Please Pass the Guilt

by Rex Stout

  "And you decided to tell Mr. Browning about it? Why?" "Because I was afraid it might kill him. The amount I got and gave Mrs. Odell--it was about four tablespoons--I didn't know what it would do. If the whisky bottle was only half full, or even less, and Mr. Odell put all that LSD in it--from the little I knew I thought it would kill him. I would be an accessory to a murder, and anyway I didn't want to help kill a 36 Please Pass the Guilt man. It may be what Mrs. Odell said, that I'm one of the weak ones--anyhow, I didn't want to be a murderer." "How did you communicate with Mr. Browning? Did you write to him?" "I phoned him. I phoned him Friday evening, from a booth, at his place in the country. I didn't tell him my name. I didn't tell him any names. I just told him that Tuesday afternoon someone was going to put a dangerous drug in the whisky in his desk drawer and he had better not drink it. He wanted to ask questions, but I hung up. Of course I supposed he would suspect it would be Mr. Odell, but I certainly didn't suppose he would do what he did." "Where is his country place?" "In Connecticut. Westport." "You say you phoned him Friday evening. Which Friday?" "The Friday before it happened. Four days before." "That was May sixteenth." "Was it?" It took her only a moment, not a long one, to figure it. "That's right. May sixteenth." "You phoned him at what hour?" "Around nine o'clock. A little after nine. When I thought he would have finished dinner." "How sure are you it was Mr. Browning?" "Oh, quite sure. He answered the phone himself, and I know his voice. I have heard him on the phone at least a dozen times, when he has called Mr. Odell at home." Wolfe regarded her. "And you didn't tell Mrs. Odell you had warned him." "Of course not." "But you did tell her, three days after Mr. Odell died. Why?" "Because--well, I had to. I said I didn't want to be a murderer, but I was one. If I hadn't made that phone call, Mr. Odell would still be alive, and maybe Mr. Browning would too. The LSD might not have hurt him at all. To go right on being with Mrs. Odell every day--1 had to tell her." Please Pass the Guilt 37 Wolfe turned to the prospective client. "That was two weeks ago. Why haven't you dismissed her?" "That's a silly question," Mrs. Odell said. "She might tell anyone. She might tell the police. I'm not hiring you to analyze what Miss Haber has done--or what I have done. I want to know how we can make Browning pay for what 'he did without telling what we did." Wolfe closed his eyes, and the forefinger of his right hand started making little circles on his desk blotter. But he wasn't tackling a tough one; his lips didn't move. So he had made his decision and was merely considering whether he should ask more questions before announcing it In half a minute he quit making circles, lifted his hand to give his forehead a rub, and swiveled to look at me. If they hadn't been there he would have put it into words: "You got me into this. I concede the desirability of a fee, but you got me into this" Having looked it, long enough to count ten, he swiveled back to her. "Very well. It's an impossible job, but I'll accept the retainer. My fee will be based on effort and risk, not on accomplishment. I'll need facts, many facts, but it's nearly dinner time, and anyway I want them at first hand. Archie, list these names: Mr. Browning. Mr. Abbott. Mr. Falk. Mr. Meer. Mrs. Browning. Miss Lugos. Miss Venner." Back to the client: "Will you have those people here tomorrow evening at nine o'clock?" She stared at him. "I will not. How can I?" "I don't know, but it shouldn't be too difficult. They were associates of your husband, who was murdered. They should be willing to help you learn who murdered him, and you are concerned at the lack of progress in the official investigation and have engaged my services. Shouldn't they sacrifice an evening at your request?" "They might. I don't want to ask them. And I won't." Wolfe picked up the check and held it out. "Take it. You 38 Please Pass the Guilt have wasted your time and mine. You want a miracle, and miracles are not in my repertory. Give me the receipt." "My god," she said, "you are highhanded. What can they tell you?" "I don't know, and I need to know. If there is a fact that will help me do what you want done, I want it. If you think I may inadvertently disclose what you have told me, even a hint of it, if you think me capable of such ineptitude, you were a ninny to come to me at all." She was chewing her lip. "Is this the only--do you have to do this?" "If I take the job as you defined it, yes." She looked at me, and saw only an open, intelligent, interested, sympathetic phiz. "Damn it," she said. "Give me the list." 6 since the state of the bank account had been responsible for the state of my nerves for at least six weeks, it might be supposed that ten o'clock Monday morning would find me at the door of the Continental Bank and Trust Company, waiting for it to open so I could deposit the check, but I wasn't. I knew darned well that Wolfe would not be firmly and finally committed until Mrs. Odell came through, and I couldn't blame him. Of the people on the list I had given her, there wasn't one that he could tell me to go and bring with any right or reason to expect me to fill the order, and if he expected to fill her order, he had to get some questions answered, and not just by her and Miss Haber. So it was possible that the twenty grand would have to be returned, and if so, it would be neater to return her check than to deposit it and then have to draw one of Wolfe's. And at four o'clock Monday afternoon, it became about ten to one that she was going to get her check back. She had done fine with the invitations; she reported by phone that all of them had said yes. The hitch was that when she told me she would come a little early, around half past eight, I had to tell her, as instructed by Wolfe, that he had decided she shouldn't come at all. She wasn't invited and wouldn't be admitted. So she blew her top. I tried to explain why, but she wouldn't listen. She commanded me to get Wolfe to change his mind and ring her, and if she hadn't heard from me by four-thirty, she 40 Please Pass the Guilt would tell them not to come. I went to the kitchen to tell Fritz I was going on an errand, ran, not walked, to the garage on Tenth Avenue where the Heron sedan that Wolfe owns and I drive is kept, made it to Sixty-third and Madison in nineteen minutes, probably a record for that time of day, and was inside the Odell mansion at 4:28. If I reported that conversation verbatim you would think I was tooting my horn, so I'll merely say that I sold her. I explained that when Browning told lies, as he surely would, if she was there she would almost certainly horn in, and if she expected Wolfe to get results she would have to let him do it his way. Also, of course, if she told them not to come, the deal was off and she would have to find someone who would do it her way, and obviously she didn't have any or she wouldn't have gone to Wolfe and given him a check for twenty grand. She didn't like it, but she lumped it. Then, leaving, I got a break. I had had to double-park, on Sixty-third Street, and it was a pleasant surprise to see that no city employee had happened by to put a ticket on the windshield. The return trip took thirty-one minutes. When Wolfe came down at six o'clock and I reported, he didn't even say "Satisfactory." He merely scowled and rang for beer. His outlook was bleak. It was now settled that he was going to have to work, and with an obstreperous female for a client. They all came. The first to arrive, Sylvia Venner, showed a little before nine, and the last, Kenneth Meer, at 9:08. Cass R. Abbott rated the red leather chair on two counts: he was the president of CAN, and, being close to seventy, he had seniority. So I put him there. For the others I had placed two rows of yellow chairs facing Wolfe's desk. I have a sort of rule that when there is company and one of them is, or is supposed to be, a murderer, the place for him or her is the front row nearest to me, so that was where I put Amory Browning. Next to him was his wife, and then Theodore Falk. In the back row Kenneth Meer was in the middle, with Helen Lugos on his right and Sylvia Venner on his left. The only one I had ever Please Pass the Guilt 41 seen before was Kenneth Meer. When I let him in, he had looked me in the eye and asked, "More tricks?" and I said, "No, and we have made no use of that one. If anyone here knows about your bloody hands, he didn't learn it from us." Since you're meeting them, you should see them. Cass R. Abbott, the president, looked like one. The mop of welltended white hair, which he had a right to be proud of and probably was, was a good cap for the well-arranged, long, pale face. Amory Browning, who would soon be president if he wasn't otherwise engaged, didn't rate it on looks. If he was fift
y-two, which would have been my guess, he had probably been pudgy for about five years, and he would be bald in another five. Theodore Falk, the Wall Street Falk, was about the same age, but he had kept himself lean and limber and had a deep tan. He probably played tennis. You have already seen Kenneth Meer's long, pointed nose and wide, square chin. As for the females, I would have recognized Sylvia Venner from the dozen or so times I had seen her do "The Big Town," the program Browning had bounced her from. She was easy to look at, especially when she was using certain muscles to show her dimples, but TV girls, like all actresses, are always working at it and if you get really interested you have to make allowances. I don't want to be unfair to Mrs. Browning merely because our client had her husband tagged for murder, but the truth is she was scrawny. I could give details, but why rub it in? She was about her husband's age, and she was scrawny, and facts are facts. Helen Lugos, Browning's secretary, was the one you would have to see with your own eyes, because she was the kind with whom details like color of eyes and hair, and shape of face, and kind of mouth don't really tell it. She was probably three or four years under thirty, but that was only another unimportant detail. The point was that I had put her in the back row chair the other side of Kenneth Meer because that was where I could see her best and oftenest without turning my head much. I would have liked to put her in the red 42 Please Pass the Guilt leather chair where I would have had her full face, but of course that was the president's place. Hers was the kind of face that is different from any two angles. I had invited orders for liquids, but they had all been declined, and when Kenneth Meer was in and seated, I went to Wolfe's desk and gave the kitchen button three stabs, and in a moment he came, detoured between the red leather chair and the wall to his desk, sat, and sent his eyes around. As I pronounced the seven names, he gave each of them a nod--am nod, about an eighth of an inch. "On behalf of Mrs. Odell," he said, "I thank you for coming. She intended to be here, but she conceded my point that her presence would make our discussion more difficult, both for you and for me. I know, of course, that you have all been questioned at length by officers of the law, and I shall not try to emulate them, either in pertinacity or in scope. I frankly admit that I strongly doubt if I'll get what Mrs. Odell wants. She hired me to learn who killed her husband, and the prospect is forlorn. Apparently no one knows whether his death was premeditated, or fortuitous--except the person who put the bomb in the drawer." His eyes went right, then left. "What information I have has come from three sources: the newspapers, Mrs. Odell, and four or five journalists who have worked on the case and with whom Mr. Goodwin is on friendly terms. There is no agreement among the opinions they have formed. One of them thinks that Mr. Odell went to that room and opened that drawer, and put the bomb in it, in order to--" "Oh for god's sake." It was Theodore Falk. "That kind of crap?" Wolfe nodded. "Certainly. In the effort to solve any complex problem, there are always many apparent absurdities; the job is to find the correct answer and demonstrate that it is not absurd. Another of the journalists thinks that Mr. Abbott put the bomb in the drawer because he didn't want Mr. BrownPlease Pass the Guilt 43 ing to succeed him as president of CAN. Still another thinks that Mrs. Browning did it, or arranged to have it done, because she didn't want her husband to continue to enjoy the favors of Miss Lugos. He hasn't decided whom it was intended for, Mr. Browning or Miss Lugos. And another thinks that Miss Lugos did it because she did want Mr. Browning to continue to enjoy her favors but he--" "Tommyrot!" Cass R. Abbott, in the red leather chair, blurted it. "I came because Mrs. Odell asked me to, but not to hear a list of idiotic absurdities. She said you wanted to get some facts from us. What facts?" Wolfe turned a palm up. "How do I know? All of you have been questioned at length by the police; you have given them thousands of facts, and in assembling, comparing and evaluating a collection of facts they are well practiced and extremely competent. It's possible that from the record of all the questions they have asked, and your answers to them, I might form a surmise or reach a conclusion that they have failed to see, but I doubt it. I confess to you, though I didn't to Mrs. Odell, that I have little hope of getting useful facts from you. What I needed, to begin at all, was to see you and hear you. It seems likely that one of you put the bomb in the drawer. There are other possibilities, but probabilities have precedence. A question, Mr. Abbott: Do you think it likely that the person who put the bomb in the drawer is now in this room?" "That's absurd," Abbot snapped. "I wouldn't answer that and you know it." "But you have answered it. You didn't give me a positive no, and you're a positive man." Wolfe's eyes went right. "Mr. Palk. Do you think it likely?" "Yes, I do," Falk said, "and I could name names, three of them, but I won't. I have no evidence, but I have an opinion, and that's what you asked for." "I don't expect names. Mrs. Browning. The same question." "Don't answer, Phyllis," Browning said. A command. 44 Please Pass the Guilt "Of course not. I wasn't going to." Her voice didn't match her scrawniness; it was a full, rich contralto, with color. Wolfe asked, "Then you, Mr. Browning? Are you going to answer?" "Yes. I'll tell you exactly what I have told the police and the District Attorney. I not only have no evidence, I have no basis whatever for an opinion. Not even an opinion as to whether the bomb was intended for me or for Odell. It was my room and my desk, but the fact remains that it was Odell who got it. I'll also tell you that I am not surprised that Mrs. Odell has engaged you, and I don't blame her. After nearly three weeks the official investigation is apparently completely stymied." Wolfe nodded. "I may have better luck. Miss Lugos? The same question." "The same as Mr. Browning," she said. I acknowledge that her voice wasn't as good as Mrs. Browning's; it was thinner and pitched higher. "I have no idea. None at all." Also she wasn't a good liar. When you have asked about ten thousand people about a million questions you may not be able to spot a lie as well as you think you can, but you're right a lot oftener than you're wrong. "Mr. Meer?" Naturally I was wondering about Kenneth Meer. Like everybody who reads about murders in newspapers, I knew that he had been the fourth or fifth person to enter Browning's room after the explosion, so he had seen blood all right, but that alone wouldn't account for the blood-on-his-hands crisis that had sent him to the clinic, unless he had bad kinks in his nervous system, bad enough to keep him from working up to such an important job at CAN and hanging onto it. There was the obvious possibility that he had planted the bomb, but surely not for Browning, and if for Odell, how did he know Odell was going to the room and open the drawer? Of course Mrs. Odell had made the answer to that one easy: Browning had told him. Now, how would he answer Wolfe's question? Please Pass the Guilt 45 He answered it with a declaration which he had had plenty of time to decide on: "I think it extremely likely that the person who put the bomb in the drawer is now in this room, but that's all I can say. I can't give any reason or any name." "You can't, or you won't?" "Does it matter? Just make it I don't." "But I ask you if--no. That will come later, if at all. Miss Venner?" She wasn't showing the dimples. Instead, she had been squinting at Wolfe, and still was. "I don't get it," she said. "I don't think you are dumb, but this is dumb, and I wonder why you're doing it. Even if I thought I could name the person who put the bomb in the drawer, would I tell you with them here? Mr. Abbott is the head of the company that employs me, and Mr. Browning is going to be. I can't, but even if I could . . . I don't get it." "You haven't listened," Wolfe told her. "I said that I had little hope of getting any useful facts from you, and I could have added that even if I do, you probably won't know it. For instance, the question I ask you now. About three months ago CAN had a special program called 'Where the Little Bombs Come From.' Did you see it?" "Yes. Of course." "Then you know that the preparation for that program required extensive research. There had to be numerous contacts between members of the CAN staff and people who knew about bombs and had had experience with them. Call them the sources. Now I ask you regarding three weeks ago--Friday, May sixteenth, to Sunday, May eighteenth--where and how did you spend that weekend? It may help to remember that the Tuesday following, tw
o days later, Mr. Odell died." "But why do you--" She wasn't squinting; her eyes were wide in a stare. "Oh. You think I went to one of the 'sources' and got a bomb. Well, I didn't." "I don't 'think' anything. I'm trying to get a start for a 46 Please Pass the Guilt thought. I asked where and how you spent that weekend. Have you a reason for not telling me?" "No. I have no reason for telling you either, but I might as well. I've told the police four or five times. I took a train to Katonah late Friday afternoon and was a house guest of friends --Arthur and Louise Dickinson. They know nothing about bombs. I came back by train Sunday evening." I had got my notebook and a pen and was using them. Wolfe asked, "Mr. Meer? Have you any objection to telling me how you spent that weekend?" "Certainly not. I drove to Vermont Friday evening and I hiked about forty miles in the mountains Saturday and Sunday, and drove back Sunday night." "Alone, or with companions?" "I was alone. I don't like companions on a hike. Something always happens to them. I helped some with the research for that program, and none of the 'sources' was in Vermont." "I am hoping that Mr. Browning will tell me about the sources. Later. Miss Lugos?" Her face was really worth watching. As he pronounced her name, she turned her head for a glance at Browning, her boss. It was less than a quarter-turn, but from my angle it wasn't the same face as when she was looking at Wolfe. Her look at Browning didn't seem to be asking or wanting anything; evidently it was just from habit. She turned back to Wolfe and said, "I stayed in town all that weekend. Friday evening I went to a movie with a friend. Saturday afternoon I did some shopping, and Saturday evening I went to a show with three friends. Sunday I got up late and did things in my apartment. In a file at the office we have a record of all the research for that program, all the people who were contacted, and I didn't see any of them that weekend." Wolfe's lips were tight. In his house, "contact" is not a verb and never will be, and he means it. He was glad to quit her. "Mr. Falk?" Please Pass the Guilt 47 Falk had been holding himself in, shifting in his chair and crossing and uncrossing his legs. Obviously he thought it was all crap. "You said," he said, "that you wouldn't try to emulate the police, but that's what you're doing. But Peter Odell was my best and closest friend, and there may be a chance that you're half as good as you're supposed to be. As for that weekend, I spent it at home--my place on Long Island. We had four house guests--no, five--and none of them was a bomb expert. Do you want their names and addresses?" "I may, later." As Wolfe's eyes went to Mrs. Browning, her husband spoke: "My wife and I were together that weekend. We spent it on a yacht on the Sound, guests of the man who owns it, James Farquhar, the banker. There were two other guests." "The whole weekend, Mr. Browning?" "Yes. From late Friday afternoon to late Sunday afternoon." I put my eyes on my notebook and kept them there. With all the practice I have had with my face, I should of course always have it under control, but I had got two jolts, not just one. First, was that why Wolfe had started the whole rigmarole about that weekend, to check on Browning, and second, had Browning heard it coming and got set for it, or had he just given a straight answer to a straight question? I don't know how well Wolfe handled his face, since my eyes were on my notebook, but otherwise he did fine. There were two or three other questions he must have wanted to ask Browning, but he didn't. He merely remarked that he doubted if Mr. Farquhar or the other guests were in the bomb business and then said, "And you, Mr. Abbott?" and my eyes left the notebook. "I resent this," Abbott said. "I knew Pete Odell for twenty years and we worked together for ten of them, and I have a warm and deep sympathy for his wife, his widow, but this is ridiculous. I assumed you would have some new angle, some new approach, but all you're doing, you're starting the same old grind. Each of us has spent long hours with the police, answer48 Please Pass the Guilt ing questions and signing statements, and while we want to oblige Mrs. Odell, naturally we do, I certainly don't think she should expect us to repeat the whole performance with you. Why doesn't she ask the police to let you see their files? In one of them you'll find out how I spent that weekend. I spent it at home, near Tarrytown. There were guests. I played golf all day and bridge at night. But I repeat, this is ridiculous." A corner of Wolfe's mouth was up. "Then it would be fruitless to continue," he said--not complaining, just stating a fact. He put his hands on the edge of his desk for purchase, pushed his chair back, and rose. "I'll have to contrive a new approach. On behalf of Mrs. Odell, I thank you again for coming. Good evening." He moved, detoured again between the wall and the red leather chair, and, out in the hall, turned left. "I'll be damned," Theodore Falk said. I think they all said things, but if'any of it was important, that will be a gap in this report. I wasn't listening, as I went through the appropriate motions for godspeeding a flock of guests. I had heard enough, more than enough, for one evening. I didn't even notice who went with whom as they descended the seven steps of the stoop to the sidewalk. Closing the door and sliding the chain-bolt in its slot, I went to the kitchen. Fritz, who had kept handy to fill orders for refreshments if called for, was perched on the stool by the big center table with a magazine, but his eyes weren't on it. They were on Wolfe, who was standing, scowling at a glass of beer in his hand, waiting for the bead to settle to the right level. "It's going on eleven o'clock," I said. "I would love to start on it right now, but I suppose I can't." "Of course not," he growled. He drank beer. "Do we need to discuss it?" "I don't think so." I went and got a bottle of scotch from the cupboard. There are times when milk will not do. "I have a suggestion. Do you want it?" He said yes, and I gave it to him. 7 at five minutes past eleven Tuesday morning, I was seated in a comfortable chair at the end of a big, expensive desk in a big, expensive room on the thirtieth floor of a big, expensive building on Broad Street, near Wall, facing a man whose tan was much deeper than Theodore Falk's--so deep that his hide might have been bronze. Getting to him had been simple, but first I had had to confirm that he existed and owned a yacht. At one minute past nine I had dialed the number of the magazine Fore and Aft; no answer. Modern office hours. Half an hour later I got them, and was told by a man, after I held the wire while he looked it up, that a man named James J. Farquhar had a fifty-eight-foot Derecktor cruiser named Prospero. So it was a yacht, not just a rowboat with a mast or an outboard motor. Next I dialed the number of the Federal Holding Corporation, and via two women and a man, which was par, got through to Avery Ballou. He sounded as if he still remembered what Wolfe and I had done for him three years ago, and still appreciated it. I told him we needed a little favor and asked if he knew a banker named James Farquhar. "Sure," he said. "He's next to the top at Trinity Fiduciary. What has he done?" "As far as I know, nothing. It isn't another paternity problem. I want to ask him a couple of questions about something that he's not involved in--and he won't be. He's the best bet 50 Please Pass the Guilt for a piece of information we need, that's all. But the sooner we get it, the better, and Mr. Wolfe thought you might be willing to ring him and tell him that if I phone him for an appointment, it would be a good idea for him to tell me to come right away and get rid of me." He Said he would, and ten minutes later his secretary phoned and said Farquhar was expecting a call from me. She even gave me the phone number, and I dialed it and got his secretary. So at 11:05 there I was, at his desk. I was apologizing. "Mr. Wolfe didn't want to bother you," I said, "about a matter that you will consider trivial, but he sort of had to. It's about something that happened more than three weeks ago--Friday, May sixteenth. A lawyer has a client who is being sued for damages, fifty thousand dollars, and he has asked Mr. Wolfe to check on a couple of things. The client's name is O'Neffl, Roger O'Neffl, and a man named Walsh claims that around half past eight that evening he was in his small boat, fishing in the Sound, near Madison, about a mile off shore, and O'Neill's big cruiser came along fast, doing at least twenty, he says, and hit his boat right in the middle--cut it right in two. The sun had set but it wasn't dark yet, and Walsh says he had a light up. He wasn't hurt much, but his twelve-year-old son was; he's still in the hospital." Farquhar was frowning. "But where do I come in? I have a busy mo
rning." "I'm keeping it as brief as possible. Walsh says there were witnesses. He says a bigger boat, around seventy feet, was cruising by, about two hundred yards farther out, and there were people on deck who must have seen it happen. He tried to see its name, but he was in the water and the light was dim. He thinks it was Properoo." I spelled it. "We can't find a boat with that name listed anywhere, but your yacht, Prospero, comes close to it. Friday, May sixteenth. Three weeks ago last Friday. Were you out on the Sound that day?" "I'm out every Friday. That Friday . . . three weeks . . ." He shut his eyes and tilted his head back. "That was . . . No. Please Pass the Guilt 51 . . . Oh, sure." His eyes opened and his head leveled. "I was across the Sound. Nowhere near Madison. Before nine o'clock we anchored in a cove near Stony Brook, on the other shore." "Then it wasn't you." I stood up. "Have you ever seen a boat named Properoo?" "No." "If you don't mind�Mr. Wolfe always expects me to get everything. Who was on board with you?" "My wife, and four guests. Mr. and Mrs. Percy Young, and Mr. and Mrs. Amory Browning. And the crew, two. Really, damn it�" "Okay. I'm sorry I bothered you for nothing, and Mr. Wolfe will be too. Many thanks." I went. In the elevator, going down, a woman moved away from me, clear away. I wasn't bothering to manage my face, and probably its expression indicated that I was all set to choke or shoot somebody. I was. Down in the lobby I went to a phone booth and dialed the number I knew best, and when Fritz answered I said, "Me. I want him." It took a couple of minutes. It always does; he hates the phone. "Yes, Archie?" "I'm in a booth in a building on Broad Street. I have just had a talk with James J. Farquhar. At nine o'clock Friday evening, May sixteenth, he anchored his yacht in a cove on the Long Island shore. The four guests aboard were Mr. and Mrs. Percy Young and Mr. and Mrs. Amory Browning. I'm calling because it's nearly eleven-thirty, and if I proceed as instructed I couldn't have her there in less than an hour, which would be too close to lunch. I suggest that I phone her instead of going to get her, and-" "No. Come home. I'll telephone her. The number?" "On my yellow pad in the middle drawer. But wouldn't it�" "No." He hung up. 50 Please Pass the Guilt for a piece of information we need, that's all. But the sooner we get it, the better, and Mr. Wolfe thought you might be willing to ring him and tell him that if I phone him for an appointment, it would be a good idea for him to tell me to come right away and get rid of me." He said he would, and ten minutes later his secretary phoned and said Farquhar was expecting a call from me. She even gave me the phone number, and I dialed it and got fus secretary. So at 11:05 there I was, at his desk. I was apologizing. "Mr. Wolfe didn't want to bother you," I said, "about a matter that you will consider trivial, but he sort of had to. It's about something that happened more than three weeks ago--Friday, May sixteenth. A lawyer has a client who is being sued for damages, fifty thousand dollars, and he has asked Mr. Wolfe to check on a couple of things. The client's name is O'Neill, Roger O'Neill, and a man named Walsh claims that around half past eight that evening he was in his small boat, fishing in the Sound, near Madison, about a mile off shore, and O'Neill's big cruiser came along fast, doing at least twenty, he says, and hit his boat right in the middle--cut it right in two. The sun had set but it wasn't dark yet, and Walsh says he had a light up. He wasn't hurt much, but his twelve-year-old son was; he's still in the hospital." Farquhar was frowning. "But where do I come in? I have a busy morning." "I'm keeping it as brief as possible. Walsh says there were witnesses. He says a bigger boat, around seventy feet, was cruising by, about two hundred yards farther out, and there were people on deck who must have seen it happen. He tried to see its name, but he was in the water and the light was dim. He thinks it was Properoo." I spelled it. "We can't find a boat with that name listed anywhere, but your yacht, Prospero, comes close to it. Friday, May sixteenth. Three weeks ago last Friday. Were you out on the Sound that day?" "I'm out every Friday. That Friday . . . three weeks . . ." He shut his eyes and tilted his head back. "That was . . . No. X'' t Please Pass the Guilt 51 '�m1 % . . . Oh, sure." His eyes opened and his head leveled. "I was across the Sound. Nowhere near Madison. Before nine o'clock we anchored in a cove near Stony Brook, on the other shore." "Then it wasn't you." I stood up. "Have you ever seen a boat named Properoo?" "No." "If you don't mind�Mr. Wolfe always expects me to get everything. Who was on board with you?" "My wife, and four guests. Mr. and Mrs. Percy Young, and Mr. and Mrs. Amory Browning. And the crew, two. Really, damn it�" "Okay. I'm sorry I bothered you for nothing, and Mr. Wolfe will be too. Many thanks." I went. In the elevator, going down, a woman moved away from me, clear away. I wasn't bothering to manage my face, and probably its expression indicated that I was all set to choke or shoot somebody. I was. Down in the lobby I went to a phone booth and dialed the number I knew best, and when Fritz answered I said, "Me. I want him." It took a couple of minutes. It always does; he hates the phone. "Yes, Archie?" "I'm in a booth in a building on Broad Street. I have just had a talk with James J. Farquhar. At nine o'clock Friday evening, May sixteenth, he anchored his yacht in a cove on the Long Island shore. The four guests aboard were Mr. and Mrs. Percy Young and Mr. and Mrs. Amory Browning. I'm calling because it's nearly eleven-thirty, and if I proceed as instructed I couldn't have her there in less than an hour, which would be too close to lunch. I suggest that I phone her instead of going to get her, and-" "No. Come home. I'll telephone her. The number?" "On my yellow pad in the middle drawer. But wouldn't it�" "No." He hung up. 52 Please Pass the Guilt So he too was set for murder. He was going to dial it himself. He was going to risk keeping lunch waiting. As I headed for the subway, which would be quicker than scouting for a taxi in that territory, I was trying to remember if any other client, male or female, had ever equaled this, and couldn't name one. But when I entered the old brownstone, and the office, a few minutes before noon, I saw that he wasn't going to choke her or shoot her. He was going to slice her up. At his desk, with his oilstone and a can of oil on a sheet of paper, he was sharpening his penknife. Though he doesn't use it much, he sharpens it about once a week, but almost never at that time of day. Evidently his subconscious had taken over. I went to my desk and sat, opened a drawer and took out the Mariey .38, and asked, "Do I shoot her before you carve her, or after?" He gave me a look. "How likely is it that Mr. Browning telephoned him last night, or saw him, and arranged it?" "No. A hundred to one. I took my time with a phony buildup and watched his face. Also at least seven other people would have to be arranged: his wife, the four guests, and the crew. Not a chance. You got Miss Haber?" "Yes." He looked at the clock. "Thirty-five minutes ago. I made it--" The doorbell rang. I put the Mariey in the drawer and closed it, and went. But in the hall, I saw more than I expected. I stepped back in and asked Wolfe, "Did you invite Mrs. Odell too?" "No." "Then she invited herself. She came along. So?" He shut his eyes, opened them, shut them, opened them. "Very well. You may have to drag her to the front room." That would have been a pleasure--preferably by the hair with her kicking and screaming. She performed as expected. When I opened the front door, she brushed past me rudely and streaked down the hall, with Miss Haber at her tail, trotting to keep up. Thinking she might actually scratch or bite, I was right Please Pass the Guilt 53 behind as she entered the office and opened up, heading for Wolfe's desk. I'm not sure whether the five words she got out were "If you think you can" or "If you think you're going," before Wolfe banged a fist on the desk and bellowed at her: "Shut up!" I don't know how he does it. His bellow is a loud explosion, a boom, as a bellow should be, but also it has an edge, it cuts, which doesn't seem possible. She stopped and stood with her mouth open. I was between her and him. "I told Miss Haber to come," Wolfe said in his iciest tone. "Not you. If you sit and listen, you may stay. If you don't, Mr. Goodwin will remove you--from the room and the house. He would enjoy it. I have something to say to Miss Haber, and I will not tolerate interruption. Well?" Her mouth was even wider than normal because her teeth were clamped on her lower lip. She moved, not fast, toward the red leather chair, but Wolfe snapped, "No. I want Miss Haber in that chair. Archie?"
I went and brought a yellow chair and put it closer to my desk than his. She gave me a look that I did not deserve, and came and sat. I doubted if Charlotte Haber would make it to the red leather chair without help, so I went and touched her arm, and steered her to it. Wolfe's eyes at her were only slits. "I told you on the telephone," he said, "that if you were not here by twelve o'clock, I would telephone a policeman. Inspector Cramer of Homicide South, and tell him what you told me Sunday evening about your telephone call to Mr. Browning on May sixteenth. I'll probably find it necessary to tell him anyway, but I thought it proper to give you a chance to explain. Why did you tell me that lie?" She was making a fair try at meeting his eyes. She spoke: "It wasn't--" Her tongue got in the way and she stopped and started over: "It wasn't a lie. It was exactly like I told you. If Mr. Browning won't admit it, if he denies--" 54 Please Pass the Guilt "Pfui. I haven't discussed it with Mr. Browning. The conclusive evidence that you couldn't have made that call did not come from him. Even candor may not serve you now, but certainly nothing else will. Unless you tell me what and who induced you to tell me that lie, you're in for it. You'll leave here not with your employer, but with a policeman, probably for detention as a material witness. I will not--" "You can't!" Mrs. Odell was on the edge of her chair. "You know you can't! You guaranteed in writing!" "Remove her, Archie," Wolfe said. "If necessary, drag her." I rose. She tilted her head to focus up at me and said, "You don't dare. Don't dare to touch me." I said, "I dare easy. I admit I'd rather not, but I have bounced bigger and stronger women than you and have no scars. Look. You tried to steal home and got nailed, and no wonder. You didn't even have sense enough to check where Browning was that Friday night. As for that guarantee in that receipt you got, it says, quote, 'Unless circumstances arise that put me or him under legal compulsion to reveal it.' End quote. Okay, the circumstances are here. The cops have spent a thousand hours trying to find out why your husband went to the room and opened the drawer, and who knew he was going to. Now / know. So I'm withholding essential evidence in a murder case, and there's a statute that puts me under legal compulsion to reveal it. Also, I'm not just a law-abiding citizen, I'm a licensed private detective, and I don't want to lose my license and have to start a new career, like panhandling or demonstrating. So even if Mr. Wolfe got big-hearted and decided just to bow out, there would still be me. I feel responsible. I am responsible. I started this by writing you that letter. Mr. Wolfe told Miss Haber that unless she comes clean he will open the bag. I may or may not stay with him on the unless. I am good and sore, and for a dirty crinkled dollar bill with a corner gone I would go now to the drug store on the corner and ring a police sergeant I know. I also know a man on the Gazette who would love to Please Pass the Guilt 55 have a hot item for the front page, and I could back it up with an affidavit. And would." I turned to Wolfe. "K I may offer a suggestion. If you still want her bounced, okay, but from her face I think she has got it down." I turned back to her. "K you get the idea that you can say it was all a lie, that you wanted to fasten it on Browning and made it all up, nothing doing. They found the LSD in your husband's pocket and they've got it. You're stuck, absolutely, and if you try to wriggle you'll just make it worse." 'She had kept her eyes at me. Now they went to her right, clear around past Wolfe to Miss Haber, and they certainly saw nothing helpful. Below the crease in the narrow forehead, the secretary's eyes weren't aimed anywhere. They could have been seeing her hands clasped on her lap, but probably they weren't seeing anything. Mrs. Odell aimed hers at Wolfe. "You said you haven't discussed it with Browning. The--the LSD. Who have you discussed it with?" "Mr. Goodwin. No one else." "Then how did you--How can you--" "Mr. Goodwin talked this morning with a man who owns a yacht. At nine o'clock in the evening of Friday, May sixteenth, when he anchored in a cove on the Long Island shore, two of the guests aboard were Mr. and Mrs. Amory Browning. In all my experience with chicanery, madam, I have never encountered a more inept performance. A factor in our animus is probably the insult to our intelligence; you should have known that We would inquire as to Mr. Browning's whereabouts that evening, and therefore you should have. By the glance you just gave Miss Haber I suspect that you are contemplating another inanity: saying it was some other evening. Pfui. Don't try it. Look at Miss Haber." She didn't have to; she already had. And she proceeded to demonstrate that she was by no means a complete fool. She 56 Please Pass the Guilt cocked her head at me for a long, steady look, and then cocked it at Wolfe. "I don't believe," she said, "that you have really decided to tell the police about it If you had, you wouldn't have phoned Miss Haber and--" "I haven't said I have decided. I said, to Miss Haber, 'Unless you tell me what and who induced you to tell that lie.'" "I'll tell you. / induced her." "When?" Three days ago. Saturday evening. And Sunday morning, before I called Goodwin. What induced her was money. She needs money. She has a younger brother who has got himself into-- but that doesn't matter, what she needs it for. And anyway, I think Browning put that bomb there. I'm sure he did. I don't know how he knew Peter was going to open that drawer, but I'm sure he did. Maybe Peter told somebody. You didn't know Peter, you don't know what a wonderful man he was. He married me for my money, but he was a wonderful husband. And Browning killed him, and with all the money I have, now there's only one thing I want to do with it. I don't think the police will ever get him, and you know something they don't know. Can you handle Goodwin?" "No." He was scowling at her. "No one can 'handle' Mr. Goodwin. But he handles himself reasonably well, and he wouldn't divulge information he got as my agent without my consent. My problem is handling me. Your fatuous attempt to hoodwink me relieves me of my commitment, but I too am a licensed private detective. If Mr. Cramer learns that those seven people were here last evening, as he probably will, and if he comes to see me, as he almost certainly will, I'll be in a pickle. I have many times refused to disclose information on the ground that it was not material, but the fact that your husband went to that room and opened that drawer in order to put LSD in the whisky is manifestly material. Confound it, they even have the LSD--that is, you say they have it." Please Pass the Guilt 57 "They do. They showed it to me." She opened her bag and took out the checkfold. "I've made one idiotic mistake with you and I don't intend to make another one. I'm going to give you a check for one hundred thousand dollars, but I have sense enough to know that I have to be careful how I do it. If you think that I think I can pay you and Goodwin for not telling the police about the LSD, I don't. I know I can't. But I do think they will never get Browning, and I think you might. I think the only chance of getting him is if you do it. I don't care what it costs. The hundred thousand dollars is just to start. You may have to give somebody twice that much for something." She slid the pen out and started to write on the check stub. "No," Wolfe said. "You can't pay me at all on the terms you imply. I certainly would not engage to demonstrate that Mr. Browning killed your husband. I might engage to try to learn who killed your husband and to get evidence that would convict him. As for withholding information from the police, that must be left to my discretion. Mr. Goodwin and I are disinclined to share with others information that gives us an advantage." "It was Browning. Why do you think it wasn't?" "I don't. He is as likely a candidate as anyone--much the most likely, if he knew of your husband's intention to drug the whisky." He swiveled to face the red leather chair. "Miss Haber. You didn't tell Mr. Browning about it, but whom did you tell?" "Nobody." It came out louder than she intended, and she repeated it, lower. "Nobody." "This is extremely important. I must know. This time you are expected to tell me the truth." "I am telling you the truth. I couldn't have told anyone because I didn't know myself. I didn't know what the LSD was for until last Saturday evening, three days ago, when Mrs. Odell told me. . . When she asked me. . ." Wolfe turned to Mrs. Odell with his brow up. 58 Please Pass the Guilt "I believe her," she said, and he turned back to the secretary. "Do you go to church, Miss Haber?" "Yes, I do. Lutheran. Not every Sunday, but often." He turned to me. "Bring a Bible." On the third shelf from the botto
m, at the left of the globe, there were nine of them, four in different editions in English and five in foreign languages. I picked the one that looked the part best, in black leather, and crossed to the red leather chair. "Put your right hand on it," Wolfe told her, "and repeat after me: With my hand on the Holy Bible I swear." I held it at her level and she put her hand on it, palm down, flat, the fingers spread a little. "With my hand on the Holy Bible I swear." "That I did not know what Mr. Odell intended to do." She repeated it. "With the LSD I had procured for Mrs. Odell." She repeated it. "Until Saturday, June seventh." She repeated it. Wolfe turned to the client. "You can suspect Mr. Browning only if you assume that he knew what your husband was going to do. Miss Haber didn't. I don't suppose you or your husband told him. Whom did you tell?" "I didn't tell anybody. Absolutely nobody. So Peter must have. I wouldn't have thought--but he must have. Of course there were people who wanted Peter to be the new president, not Browning, and he must have told one of them. For instance, Ted Falk, but Ted wouldn't have told Browning. I can give you names. Sylvia Venner. Then there's a man in public relations--" "If you please." He had turned his head to look at the wall clock. "It's my lunch time. You can make a list of the names, with relevant comments. But there must be no misunderstanding about what you expect me to do. My commitment is to try Please Pass the Guilt 59 to learn who killed your husband and get evidence that will convict him. Just that. Is that clearly understood?" "Yes. But I want to be sure . . . No. I suppose I can't be." She opened the checkfold. "But if it wasn't Browning ... Oh, damn it. God damn it." She wrote the check. at twenty minutes to seven, Theodore Falk, in the red leather chair with his legs crossed, told Wolfe, "It would depend on what it was he was going to do." In the four and a half hours since lunch, much had been done but nothing visible had been accomplished. We had discussed the Cramer problem. If and when he came, I could open the door only the two inches the chain on the bolt allowed and tell him Wolfe wasn't available and there was no telling when he would be, and I was under instructions to tell nobody anything whatever. He probably couldn't get a warrant, since all he could tell a judge was that some of the people involved in a murder case had spent part of an evening in the house, but if he did, and used it, we would stand mute--or sit mute. Or I could open the door wide and let him in, and Wolfe would play it by ear, and we voted for that. There was always a chance that he would supply one or more useful facts. We had also decided to spend thirty-one dollars an hour, for as long as necessary, of the client's money, on Saul Panzer, Fred Durkin, and Orrie Cather--eight each for Fred and Orrie, and fifteen for Saul. If no one had known that Odell intended to go to Browning's room, the bomb couldn't have been intended for him, and it was going to take more doing than having people come to the old brownstone for some conversation. I had phoned Saul and Orrie and asked them to come Wednesday at ten o'clock, and left a message for Fred. And I had Please Pass the Guilt 61 phoned Theodore Fallc, OdelTs best and closest friend, and told him that Wolfe wanted to have a talk with him, without an audience, and he said he would come around six o'clock. By a couple of phone calls--one to a vice-president of our bank and one to Lon Cohen--I had learned that Falk was way up. He was a senior member of one of the oldest and solidest investment firms and sat on eight boards of directors. He had a wife and three grown-up children, and he and they were also solid socially. Evidently a man the race could be proud of, and from personal observation the only thing I had against him was his buttoned-down shirt collar. A man who hates loose flaps so much that he buttons down his collar should also button down his ears. He came at 6:34. Wolfe told him that he needed all the information he could get about Odell. Specifically, he needed the answer to a question: If Odell decided to do something secretly, some shabby deed that would help him and hurt someone else, how likely was it that he would have told anyone? And Falk said, "It would depend on what it was he was going to do. You say 'shabby'?" Wolfe nodded. "Opprobrious. Mean. Furtive. Knavish. Tricky." Palk uncrossed his legs, slid his rump dear back in the red leather chair, which is deep, recrossed his legs, and tilted his head back. His eyes went left and then right, in no hurry, apparently comparing the pictures on the wall--one of Socrates, one of Shakespeare, and an unwashed coal miner in oil by Sepeshy. (According to Wolfe, man's three resources: intellect, imagination, and muscle.) In half a minute Falk's head leveled and his eyes settled on Wolfe. "I don't know about you," he said. "I don't know you well enough. A cousin of mine who is an assistant district attorney says you are sharp and straight. Does he know?" "Probably not," Wolfe said. "Hearsay." 62 Please Pass the Guilt "You solicited Mrs. Odell." I cut in. "No," I said. "I did." Wolfe grunted. "Not material." To Falk: "Mr. Goodwin is my agent, and what he does is on my tally. He knew my bank balance was low. Does your firm solicit?" Falk laughed, showing his teeth, probably knowing how white they looked with his deep tan. "Of course," he said, "you're not a member of the bar." He lifted a hand to rub his Up with a finger tip. That helped him decide to say something, and he said it, "You know that the police have a vial of LSD that was in Odell's pocket." "Do I?" "Certainly. Mrs. Odell has told me that she told you. Has she told you what he was going to do with it?" "I'm sharp, Mr. Falk." "So you are. Of course you'll tell her what I say, but she already knows that I think she knew what Pete was going to do with the LSD, though she won't admit it, and no wonder, not even to me." "And you knew." "I knew what?" "What he was going to do with the LSD." "No, I didn't. I don't know even now, but I can make a damn good guess, and so can the police. So can you, if Mrs. Odell hasn't told you. Going to Browning's room and opening that drawer, with LSD in his pocket? Better than a guess. You would call it shabby and opprobrious for him to dope Browning's whisky? And knavish?" "Not to judge, merely to describe. Do you disagree?" "I guess not. Not really. Anyway another good guess is that it was her idea, not his. You can tell her I said that, she already knows it. Of course your question is, did I know about it, did he tell me? He didn't. He wouldn't. If he told anybody it would have been me, but a thing like that he wouldn't tell even me. The reason I'm telling you this, I'm beginning to Please Pass the Guilt 63 doubt if the police are going to crack it, and you might. One reason you might, Mrs. Odell will probably tell you things she won't tell them. Another reason is that with people like these, like us, the police have to consider things that you can ignore." "And you want it cracked." "Hell yes. Pete Odell was my favorite man." "If no one knew he was going to open that drawer, he died by inadvertence." "But whoever planted that bomb killed him." Falk turned a palm up. "Look, why am I here? This will make me an hour late for something. I wanted to know if you were going to waste time on the idea that the bomb was intended for Odell. The police still think it could have been and there's not a chance. Damn it, I knew him. It just isn't thinkable that he would have told anyone he was going to try to bust Browning by doping his whisky." "M he had told you, would you have tried to dissuade him?" Falk shook his head. "I can't even discuss it as a hypothesis. If Pete Odell had told me that, I would just have stared at him. It wouldn't have been him. Not his doing it, his telling me." "So the bomb was for Browning?" "Yes. Apparently." "Not certainly?" "No. You told us yesterday that the journalists have different ideas, and we have too--I mean the people who are involved. They are all just guessing really--except one of course, the one who did it. My guess is no better than anybody else's." "And no worse. Your guess?" Falk's eyes came to me and returned to Wolfe. "This isn't being recorded?" "Only in our skulls." "Well--do you know the name Copes? Dennis Copes?" "No." "You know Kenneth Meer. He was here last evening. He's Browning's man Friday, and Copes would like to be. Of course 64 Please Pass the Guilt in a setup like CAN, most of them want someone else's job, but the Copes-Meer thing is special. My guess is that Meer had a routine of checking that drawer every afternoon and Copes knew it. Copes did a lot of work on that program about bombs and getting one would have been no problem. That's my best guess partly because I can't quite see anyone going for Browning with a bomb. A dozen people could have, but I
can't see any of them actually doing it. You said one of the reporters thinks it was Browning's wife, but that's absurd." "Did Kenneth Meer check the drawer every day?" "I don't know. I understand he says he didn't." I could fill three or four pages with the things Theodore Falk didn't know, but they didn't help us, so they wouldn't help you. When I returned to the office after going to the hall to let him out, we didn't discuss him, for two reasons: the look we exchanged showed that we didn't need to, and Fritz came to announce dinner. The look was a question, the same question both ways: How straight was Falk? Did we cross him off or not? The look left it open. The fact was, Wolfe hadn't really bit into it. It was still just batting practice. He had taken the job and was committed, but there was still the slim chance that something might happen-- the cops might get it or the client might quit--so he wouldn't have to sweat and slave. Also in my book there was the idea that I had once mentioned to him, the idea that it took a broil with Inspector Cramer to wind him up. Of course when I had offered it, he had fired me, or I had quit, I forget which. But I hadn't dropped the idea, so when the doorbell rang at 11:10 Wednesday morning and I went to the hall and saw who it was on the stoop through the one-way glass, and stepped back in the office and said "Mr. Fuzz," I didn't mind a bit. Wolfe made a face, opened his mouth and then clamped his jaw, and in five seconds undamped it to growl, "Bring him." 9 that was a FIRST--the first time Inspector Cramer had ever arrived and been escorted to the office in the middle of a session with the hired hands. And Saul Panzer did something he seldom does--he stunted. He was in the red leather chair, and when I ushered Cramer in I expected to find Saul on his feet, moving up another yellow chair to join Fred and Orrie, but no. He was staying put. Cramer, surprised, stood in the middle of the rug and said, loud, "Oh?" Wolfe, surprised at Saul, put his brows up. I, pretending I wasn't surprised, went to get a yellow chair. And damned if Cramer didn't cross in front of Fred and Orrie to my chair, swing it around, and park his big fanny on it. As he sat, Saul, his lips a little tight to keep from grinning, got up and came to take the yellow chair I had brought. That left the red leather chair empty and I went and occupied it, sliding back and crossing my legs to show that I was right at home. Wolfe didn't merely turn his head left to face me; he swiveled. "Was this performance arranged?" he demanded. "Not by me," I told him. "This chair was empty, that's all." "I guess I was just too surprised to move," Saul said. "I didn't know the Inspector was coming." "Balls," Cramer said. "No one knew I was coming." He focused on Wolfe. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important."