Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 07

by Over My Dead Body

  “What do you want to tell her?”

  “You will hear it.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “Miss Tormic. It is unlikely that you will be charged with murder as long as the alibi furnished by Mr. Faber is unimpeached. That is, remains good. You can, however, be put under arrest as a material witness—a device to prevent you from running away—and then be released under a bond to appear when needed. You have been asked to give a circumstantial account of your connection with the instrument of murder, which you have admitted was in your possession shortly after the crime was committed. Your words are being taken down by a stenographer. If you give that account, you will be committed to it as the truth, so it had better be the truth. If you refuse to give it, you will probably be arrested as a material witness. You must decide for yourself. Have I made it clear?”

  “Yes,” she said, and smiled at him. “I think I understand that all right. There’s no reason why I shouldn’t tell the truth—it’s the only thing I can do, now.” She shifted her eyes to Cramer. “It was in the office when we were all in there, waiting for the police to come. I put my hand in the pocket of my robe and there was something in there. It’s a big pocket, quite big. I started to pull it out to see what it was, but the feel of it told me it must be a fencing glove. I tried to think what to do. I knew it shouldn’t be there—I mean I knew I hadn’t put it there. For a minute I was scared, but I made myself think. Mr. Ludlow had been killed in the fencing room where I had been fencing with him, and there I was with a wadded-up glove in my pocket, and if we were searched …” She upturned a palm. “I looked around for a place to put it and saw Mr. Goodwin’s coat. I knew it must be his, because the others were all upstairs in their lockers, and I knew he had come there anyway to get me out of trouble—so I went over to it and when I thought no one was looking I took it out of my pocket and put it in his.”

  “Very much obliged—”

  “Shut up, Goodwin! Do you realize what you’re trying to tell me, Miss Tormic?”

  “I … I think I do.”

  “You’re trying to tell me that you had a bulky thing like that in your pocket and didn’t know it.”

  “So am I,” I put in. “The same goes for me.”

  “I know damn well it does! Did I ask you to close your trap? What about it, Miss Tormic?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know—of course I was excited. It’s a loose robe and it’s a big pocket. I had it on—you saw it.”

  “Yeah, I saw it. So you admit you concealed evidence of a crime?”

  “Is that … wrong?”

  “Hell, no. Oh, my, no. And do you know who put it in your pocket?”

  “No.”

  “Of course you don’t. Or when?”

  “No.” Neya frowned. “I have thought about that. I left the robe in the locker room, lying on a bench, when I went to the end room to fence. After I left Mr. Ludlow there and met Mr. Faber in the hall, I stopped in the locker room to leave my pad and glove and mask, and put on the robe and went with Mr. Faber to the alcove. Whoever put the glove in my pocket, I don’t think they did it until afterwards, because I think I would have noticed it. After the porter started to yell, we were all running around and jostling against each other—and I suppose someone did it then … that’s the only way I can explain how it might have happened—”

  “And you knew nothing about it.”

  “I knew nothing about it until I felt something in my pocket there in the office.”

  “And you were scared. You were just simply perfectly innocent.”

  “Yes. I was. I am.”

  “Sure. But though you were perfectly innocent, you didn’t tell the police about it, and you weren’t going to tell about it, and you never would have told about it, if Madame Zorka hadn’t reported that she saw you do it and you were afraid to deny it!” He was yapping into her face at a range of thirty inches. “Huh?”

  “I—” She swallowed. “I think I might. But the way I thought about it, I thought Mr. Goodwin would find it in his pocket and turn it over to you, and it wouldn’t matter whether you knew it had ever been in my pocket or not.”

  “Then you thought wrong. Mr. Goodwin doesn’t turn things over to the police. Mr. Goodwin climbs a fence and runs home to papa and says see what I got, and papa says—”

  “Nonsense!” Wolfe cut in sharply. “We’ll dispose of that point now. You know what I told you; I don’t need to repeat it. Granted that your supposititious assumption is correct, that Archie knew it was in his pocket and ran away with it, and that we concealed it from you, you can’t possibly establish it as a fact, so why the devil waste time harping on it? Especially in view of a fact that is established, that when Madame Zorka’s phone call caused us to investigate the overcoat pocket, we immediately communicated with you.”

  “You had to!”

  Wolfe grimaced. “I don’t know. Had to? Ingenuity can nearly always create an alternative if none exists. Anyway, we did. And if we hadn’t, but had proceeded without you, your two missing objects would still be missing, for when Archie and Miss Tormic called on Madame Zorka she would have been gone, and the compulsion of her threatened exposure would have been removed. So you owe your possession of those two objects to us. You owe your knowledge of a suspicious circumstance, Madame Zorka’s flight with a bag and suitcase, to us. And you owe your knowledge of the manner in which the criminal disposed of the glove and col de mort to the courageous candor of my client.”

  Cramer, standing, stared down at him, and as far as I could see his face was not glowing with gratitude.

  He said, “So she’s your client, is she?”

  “I told you so.”

  “You said tentatively. You said you’d decide when you had met her.”

  “I have met her.”

  “All right, you’ve met her. Is she your client?”

  “She is.”

  Cramer hesitated, then turned slowly and looked down at Neya. His gaze had concentration, but no acute hostility; and I suppressed a grin. I knew what was eating him. He was well aware that the time had yet to come when he would successfully pin a murder charge on any man, woman or child whom Nero Wolfe had accepted as a client, and he was strongly tempted to call it a day then and there as far as Neya Tormic was concerned and throw in another line. He even, half unconsciously, favored Carla Lovchen with a sidewise suspicious glance, but he returned to Neya and, after a moment, wheeled again to Wolfe.

  “Faber gives her an alibi. Okay. But you don’t need to be told that an alibi works both ways. What if Faber thought she needed one and so he provided it? And she thought she needed it to, and accepted it and confirmed it? Without maybe realizing that while Faber was giving her an alibi, what he was really doing was arranging one for himself?”

  Wolfe nodded. “An old trick, but still a good one. That’s quite possible, of course. Will you have some beer?”

  “No.”

  “You, Miss Tormic, Miss Lovchen?”

  He got their declinations, pressed the button and went on. “This thing’s messy, Mr. Cramer. It looks as if I’m going to have to find out who killed Mr. Ludlow, unless you do it first yourself. You certainly aren’t going to get anywhere badgering my client. Look at her. I’ll have a little talk with her after you leave, and one thing I shall tell her is to hang onto the Faber alibi, for the present, even if it was fabricated by him. True, it protects Faber, but it also protects her. If and when you can point a suspicion at Faber, especially a motive, let me know and we’ll discuss the alibi business.”

  “You suspect her of lying yourself!”

  “Not specifically. Anyone would tell a lie, at least by acquiescence, rather than stand trial for murder. By the way, about this Mr. Faber. You are entirely wrong in your suspicion that he wasn’t a stranger to me. I never saw him or heard of him in my life before today. Is he by any chance another confidential government agent?”

  Cramer eyed him. “How did you know that if he was such a stranger to you?”

  “I didn�
��t. Mere conjecture. If I had known it I wouldn’t have asked. Not British, is he?”

  “No.”

  “Of course not. He might as well display an emblem on an arm band. Archie and I don’t like him. It’s a pity my client’s alibi depends on him; I would prefer to establish her innocence without that. Do you suppose the attack on Ludlow was the eagle clawing the lion?”

  “I don’t suppose. It was a human being murdering a man.”

  “Yes, it was that, all right.” Wolfe glanced up at the clock. “It’s well past midnight, and I want to have a little talk with Miss Tormic. Is there anything else you want to ask her?”

  “She’s an alien. I ought to have her under bond.”

  “She won’t skip, at least not tonight, and we can arrange for the bond tomorrow if you insist on it.”

  Cramer grunted. “She’s important. She had the murder weapon in her possession. I’d like to have her come to my office tomorrow morning at nine o’clock and see Lieutenant Rowcliff.”

  Wolfe frowned. “Mr. Rowcliff is the officer who came here once with a warrant and searched my house.”

  “Yeah. You don’t forget that, do you?”

  “No. Neither do you—Come in … Yes, Fritz?”

  On account of the barricade of chairs, Fritz had to talk over the top of Neya Tormic’s head. He was stiffly formal, as was his invariable custom when there were ladies present, not from any sense of propriety but from fear. Whenever any female, no matter what her age or appearance, got inside the house, he was apprehensive and ill at ease until she got out again.

  “A gentleman to see you, sir. Mr. Stahl. He was here this afternoon.”

  Wolfe said to show him in.

  Chapter 8

  The G-man was wearing the same suit and the same manners, and the only visible change was that he had had his shoes shined. Cramer took one look at him, let out a grunt, and propped himself against the edge of my desk.

  The G-man apologized in his educated voice. “I didn’t know you were engaged, Mr. Wolfe … I don’t want to interrupt—”

  “I’ll be engaged for some time. Do you need to see me alone?”

  That seemed to stump him. He frowned and took a quick survey of the crowd. “Perhaps not,” he decided. “It’s only … about that statute requiring the registration of agents of foreign principals.”

  “What about it?”

  “Well—it is necessary to make sure that you understand the requirements.”

  “I think I do understand them.”

  “Perhaps. Section 5 of the Act says, ‘Any person who willfully fails to file any statement required to be filed under this act, or, in complying with the provisions of this act, makes a false statement of a material fact, or willfully omits to state any material fact required to be stated therein, shall, on conviction thereof, be punished by a fine of not more than $1000 or imprisonment for not more than two years, or both.’”

  “Yes, I understand that.”

  “Perhaps. Another section of the Act defines an agent of a foreign principal to mean any individual, partnership, association or corporation who acts or engages as agent or representative for a foreign principal, and a foreign principal is defined to mean the government of a foreign country, a person domiciled abroad, or any foreign business, partnership, association, corporation, or political organization.”

  “Say it again.”

  He repeated it.

  Wolfe shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I need to register under the act. I am agent for a young woman named Neya Tormic. She is foreign. But she is not a business, partnership, association, corporation, or political organization, nor is she at present domiciled abroad.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Right there.”

  The G-man looked at Neya; in fact, he studied her. Then he switched to Wolfe and studied him. Finally he slowly shook his head. “I don’t know either,” he declared. “It’s a situation I haven’t met. I’ll have to get an opinion from the attorney general. I’ll let you know.”

  He bowed with perfect aplomb, turned, and departed.

  I tittered.

  Cramer threw up both hands, pawed the air, and headed for the door. Halfway across he turned to announce, “I heard every word of that and I don’t believe it. If I had it on a phonograph record and played it all day I still wouldn’t believe it. And in spite of that, I believe in law enforcement. Come on, Stebbins. Bring that glove and that thing. Miss Tormic, there’ll be a man at your apartment at 8:30 in the morning to bring you to my office. You’ll be there?”

  She said she would, and went out with the sergeant at his heels.

  Wolfe poured beer and drank. I covered a yawn.

  Neya Tormic asked, with her forehead wrinkled, “Was it silly of me to admit it like that? I thought—it seemed to be the only thing I could do.”

  Wolfe wiped his lips, leaned back, and looked at her. “Anyhow, it was one thing to do, and you did it. Was it the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Faber’s story, which you have confirmed, and which gives you both an alibi, also true?”

  “Yes.”

  “You realize, I suppose, that without that alibi you would probably now be under arrest, charged with murder.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know that Ludlow was an agent of the British government?”

  “Yes.”

  “And that Faber is an agent of the German government?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you a government agent, or is Miss Lovchen?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know who killed Ludlow?”

  “No.”

  “Have you any idea?”

  “No.”

  His eyes darted aside. “Did you kill Ludlow, Miss Lovchen?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Have you any idea who did?”

  “No, sir.”

  Wolfe sighed. “Now. Take those orders. Mr. and Mrs. Miltan, Driscoll, Gill, Barrett, Miss Reade, Madame Zorka. Do you know whether they were involved with Ludlow, either politically or personally?”

  Neya’s eyes shifted to Carla and then returned to Wolfe. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then spoke. “I don’t know how much involved. They all knew each other. We haven’t been there very long ourselves.”

  “Did you first meet Ludlow and Faber at Miltan’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you learn they were government agents?”

  “Why … they told me.”

  “Indeed. Just told you to make conversation?”

  “They … well, they told me.” She smiled at him. “Under certain conditions—I mean, a man is apt to tell a girl things if the conditions are such that he feels like it.”

  “Were you intimate with Mr. Ludlow? Are you intimate with Mr. Faber?”

  “Oh, no.” Her nose seemed to go up. “Not intimate.”

  “Yet they told you—never mind. You say you are not a government agent. Are you a political agent? Did you come to this country on a political mission?”

  “No.”

  “Did you, Miss Lovchen?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You’re both lying.”

  They stared at him. Neya’s chin went up. Carla’s eyes narrowed, which left them still wide enough for ordinary purposes.

  Wolfe snapped, “As an intrigante, Miss Lovchen, you are incredibly maladroit. Twice since you entered this room you have glanced at the place on the bookshelves where my copy of United Yugoslavia stands. I know you put that paper there. I’ve removed it and put it somewhere else.”

  Neya merely continued to stare, but Carla jumped up, with her face white, and started to sputter at him, “But I—I only meant—”

  “I know.” He showed her a palm. “You only meant to leave it there a while for safekeeping. It’s even safer where I put it. The reason I mention it—”

  “Where is it?” Neya Tormic’s eyes were two épées going through him and her tone was a dagger whizzi
ng at him. She was up and at the edge of his desk in one swift movement that reminded me of the lunge Miltan had made with his championship sticker to show me how it was done. She threw the dagger again, at short range: “Where is it?”

  She turned, because Carla was up too and had grabbed her arm. She shook herself loose, but Carla seized her elbow again and told her sharply, “Neya—Neya! Sit down! Neya—you know—”

  Neya spouted a torrent at her that I would have had no symbols for if I had been at my notebook. Carla returned it, but not in a torrent; she was cool and controlled.

  Wolfe said, “I understand Serbo-Croat.”

  They both said, “Oh!”

  He nodded. “I used to knock around. I did some work for the Austrian government when I was too young to know better. And I was in your country in 1921, and adopted a daughter—”

  “I want that paper.”

  “I know you do, Miss Lovchen. But I won’t even discuss it, let alone return it to you, unless you children sit down and behave yourselves. None of this jumping up and caterwauling; I don’t like it; besides, it won’t do you any good. Sit down!”

  They sat.

  “That’s better. I mentioned that paper only to show you how I knew you were lying when you said you aren’t in this country on a political mission—and by the way, I suppose you lied to the police too? Of course you did. Now that the paper’s been mentioned—where did you get it, Miss Lovchen?”

  “I …” She fingered her skirt. “I got it.”

  “Where and how? Is it yours?”

  “I stole it.”

  Neya snapped, “You did not! I stole it myself!”

  Wolfe shrugged. “Split the honors. Who did you steal it from?”

  “From the person who had it.”

  “From the Princess Vladanka Donevitch?”

  “I won’t tell you.”

  “Good. That’s better than trying to lie. Is the princess in New York now?”

  “I won’t tell you anything about that paper.”

  “You are in danger. You are actually in peril of your life. Faber’s unsupported alibi is the only thing between you and an indictment for murder. Do you want my assistance in the removal of that danger?”