There was a sound from the direction of the bushes, and in a moment Saul appeared, circling around to join me on the right. The dog made a noise that was more of a whine than a growl, but it didn’t move. The woman put a hand on its head. I asked Saul, “Could you hear what they said?”
“Most of it. I heard enough.”
“Was it interesting?”
“Yes.”
“This is illegal,” Heath stated. He was half choked with indignation or something. “This is an invasion—”
“Nuts. Save it; you may need it. I have a cab parked at the Eighty-sixth-Street entrance. Four of us with the dog will just fill it comfortably. Mr. Wolfe is expecting us. Let’s go.”
“You’re armed,” Heath said. “This is assault with a deadly weapon.”
“I’m going home,” the woman said, speaking for the first time. “I’ll telephone Mr. Wolfe, or my husband will, and we’ll see about this. I brought my dog to the park, and this gentleman and I happened to get into conversation. This is outrageous. You won’t dare to harm my dog.”
She got up, and the collie was instantly erect by her, against her knee.
“Well,” I conceded, “I admit I hate to shoot a dog. I also admit that Mr. Wolfe likes himself so well that he’ll steal the throne on the Day of Judgment if they don’t watch him. So you go on home with Towser, and Saul and I will call on the police and the FBI, and I’ll tell them what I saw, and Saul will tell them what he saw and heard. But don’t make the mistake of thinking you can talk them out of believing us. We have our reputations just as you have yours.”
They looked at each other. They looked at me and back at each other.
“We’ll see Mr. Wolfe,” the woman said.
Heath looked right and then left, as if hoping there might be someone else around to see, and then nodded at her.
“That’s sensible,” I told them. “You lead the way, Saul. Eighty-sixth-Street entrance.”
VIII
WE LEFT the collie in Herb’s taxi, parked at the curb in front of Wolfe’s place. There has never been a dog in that house, and I saw no point in breaking the precedent for one who was on such strained terms with me. Herb, on advice, closed the glass panels.
I went ahead up the stoop to open the door and let them in, put them in the front room with Saul, and went through to the office.
“Okay,” I told Wolfe, “it’s your turn. They’re here.”
Behind his desk, he closed the book he had been reading and put it down. He asked, “Mrs. Rackell?”
“Yes. They were there on a bench, with dog, and Saul was behind a bush and could hear, but I don’t know what. I gave them their choice of the law or you, and they preferred you. She probably thinks she can buy out. You want Saul first?”
“No. Bring them in.”
“But Saul can tell you—”
“I don’t need it. Or if I do—we’ll see.”
“You want him in too?”
“Yes.”
I went and opened the connecting door and invited them, and they entered. As Mrs. Rackell crossed to the red leather chair and sat her lips were so tight there were none. Heath’s face had no expression at all, but it must be hard to display feeling with that kind of round pudgy frontispiece even if you try. Saul took a chair against the far wall, but Wolfe told him to move up, and he transferred to one at the end of my desk.
Mrs. Rackell grabbed the ball. She said it was absolutely contemptible, spying on her and threatening her with the police. It was infamous and treacherous. She wouldn’t tolerate it.
Wolfe let her get it out and then said dryly, “You astonish me, madam.” He shook his head. “You chatter about proprieties when you are under the menace of a mortal peril. Don’t you realize what I’ve done? Don’t you know where we stand?”
“You’re chattering yourself,” Heath said harshly. “We were brought here under a threat. By what right?”
“I’ll tell you.” Wolfe leaned back. “This is no pleasure for me, so I’ll hurry it—my part of it. But you need to know exactly what the situation is, for you have a vital decision to make. First let me introduce Mr. Saul Panzer.” His eyes moved. “Saul, you followed Mr. Heath to a clandestine meeting with Mrs. Rackell?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I’ll risk an assumption. I assume that his purpose was to protest against her supplying funds to inculpate Miss Goheen, and to demand that the attempt be abandoned. You heard much of what they said?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did it impeach my assumption?”
“No, sir.”
“Did it support it?”
“Yes, sir. Plenty.”
Wolfe went to Heath. “Mr. Panzer’s quality is known, though not to you until now. I think a jury will believe him, and I’m sure the police and the FBI will. My advice, sir, is to cut the loss.”
“Loss?” Heath was trying to sneer but with that face he couldn’t make it. “I haven’t lost anything.”
“You’re about to. You can’t help it.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “Must I spell it out for you? Wednesday evening, day before yesterday, when you and six others were here, I was nonplused. I had my choice of giving up or of attempting simultaneously a dozen elaborate lines of inquiry, any one of which would have strained my resources. Neither was tolerable. Since I was helpless with what had already happened, I had to try to make something happen under my eye, and I devised a stratagem—a clumsy one, but the best I could do. I made a proposal to Mr. and Mrs. Rackell. I phrased it with care, but in effect I asked for money to bribe a witness and solve the case by chicanery.”
Wolfe’s eyes darted to Mrs. Rackell. “And you idiotically exposed yourself.”
“I did?” She was contemptuous. “How?”
“You grabbed at it. Your husband, in his innocence, was dubious, but not you. You thought that, having decided the job was beyond me, I was trying to earn a fee by knavery, and you eagerly acquiesced. Why? It was out of character and indeed preposterous. What you had said you wanted was the murderer of your nephew caught and punished, but apparently you were willing to spend a large sum of money, your own money, on a frame-up. Either that or you were excessively naive, and at least it justified speculation.”
His gaze was straight at her, and she was meeting it. He went on, “So I speculated. What if you had yourself killed your nephew? As for getting the poison, that was as feasible for you as for the others. As for opportunity, you said you had not entered your nephew’s room after Mrs. Kremp had been there and put the capsules in the pillbox, but could you prove it? There was nothing to my knowledge that excluded you. Your harassment of the FBI and the police could have been for assurance that you were safe. It was your husband who insisted on coming to me, and naturally you would have wanted to be present. As for motive, that would have to be explored, but for speculation there was material at hand, furnished by you. You were positive, with no real evidence for it, that your nephew had been killed by a Communist who had discovered that he was betraying the cause; you got that in first thing when you called here Tuesday with your husband. Might it not be true and you yourself the Communist?”
“Rot!” She snorted.
Wolfe shook his head. “Not necessarily. I deplore the current tendency to accuse people of pro-communism irresponsibly and unjustly, but anybody could be one secretly, no matter what façade he presented. There was the question, if you were in fact a Communist or a sympathizer, why did you so badger your nephew that he had to pacify you by telling the lie that he was working for the FBI? Why didn’t you confide in him your own devotion to the cause? Of course you didn’t dare. There would have been the danger that he might recant; he might have become an ex-Communist and told all he knew, as so many have done the past year or two; and to preserve your façade for your husband and friends you had to keep after him. It must have been a severe shock when you learned, or thought you did, that he was an agent of communism’s implacable enemy. It made him an imminent threat, there in
your own household.”
Wolfe came forward in his chair. “That was all speculation two days ago, but not now. Your meeting with Mr. Heath has made it a confident assumption. Why would you make a secret rendezvous with him? What could give him the right to demand that you withdraw the offer of money for Miss Devlin? Well. If you are secretly a Communist, almost certainly you have contributed substantial sums of money—to the party of course, but also to the bail fund; and Mr. Heath is the trustee of the bail fund and is inviting a term in jail rather than disclose the names of the contributors. So, madam, my stratagem worked—with, I confess, a full share of luck. Mr, Goodwin and I have been under some strain. Until a few minutes ago, when he entered and told me you two were here, I wouldn’t have wagered a nickel on it. Now it’s over, thank heaven. My assumptions are on rock. You’re cooked.”
“You’re a conceited fool,” Mrs. Rackell said flatly. For the first time I thought she was really impressive. He hadn’t made a dent in her. She was still dead sure of herself. “With your crazy assumptions,” she said. “I was resting on a park bench, and this Mr. Heath came along and spoke.” She darted a contemptuous glance at Saul. “Whatever lies that man tells about what he heard.”
Wolfe nodded. “That of course is your best position, and no doubt you’re capable of defending it against all assault, so I won’t try butting it.” He looked at Heath. “But yours is much weaker, and I don’t see how you can hold it.”
“I have withstood better men than you,” Heath declared. “Men in positions of great power. Men who head the imperialist conspiracy to dominate the world.”
“No doubt,” Wolfe conceded. “But even if you appraise them correctly, which I question, right now you have to appraise me. I head no conspiracy to dominate anything, but I’ve got you in a hole you can’t scramble out of. Must I spell it out for you? You’re a trustee of that Communist bail fund, amounting to nearly a million dollars, and at great personal risk you are determined to keep the names of the contributors secret. Court orders haven’t budged you. Obviously you prefer any alternative to disclosure of the names. But you’re going to disclcose one of them to me now: Mrs. Benjamin Rackell. And the amounts and dates of her contributions. Well?”
“No comment.”
“Pfui. I say you can’t hold it. Consider what’s going to happen. I am convinced that Mrs. Rackell murdered her nephew because she thought he was spying on Communists for the FBI, and therefore, of course, her own secret was in danger. The FBI and the police will now share that conviction. Whether it takes a day or a year, do you think there’s any chance we won’t get her? Knowing she had the poison, do you think we won’t discover where and how she got it?”
Wolfe shook his head. “No. You’ll have to ditch her. She’s too hot to hold. The police will put it to you—have you any knowledge or evidence that she has been in sympathy with the Communist cause? You say no or refuse to answer. Subsequently they get such evidence, with proof that you were aware of it; it is easily possible that, through some process which you cannot avert, they will get the whole list of contributors. And instead of a brief commitment for contempt of court you’ll get a considerable term for withholding vital evidence in a murder case. Besides, what of the cause you’re devoted to? You know the opinion of communism held by most Americans, including me. To the odium already attached to it would you add the stigma of shielding a murderer?”
Wolfe raised his brows. “Really, Mr. Heath. There are plenty of precedents to guide you. This will be by no means the first time that an act of misguided zeal by a Communist has come home to roost. In the countries they rule the jails are full—let alone the graves—of former comrades who were indiscreet. In America, where you don’t rule and I hope you never will, can you afford the luxury of shielding a murderer? No. She’s too much for you. How much has she contributed and when?”
Heath’s face was really something. If he hadn’t inherited money he could have piled it up playing poker. From looking at him no one could have got the faintest notion how to bet.
He stood up. “I’ll let you know tomorrow,” he said.
Wolfe grunted. “Oh no. I want to phone the police to come for her. They’ll want a statement from you. Archie?”
I got up and moved and was between the company and the door. Heath moved too. “I’m going,” he said, and came. When I stood pat he swerved to circle around me. It would have been a pleasure to plug him, but I refrained and merely got his shoulder, whirled him, and propelled him a little. He stumbled but stayed upright.
“This is assault,” he told Wolfe, not me. “And illegal restraint. You’ll regret this.”
“Bosh.” Wolfe suddenly blew up. “Confound it, do you think I’m going to let you walk out to call a meeting of your Politburo? Do you think I don’t know when I’ve got you hooked? You can’t possibly hang onto her. Talk sense! Can you?”
“No,” he said.
“Are you ready to disclose the facts?”
“Not to you. To the police, yes.”
Mrs. Rackell snapped at him, “Have you gone mad, you fool?”
He stared at her. I’ve heard a lot of phony cracks in that office, of all kinds and shapes, but that one by Henry Jameson Heath took the cake. Staring at her, he said calmly, “I must do my duty as a citizen, Mrs. Rackell.”
Wolfe spoke. “Archie, get Mr. Cramer.”
I stepped to my desk and dialed.
IX
SATURDAY noon, the next day, Wengert and Cramer stood there in the office, at the end of Wolfe’s desk. They were standing because, having been there nearly an hour and covered all the points, they were ready to leave. They had not admitted in so many words that Wolfe had done the American people, including them, a favor, but on the whole they had been sociable.
As they were turning to go I said, “Excuse me, one little thing.”
They looked at me. I spoke to Wengert. “I thought Mr. Wolfe might mention it, but he didn’t, and neither did you. I only bring it up to offer a constructive criticism. An FBI undercover girl, even one disguised as a Commie, shouldn’t get in the habit of hurting people’s feelings just for the hell of it. It didn’t do a particle of good for Carol Berk to call me a crummy little stooge before a witness. Of course she was sore because I found her in the closet, but even so. I think you ought to speak to her about it.”
Wengert was frowning at me. “Carol Berk? What kind of a gag is this?”
“Oh, come off it.” I was disgusted. “How thick could I get? It was so obvious Mr. Wolfe didn’t even bother to comment on it. Who else could have told you about my talk with Delia Devlin? She trusted Miss Berk enough to let her hide in the closet, so of course she told her about it. Do you want to debate it with me on TV?”
“No. Nor with anybody else. You talk too damn much.”
“Only with the right people. Say please, and I’ll promise not to tell. I just wanted to make a helpful suggestion. I may be crummy and I may be a stooge, but I’m not little.”
Cramer snorted. “If you ask me there’s too much of you. About a hundred and eighty pounds too much. Come on, Wengert, I’m late.”
They went. I supposed that was the last of that, but a couple of days later, Monday afternoon, while Wolfe was dictating a letter, the phone rang and a voice said it was Carol Berk. I said hello, showing no enthusiasm, and asked her, “How are your manners?”
“Rotten when required,” she said cheerfully. “Privately like this, from a phone booth, I can be charming. I thought it was only fair for me to apologize for calling you little.”
“Okay, go ahead.”
“I thought you might prefer it face to face. I’m willing to take the trouble if you insist.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I had an idea last week, Wednesday I think it was, that I ought to find time some day to tell you why I don’t like you. We could meet and clean it up. I’ll tell you why I don’t like you, and you’ll apologize. The Churchill bar at four-thirty? Can you be seen with me in public?”
> “Certainly, I’m supposed to be seen in public.”
“Fine. I’ll have a hammer and sickle in my buttonhole.”
As I hung up and swiveled I told Wolfe, “That was Carol Berk. I’m going to buy her a drink and possibly food. Since she was connected with the case we’ve just finished, of course I’ll put it on the expense account.”
“You will not,” he asserted and resumed the dictation.
THE COP-KILLER
I
THERE were several reasons why I had no complaints as I walked along West Thirty-fifth Street that morning, approaching the stoop of Nero Wolfe’s old brownstone house. The day was sunny and sparkling, my new shoes felt fine after the two-mile walk, a complicated infringement case had been polished off for a big client, and I had just deposited a check in five figures to Wolfe’s account in the bank.
Five paces short of the stoop I became aware that two people, a man and a woman, were standing on the sidewalk across the street, staring either at the stoop or at me, or maybe both. That lifted me a notch higher, with the thought that while two rubbernecks might not put us in a class with the White House still it was nothing to sneeze at, until a second glance made me realize that I had seen them before. But where? Instead of turning up the steps I faced them, just as they stepped off the curb and started to me.
“Mr. Goodwin,” the woman said in a sort of gasping whisper that barely reached me.
She was fair-skinned and blue-eyed, young enough, kind of nice-looking and neat in a dark blue assembly-line coat. He was as dark as she was fair, not much bigger than her, with his nose slanting slightly to the left and a full wide mouth. My delay in recognizing him was because I had never seen him with a hat on before. He was the hat-and-coat-and-tie custodian at the barber shop I went to.
“Oh, it’s you, Carl—”
“Can we go in with you?” the woman asked in the same gasping whisper, and then I knew her too. She was also from the barber shop, a manicure. I had never hired her, since I do my own nails, but had seen her around and had heard her called Tina.
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