by Rex Stout
“Wait a minute.” Gallant had come forward in the red leather chair. “You can’t prove that.”
“Directly, no. Inferentially, yes.”
“And how do you know she dialed Sarah Yare’s number? You weren’t where you could see the dial, and neither was Goodwin.”
Wolfe nodded. “Evidently you have discussed it with her. You’re quite right, Mr. Gallant; we couldn’t see the dial. Nevertheless, we can supply evidence, and we think it will be persuasive. I am not-”
“What kind of evidence?”
“That’s no good, Alec.” It was Emmy Thorne, the contact girl. “You can’t push Nero Wolfe. He has his teeth in it, you can see that. You know what we decided.”
“I’m not sure,” Anita Prince objected, “that we decided right.”
“I am. Carl?”
“Yes.” Drew was chewing his lip. “I think so. Yes.”
“Flora? It’s up to you.”
“I guess so.” Flora’s voice was cracked, and she tried again. “I guess so.” A little better.
Emmy nodded. “Go ahead, Alec. You can’t push him.”
“My God.” Gallant looked at his sister, and back at Wolfe. “All right. We will pay you to help us. I will pay you. My sister is innocent and she must not suffer. It would be an offense against nature, against God Himself. She has told me all about it, and she was stupid, but she is innocent. She did arrange with Sarah Yare, as you said, but only to move you. She had read much about you and had a great opinion of your abilities. She was desperate about Bianca Voss. She knew you demanded high fees, much beyond her resources, so she conceived a plan. She would persuade you to talk with Bianca Voss on the phone, and she would get Sarah instead, and Sarah would abuse you with such violence that you would be offended and resent it, and you would be moved to act against Bianca Voss. It was stupid, yes, very stupid, but it was not criminal.”
Wolfe’s eyes, at him, were half closed. “And you want to pay me to help her.”
“Yes. When I told her you had sent your man to inquire about Sarah Yare I saw she was frightened and asked her why, and she told me. I consulted the others, and it was apparent that you knew something, and that was dangerous. We decided to come and ask you to help. My sister must not suffer.”
Wolfe’s eyes moved. “Miss Gallant. You heard your brother. Did he quote you correctly?”
“Yes!” That time it was too loud.
“You did those things? As he related them?”
“Yes!”
Wolfe returned to Gallant. “I agree with you, sir, that your sister was stupid, but you are not the one to proclaim it. You say that she arranged with Sarah Yare to abuse me on the phone, but Miss Yare didn’t stop at that. She ended by making noises indicating that she had been violently attacked, and jerked the phone off onto the floor, and made other noises, and then hung up the phone and cut the connection. Was that on her own initiative? Her own idea? Your sister’s stupidity can bow to yours if you expected me to overlook that point-or worse, if you missed it yourself.”
“I am not stupid, Mr. Wolfe.”
“Then you are devious beyond my experience.”
“Devious?”
“Rusй. Subtil.”
“No. I am not.” Gallant clamped his jaw. He released it. “Bein. Suppose, only to suppose, she arranged that too, that comedy. Suppose even that she killed Bianca Voss. Was that a crime? No; it was justice; it was the hand of God. Bianca Voss was an evil woman. She was vilaine. Are you so virtuous that you must crucify my sister? Are you a paragon? For she is in your hands, at your mercy. You know about Sarah Yare, but the police do not. You know she dialed that number, but the police do not, and they will not unless you tell them. By your word it can be that my sister was here with you at the time that Bianca Voss was killed. As I have said, I will pay you. It will be a great service from you, and it deserves payment. I will trust you. I will pay you now.”
Wolfe grunted. “That was quite a speech.”
“It was not a speech. I do not make speeches. It was an appeal to your charity. From my heart.”
“And to my cupidity.” Wolfe shook his head. “No. I am not a paragon. I am not even a steward of the law. But you have ignored two important factors: one, my self-esteem. Even if Bianca Voss deserved to die, I will not permit a murderer to take me for a simpleton. Two, another woman died too. Was Sarah Yare also evil? Was she vilaine?”
“But she-Sarah killed herself!”
“No. I don’t believe it. That’s another coincidence I reject. Granted that she may have been wretched enough for that extreme, why did she choose that particular moment? Again too pat. According to the published account, she died between ten o’clock yesterday morning and two in the afternoon, but I can narrow it a little. Since she spoke with me on the phone at eleven-thirty, she died between that hour and two o’clock. I believe that the person who killed Bianca Voss at some time prior to eleven-thirty, and arranged with Sarah Yare to enact that comedy, as you call it, went to Sarah Yare’s apartment later and killed her. Indeed, prudence demanded it. So you ask too much of my charity. If only Bianca Voss had died-”
“No!” Gallant exploded. “Impossible! Totally impossible! My sister loved Sarah! She killed her? Insane!”
“But you believe she killed Bianca Voss. You came here believing that. That was stupid too. She didn’t.”
Gallant gawked at him. Lord Byron shouldn’t gawk, but he did. So did the others. Also they made noises. Carl Drew demanded, “Didn’t? You say she didn’t?” Emmy Thorne asked coolly, “What’s this, Mr. Wolfe? A game?”
“No, madam, not a game. Nor a comedy-Mr. Gallant’s word. As a man I know said yesterday, murder is no joke.” Wolfe’s eyes went to Flora. “There was much against you, Miss Gallant, especially the fact that you dialed that other number before you dialed Sarah Yare’s, and asked someone you called Doris if Miss Voss was around. Are you too rattled to remember that?”
“No.” She was clutching the rim of her bag with both hands. “I remember.”
“Of course the reason for it was obvious, if you had killed Bianca Voss before you came here; you had to know that the body had not been found before you proceeded with your stratagem. Since you had not killed Bianca Voss, why did you make that call?”
“I wanted to make sure that she hadn’t gone out. That she was there in her office. You might call her again after I left and find out she hadn’t been there. I didn’t care if you called her and she denied she had talked to you like that. I thought you would think she was lying. I suppose that was stupid.” Her mouth worked. “How did you know I didn’t kill her?”
“You told me. You showed me. If you had devised that elaborate humbug, certainly you would have decided how to act at the moment of crisis. You would have decided to be alarmed, and shocked, and even perhaps a little dazed. But it wasn’t like that. You were utterly stunned with bewilderment. When Mr. Goodwin told us what Mr. Drew had said, what did you say? You said, ‘But how-’ And repeated it, ‘But how-’ If you had killed Bianca Voss you would have had to be a master dramatist to write such a line, and an actress of genius to deliver it as you did; and you are neither.”
Wolfe waved it away. “But that was for me. For others, for a judge and jury, I must do better, and I think I can. If you are innocent, someone else is guilty. Someone else learned of the arrangement you had made with Sarah Yare, either from you or from her, and persuaded her to add a dramatic climax. Someone else killed Bianca Voss and then established an invulnerable alibi for the crucial period. Someone else had secured the required amount of cyanide-it doesn’t take much. Someone else, having established the alibi, went to Sarah Yare’s apartment and poisoned her glass of whisky. That was done before two o’clock, and that should make it simple. Indeed, it has made it simple. Shortly before you came I learned from Mr. Cramer of the police that you arrived at your brother’s place yesterday a few minutes after noon. Since you left here at a quarter of twelve, you hadn’t had time to go first to T
hirteenth Street and dispose of Sarah Yare; and you were continuously under the eyes of policemen the rest of the afternoon. That is correct?”
“Yes.” Flora’s eyes were wet but she hadn’t used a handkerchief. “I wanted to go and see what had happened to Sarah, but I was afraid-I didn’t know-”
“It’s a good thing you didn’t, madam. I also learned from Mr. Cramer that you, Mr. Gallant, you, Mr. Drew, and you, Miss Prince, were also constantly under surveillance, for hours, from the time the police arrived. That leaves you, Miss Thorne.” His eyes were narrowed at her. “You were with three men in an office on Forty-sixth Street from eleven-twenty until a quarter to twelve. You arrived at Mr. Gallant’s place, and found the police there, shortly before three o’clock. You may be able to account for the interim satisfactorily. Do you want to try?”
“I don’t have to try.” Emmy Thorne’s gray eyes were not as cool and keen as they had been when she had told me I didn’t have to climb a tree. She had to blink to keep them at Wolfe. “So it is a game.”
“Not one you’ll enjoy, I fear. Nor will I; I’m out of it now. To disclose your acquisition of the cyanide you would need for Sarah Yare; to show that you entered Bianca Voss’s room yesterday morning, or could have, before you left for your business appointment; to find evidence of your visit to Thirteenth Street after your business appointment; to decide which homicide you will be put on trial for-all that is for others. You must see now that it was a mistake-Archie!”
I was up and moving, but halted. Gallant, out of his chair and advancing, wasn’t going to touch her. His fists were doubled, but not to swing; they were pressed against his chest. He stopped square in front of her and commanded, “Look at me, Emmy.”
To do so she would have had to move her head, tilt it back, and she moved nothing.
“I have loved you,” he said. “Did you kill Sarah?”
Her lips moved but no sound came.
His fists opened for his fingers to spread on his chest. “So you heard us that day, and you knew I couldn’t marry you because I was married to her, and you killed her. That I can understand, for I loved you. But that you killed Sarah, no. No! And even that is not the worst! Today, when I told you and the others what Flora had told me, you accepted it, you allowed us to accept it, that she had killed Bianca. You would have let her suffer for it. Look at me! You would have let my sister-”
Flora was there, tugging at his sleeve, sputtering at him, “You love her, Alec, don’t hurt her now, don’t-”
Gallant jerked loose, backed up, folded his arms, and breathed; and Emmy Thorne moved. She came up out of her chair, stood rigid long enough to give Gallant a straight, hard look, shook her head, spun away from him, and headed for the door, brushing against Flora. Her route took her past Anita Prince, who tilted her head back to look up at her, and past Carl Drew, who had to pull his feet back not to trip her.
I didn’t budge, thinking I wasn’t needed, and I was right. In movement she might have been music, but if so, the music got stopped. As she made the hall and turned toward the front a hand gripped her arm-a hand that had had plenty of practice gripping arms.
“Take it easy, Miss Thorne,” Cramer said. “We’ll have to have a talk.”
“Grand Dieu,” Gallant groaned, and covered his face with his hands.
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