. When Noel asked me if he could have the money if he found it, I said yes. The money didn't matter; my husband was back. Now he's dead, and nothing matters. But he wasn't murdered."