The president of URWA nodded yes. “That's right,” he told Wolfe. “We thought the finest cooking should be represented, and we picked Rago for it. So far as I know, he has never come to a union meeting. We wish he would, and more like him.” “I am a man of the kitchen,” Rago declared. “I am an artist. The business I leave to others.”
Wolfe was on Korby. “Did Mr. Rago's name appear in any of the charges you spoke of?”
“No. I said I wouldn't give names, but I can say no. No, it didn't.”
“You didn't say no when I asked about Mr. Griffin.” Wolfe turned to the importer. “Do you wish to comment on that, sir?” I still hadn't decided exactly what was wrong with Griffin's left eye. There was no sign of an injury, and it seemed to function okay, but it appeared to be a little off center. From an angle, the slant I had from my desk, it looked normal.
He lifted his long narrow chin. “What do you expect?” “My expectations are of no consequence. I merely invite comment.”
“On that, I have none. I know nothing about any charges. What I want, I want to see that witness.”
Wolfe shook his head. “As I said, I will not produce the witness for the present. Are you still skeptical?” “I'm always skeptical.” Griffin's voice would have suited a man twice his size. “I want to see that witness and hear what she has to say. I admit I can see no reason why you would invent her––if there is one it's too deep for me, since it puts you in the same boat with us––but I'm not going to believe her until I see her. Maybe I will then, and maybe I won't.”
“I think you will. Meanwhile, what about' your relations with Philip Holt? How long and how well did you know him?” “Oh, to hell with this jabber!” Griffin bounced up, not having far to bounce. “If there was anything in my relations with him that made me kill him, would I be telling you?” He flattened his palms on Wolfe's desk. “Are you going to produce that witness? No?” He wheeled. “I've had enough of this! You, Jim? Rago?” That ended the party. Wolfe could have held Korby and Rago for more jabber, but apparently he didn't think it worth the effort. They asked some questions, what was Wolfe going to do now, and what was the witness going to do, and why couldn't they see her, and why did Wolfe believe her, and was he going to see her and question her, and of course nobody got anything out of that. The atmosphere wasn't very cordial when they left. After letting them out I returned to the office and stood in front of Wolfe's desk. He was leaning back with his arms folded.
“Lunch in twenty minutes,” I said cheerfully.
“Not in peace,” he growled.
“No, sir. Any instructions?”
“Pfui. It would take an army, and I haven't got one. To go into all of them, to trace all their connections and dealings with the man one of them murdered. “
He unfolded his arms and put his fists on the desk. “I can't even limit it by assuming that it was an act of urgency, resulting from something that had been said or done that day or in the immediate past. The need or desire to kill him might have dated from a week ago, or a month, or even a year, and it was satisfied yesterday in that tent only because circumstances offered the opportunity.
“No matter which one it was––Rago, who visited the tent first, or Korby or Griffin or Vetter, who visited it after him in that order––no matter which, the opportunity was tempting. The man was there, recumbent and disabled, and the weapon was there. He had a plausible excuse for entering the tent. To spread the cloud of suspicion to the multitude, all he had to do was untie the tape that held the flap. Even if the body were discovered soon after he left the tent, even seconds after, there would be no question he couldn't answer.”
He grunted. “No. Confound it, no. The motive may be buried not only in a complexity of associations but also in history. It might take months. I will have to contrive something.” “Yeah. Any time.”
“There may be none. That's the devil of it. Get Saul and Fred and Orrie and have them on call. I have no idea for what, but no matter, get them. And let me alone.”
I went to my desk and pulled the phone over.
There have been only five occasions in my memory when Wolfe has cut short his afternoon session with the orchids in the plant rooms, from four o'clock to six, and that was the fifth. If there had been any developments inside his skull I hadn't been informed. There had been none outside, unless you count my calling Saul and Fred and Orrie, our three best bets when we needed outside help, and telling them to stand by. Back at his desk after lunch, Wolfe fiddled around with papers on his desk, counted the week's collection of bottle caps in his drawer, rang for Fritz to bring beer and then didn't drink it, and picked up his current book, The Fall by Albert Camus, three or four times, and put it down again. In between he brushed specks of dust from his desk with his little finger.
When I turned on the radio for the four o'clock newscast he waited until it was finished to leave for his elevator trip up to the roof.
Later, nearly an hour later, I caught myself brushing a speck of dust off my desk with my little finger, and said something I needn't repeat here, and went to the kitchen for a glass of milk. When the doorbell rang at a quarter past five I jumped up and shot for the hall, realized that was unmanly, and controlled my legs to a normal gait. Through the one–way glass panel of the front door I saw, out on the stoop, a tall lanky guy, narrow from top to bottom, in a brown suit that needed pressing and a brown straw hat.
I took a breath, which I needed apparently, and went and opened the door the two inches allowed by the chain–bolt. His appearance was all against it, but there was no telling what kind of specimen District Attorney Delaney or Chief of Detectives Baxter might have on his staff.
I spoke through the crack. “Yes, sir?”
“I would like to see Mr. Nero Wolfe. My name is Banau, Alexander Banau.”
“Yes, sir.” I took the bolt off and swung the door open, and he crossed the sill. “Your hat, sir?” He gave it to me and I put it on the shelf. “This way, sir.” I waited until I had him in the office and in the red leather chair to say, “Mr. Wolfe is engaged at the moment. I'll tell him you're here.”
I went to the hall and on to the kitchen, shutting doors on the Way, buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone, and in three seconds, instead of the usual fifteen or twenty, had a growl in my ear. “Yes?”
“Company. Captain Alexander Banau.”
Silence, then: “Let him in.”
“He's already in. Have you any suggestions how I keep him occupied until six o'clock?”
“No.” A longer silence. “I'll be down.”
As I said that was the fifth time in all the years I have been with him. I went back to the office and asked the guest if he would like something to drink, and he said no, and in two minutes there was the sound of Wolfe's elevator descending and stopping, the door opening and shutting, and his tread. He entered, circled around the red leather chair, and offered a hand. “Mr. Banau? I'm Nero Wolfe. How do you do, sir?”
He was certainly spreading it on. He doesn't like to shake hands, and rarely does. When he was adjusted in his chair he gave Banau a look so sociable it was damn close to fawning, for him.
“Well, sir?”
“I fear,” Banau said, “that I may have to make myself disagreeable. I don't like to be disagreeable. Is that gentleman––” he nodded at me–– ”Mr. Archie Goodwin?”
“He is, yes, sir.”
“Then it will be doubly disagreeable, but it can't be helped. It concerns the tragic event at Gulp's Meadows yesterday. According to the newspaper accounts, the police are proceeding on the probability that the murderer entered the tent from the rear, and left that way after he had performed the deed. Just an hour ago I telephoned to Long Island to ask if they still regard that as probable; and was told that they do.”
He stopped to clear his throat. I would have liked to get my fingers around it to help. He resumed.
“It is also reported that you and Mr. Goodwin were among those interviewed, and that compels me to
conclude, reluctantly, that Mr. Goodwin has failed to tell you of a conversation he had with my wife as she sat in our car outside the tent. I should explain that I was in the crowd in front, and when your speech was interrupted by the scream, and confusion resulted, I made my way around to the car, with some difficulty, and got in and drove away. I do not like tumult.
“My wife did not tell me of her conversation with Mr. Goodwin until after we got home. She regards it as unwise to talk while I am driving. What she told me was that Mr. Goodwin approached the car and spoke to her through the open window. He asked her if anyone––”
“If you please.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “Your assumption that he hasn't reported the conversation to me is incorrect. He has.” “What! He has?”
“Yes, sir. If you will––”
“Then you know that my wife is certain that no one entered the tent from the rear while the speeches were being made? No one but you and Mr. Goodwin? Absolutely certain? You know she told him that?”
“I know what she told him, yes. But if you will”
“And you haven't told the police?”
“No, not yet. I would like––”
“Then she has no choice.” Banau was on his feet. “It is even more disagreeable than I feared. She must communicate with them at once. This is terrible, a man of your standing, and the others too. It is terrible, but it must be done. In a country of law the law must be served.”
He turned and headed for the door.
I left my chair. Stopping him and wrapping him up would have been no problem, but I was myself stopped by the expression on Wolfe's face. He looked relieved; he even looked pleased. I stared at him, and was still staring when the sound came of the front door closing.
I stepped to the hall, saw that Banau was gone and hadn't forgotten his hat, and returned and stood at Wolfe's desk. “Goody,” I said. “Cream? Give me some.”
He took in air, all the way, and let it out. “This is more like it,” he declared. “I've had all the humiliation I can stand. Jumping out of my skin every time the phone rang. Did you notice how quickly I answered your ring upstairs? Afraid, by heaven, afraid to go into the tropical room to look over the Renanthera imschootiana! Now we know where we are.”
“Yeah. Also where we soon will be. If it had been me I would have kept him at least long enough to tell him––”
“Shut up.”
I did so. There are certain times when it is understood that I am not to badger, and the most important time is when he leans back in his chair and shuts his eyes and his lips start to work. He pushes them out, pulls them in, out and in, out and in. That means his brain has crashed the sound barrier. I have seen him, dealing with a tough one, go on with that lip action for up to an hour. I sat down at my desk, thinking I might as well be near the phone.
That time he didn't take an hour, not having one. More like eight minutes. He opened his eyes, straightened up, and spoke. “Archie. Did he tell you where his wife was?”
“No. He told me nothing. He was saving it for you. She could have been in the drug store at the corner, sitting in the phone booth.”
He grunted. “Then we must clear out of here. I am going to find out which of them killed that man before we are all hauled in. The motive and the evidence will have to come later; the thing now is to identify him as a bone to toss to Mr. Delaney. Where is Saul?”
“At home, waiting to hear. Fred and Orrie”
“We need only Saul. Call him. Tell him we are coming there at once. Where would Mr. Vetter have his conference?” “I suppose at the MXO studio.”
“Get him. And if Miss Korby is there, her also. And the others. You must get them all before they hear from Mr. Delaney. They are all to be at Saul's place without delay. At the earliest possible moment. Tell them they are to meet and question the witness, and it is desperately urgent. If they balk I'll speak to them and––” I had the phone, dialing.
After they were all there and Wolfe started in, it took him less than fifteen minutes to learn which one was it. I might have managed it in fifteen days, with luck. If you like games you might lean back now, close your eyes, and start pushing your lips out and in, and see how long it takes you to decide how you would do it: Fair enough, since you know everything that Wolfe and I knew.
But get it straight; don't try to name him or come up with evidence that would nail him; the idea is, how do you use what you now know to put the finger on him? That was what Wolfe did, and I wouldn't expect more of you than of him.
Saul Panzer, below average in size but miles above it in savvy, lived alone on the top floor––living room, bedroom, kitchenette, and bath––of a remodeled house on Thirty–eighth Street between Lexington and Third. The living room was big, lighted with two floor lamps and two table lamps, even at seven o'clock of a July evening, because the blinds were drawn. One wall had windows, another was solid with books, and the other two had pictures and shelves that were cluttered with everything from chunks of minerals to walrus tusks. In the far corner was a grand piano. Wolfe sent his eyes around and said, “This shouldn't take long.” He was in the biggest chair Saul had, by a floor lamp, almost big enough for him. I was on a stool to his left and front, and Saul was off to his right, on the piano bench. The chairs of the five customers were in an arc facing him. Of course it would have been sensible and desirable to arrange the seating so that the murderer was next to either Saul or me, but that wasn't practical since we had no idea which one it was, and neither did Wolfe. “Where's the witness?” Griffin demanded. “Goodwin said she'd be here.”
Wolfe nodded. “I know, Mr. Goodwin is sometimes careless with his pronouns. The witness is present.” He aimed a thumb at the piano bench. “There. Mr. Saul Panzer, who is not only credible and confident but––”
“You said it was a woman!”
“There is another witness who is a woman; doubtless there will be others when one of you goes on trial. The urgency Mr. Goodwin spoke of relates to what Mr. Panzer will tell you. Before he does so, some explanation is required.”
“Let him talk first,” Dick Vetter said, “and then explain. We've heard from you already.”
“I'll make it brief.” Wolfe was unruffled. “It concerns the tape fastening on the flap of the rear entrance of the tent. As you know, Mr. Goodwin tied it before we left to go to the platform, and when he and I entered the tent later and left by the rear entrance it had been untied. By whom? Not by someone entering from the outside, since there is a witness to testify that no one had”
James Korby cut in. “That's the witness we want to see. Goodwin said she'd be here.”
“You'll see her, Mr. Korby, in good time. Please bear with me. Therefore the tape had been untied by someone who had entered from the front––by one of you four men. Why? The presumption is overwhelming that it was untied by the murderer, to create and support the probability that Philip Holt had been stabbed by someone who entered from the rear. It is more than a presumption; it approaches certainty. So it seemed to me that it was highly desirable, if possible, to learn who had untied the tape; and I enlisted the services of Mr. Panzer.” His head turned. “Saul, if you please?”
Saul had his hand on a black leather case beside him on the bench. “Do you want it all, Mr. Wolfe? How I got it?” “Not at the moment, I think. Later, if they want to know. What you have is more important than how you got it.”
“Yes, sir.” He opened the lid of the case and took something from it. “I'd rather not explain how I got it because it might make trouble for somebody.”
I horned in. “What do you mean 'might'? You know damn well it would make trouble for somebody.”
“Okay, Archie, okay.” His eyes went to the audience. “What I've got is these photographs of fingerprints that were lifted from the tape on the flap of the rear entrance of the tent. There are some blurry ones, but there are four good ones. Two of the good ones are Mr. Goodwin's, and that leaves two unidentified.” He turned to the case and took things out.
He cocked his head to the audience. “The idea is, I take your prints and––”
“Not so fast, Saul.” Wolfe's eyes went right, and left again. “You see how it is, and you understand why Mr. Goodwin said it was urgent. Surely those of you who did not untie the tape will not object to having your prints compared with the photographs. If anyone does object he cannot complain if an inference is made. Of course there is the possibility that none of your prints will match the two unidentified ones in the photographs, and in that case the results will be negative and not conclusive. Mr. Panzer has the equipment to take your prints, and he is an expert. Will you let him?”
Glances were exchanged.
“What the hell,” Vetter said. “Mine are on file anyway. Sure.” “Mine also,” Griffin said. “I have no objection.”
Paul Rago abruptly exploded. “Treeks again!”
All eyes went to him. Wolfe spoke. “No, Mr. Rago, no tricks. Mr. Panzer would prefer not to explain how he got the photographs, but he will if you insist. I assure you––” “I don't mean treeks how he gets them.” The sauce chef uncrossed his legs. “I mean what you said, it was the murderer who untied the tape. That is not necessary. I can say that was a lie! When I entered the tent and looked at him it seemed to me he did not breathe good, there was not enough air, and I went and untied the tape so the air could come through. So if you take my print and if it is like the photograph, what will that prove? Nothing at all. Nuh–theeng! So I say it is treeks again, and in this great land of freedom––”
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