“Cut it out.” Cramer was up and had him by the arm on the other side. “Cut out the yelling! What do you want Dexter for?”
“Then get him in here. If you want me to stop yelling, get him in here.” Kates’s voice was trembling. “I told him something like this would happen! I told Phoebe to have nothing to do with Nero Wolfe! I told her not to come here tonight! I—”
Cramer pounced. “When did you tell her not to come here tonight? When?”
Kates didn’t answer. He realized his arm was being gripped, looked down at Cramer’s hand gripping it, and said, “Let go of me. Let go!” Cramer did so. Kates walked across to a chair against the wall, sat on it, and clamped his jaw. He was breaking off relations.
I said to Cramer, “If you want it, I was there when Rowcliffe was questioning him. He said he was at his friend’s apartment on Eleventh Street, where he’s staying, and Miss Gunther phoned to say she had just been told to come here and wanted to know if he had been told too, and he said yes but he wasn’t coming and he tried to persuade her not to come, and when she said she was going to he decided to come too. I know you’re busy, but if you don’t read reports you throw wild punches.”
I turned to include them all. “And if you want my opinion, with no fee, that’s not Miss Gunther’s scarf because it’s not her style. She wouldn’t have worn that thing. And it doesn’t belong to Kates. Look at him. Gray suit, gray topcoat. Also a gray hat. I’ve never seen him in anything but gray, and if he was still speaking to us you could ask him.”
Cramer strode to the door which connected with the front room, opened it a crack, and commanded, “Stebbins! Come in here.”
Purley came at once. Cramer told him, “Take Kates to the dining room. Bring the others in here one at a time, and as we finish with them take them to the dining room.”
Purley went with Kates, who didn’t seem reluctant to go. In a moment another dick entered with Mrs. Boone. She wasn’t invited to sit down. Cramer met her in the middle of the room, displayed the scarf, told her to take a good look at it but not to touch it, and then asked if she had ever seen it before. She said she hadn’t, and that was all. She was led out and Frank Thomas Erskine was led in, and the performance was repeated. There were four more negatives, and then it was Winterhoff’s turn.
With Winterhoff, Cramer didn’t have to finish his speech. He showed the scarf and started, “Mr. Winterhoff, please look—”
“Where did you get that?” Winterhoff demanded, reaching for it. “That’s my scarf!”
“Oh.” Cramer backed up a step with it. “That’s what we’ve been trying to find out. Did you wear it here tonight, or have it in your pocket?”
“Neither one. I didn’t have it. That’s the one that was stolen from me last week.”
“Where and when last week?”
“Right here. When I was here Friday evening.”
“Here at Wolfe’s house?”
“Yes.”
“You wore it here?”
“Yes.”
“When you found it was gone, who helped you look for it? Who did you complain to?”
“I didn’t—what’s this all about? Who had it? Where did you get it?”
“I’ll explain in a minute. I’m asking now, who did you complain to?”
“I didn’t complain to anybody. I didn’t notice it was gone until I got home. If—”
“You mentioned it to no one at all?”
“I didn’t mention it here. I didn’t know it was gone. I must have mentioned it to my wife—of course I did, I remember. But I have—”
“Did you phone here the next day to ask about it?”
“No, I didn’t!” Winterhoff had been forcing himself to submit to the pressure. Now he was through. “Why would I? I’ve got two dozen scarves! And I insist that—”
“Okay, insist.” Cramer was calm but bitter. “Since it’s your scarf and you’ve been questioned about it, it is proper to tell you that there is evidence, good evidence, that it was wrapped around the pipe that Miss Gunther was killed with. Have you any comment?”
Winterhoff’s face was moist with sweat, but it had already been that way up in my room when they were examining his hands. It was interesting that the sweat didn’t seem to make him look any less distinguished, but it did detract some when he goggled, as he now did at Cramer. It occurred to me that his best friend ought to warn him not to goggle.
He finally spoke. “What’s the evidence?”
“Particles from the pipe found on the scarf. Many of them, at one spot.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In an overcoat pocket.”
“Whose coat?”
Cramer shook his head. “You’re not entitled to that. I’d like to ask you not to do any broadcasting on this, but of course you will.” He turned to the dick. “Take him to the dining room and tell Stebbins not to bring any more in.”
Winterhoff had things to say, but he was shooed out. When the door was closed behind him and the dick, Cramer sat down and put his palms on his knees, pulled in a deep breath, and expelled it noisily.
“Jee-zuss—Christ,” he remarked.
Chapter 23
There was a long silence. I looked at the wall clock. It said two minutes to four. I looked at my wrist watch. It said one minute to four. In spite of the discrepancy it seemed safe to conclude that it would soon be four o’clock. From beyond the closed doors to the front room and the hall came faint suggestions of little noises, just enough to keep reminding us that silence wouldn’t do. Every little noise seemed to be saying, come on, it’s getting late, work it out. The atmosphere there in the office struck me as both discouraged and discouraging. Some buoyancy and backbone were needed.
“Well,” I said brightly, “we’ve taken a big step forward. We have eliminated Winterhoff’s darting and dashing man. I am prepared to go on the stand and swear that he didn’t dash into the hall.”
That got a rise out of nobody, which showed the pathetic condition they were in. All that happened was that the D.A. looked at me as if I reminded him of someone who hadn’t voted for him.
The P.C. spoke. “Winterhoff is a damned liar. He didn’t see a man running away from that stoop. He made that up.”
“For God’s sake,” the D.A. burst out ferociously, “we’re not after a liar! We’re after a murderer!”
“I would like,” Wolfe muttered sulkily, “to go to bed. It’s four o’clock and you’re stuck.”
“Oh, we are.” Cramer glowered at him. “We’re stuck. The way you put it, I suppose you’re not stuck?”
“Me? No, Mr. Cramer. No indeed. But I’m tired and sleepy.”
That might have led to violence if there hadn’t been an interruption. There was a knock on the door and a dick entered, approached Cramer, and reported:
“We’ve got two more taxi drivers, the two that brought Mrs. Boone and O’Neill. I thought you might want to see them, Inspector. One is named—”
He stopped on account of Cramer’s aspect. “This,” Cramer said, “will make you a Deputy Chief Inspector. Easy.” He pointed to the door. “Out that way and find someone to tell it to.” The dick, looked frustrated, turned and went. Cramer said to anyone who cared to listen, “My God. Taxi drivers!”
The P.C. said, “We’ll have to let them go.”
“Yes, sir,” Cramer agreed. “I know we will. Get ’em in here, Archie.”
So that was the state of mind the Inspector was in. As I proceeded to obey his command I tried to remember another occasion on which he had called me Archie, and couldn’t, in all the years I had known him. Of course after he had got some sleep and had a shower he would feel differently about it, but I put it away for some fitting moment in the future to remind him that he had called me Archie. Meanwhile Purley and I, with plenty of assistance, herded everybody from the front room and dining room into the office.
The strategy council had left their chairs and collected at the far end of Wolfe’s desk, standing. The g
uests took seats. The city employees, over a dozen of them, scattered around the room and stood looking as alert and intelligent as the facts of the case would permit, under the eye of the big boss, the P.C. himself.
Cramer, on his feet confronting them, spoke:
“We’re letting you people go home. But before you go, this is the situation. The microscopic examination of your hands didn’t show anything. But the microscope got results. On a scarf that was in a pocket of one of your overcoats, hanging in the hall, particles from the pipe were found. The scarf was unquestionably used by the murderer to keep his hand from contact with the pipe. Therefore—”
“Whose coat was it in?” Breslow blurted.
Cramer shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you whose coat it was or who the scarf belongs to, and I think it would be better if the owners didn’t tell, because it would be sure to get to the papers, and you know what the papers—”
“No, you don’t,” Alger Kates piped up. “That would suit your plans, you and Nero Wolfe and the NIA, but you’re not going to put any gag on me! It was my coat! And I’ve never seen the scarf before! This is the most—”
“That’s enough, Kates,” Solomon Dexter rumbled at him.
“Okay.” Cramer did not sound displeased. “So it was found in Mr. Kates’s coat, and he says he never saw the scarf before. That—”
“The scarf,” Winterhoff interposed, his voice heavier and flatter than ever, “belongs to me. It was stolen from my overcoat in this house last Friday night. I haven’t seen it since, until you showed it to me here. Since you have permitted Kates to make insinuations about the plans of the NIA—”
“No,” Cramer said curtly, “that’s out. I’m not interested in insinuations. If you people want to carry on your quarrel you can hire a hall. What I want to say is this, that some hours ago I said that one of you killed Miss Gunther, and Mr. Erskine objected. Now there’s no room for objection. Now there’s no doubt about it. We could take you all down and book you as material witnesses. But being who you are, within a few hours you’d all be out on bail. So we’re letting you go home, including the one who committed a murder here tonight, because we don’t know which one it is. We intend to find out. Meanwhile you may be expected to be called on or sent for any time, day or night. You are not to leave the city, even for an hour, without permission. Your movements may or may not be kept under observation. That’s up to us, and no protests about it will get you anywhere.”
Cramer scanned the faces. “Police cars will take you home. You can go now, but one last word. This isn’t going to let up. It’s bad for all of you, and it will go on being bad until the murderer is caught. So if any of you knows anything that will help, the worst mistake you can make is not to let us have it. Stay now and tell us. The Police Commissioner and the District Attorney and I are right here and you can talk with any of us.”
His invitation wasn’t accepted, at least not on the terms as stated. The Erskine family lingered to exchange words with the D.A., Winterhoff had a point to make with the P.C., Mrs. Boone got Travis of the FBI, whom she apparently knew, to one side, Breslow had something to say to Wolfe, and Dexter confronted Cramer with questions. But before long they had all departed, and it didn’t appear that anything useful had been contributed to the cause.
Wolfe braced his palms against the rim of his desk, pushed his chair back, and got to his feet.
Cramer, on the contrary, sat down. “Go to bed if you want to,” he said grimly, “but I’m having a talk with Goodwin.” Already it was Goodwin again. “I want to know who besides Kates had a chance to put that scarf in his coat.”
“Nonsense.” Wolfe was peevish. “With an ordinary person that might be necessary, but Mr. Goodwin is trained, competent, reliable, and moderately intelligent. If he could help on that he would have told us so. Merely ask him a question. I’ll ask him myself.—Archie. Is your suspicion directed at anyone putting the scarf in the coat, or can you eliminate anyone as totally without opportunity?”
“No sir twice,” I told him. “I’ve thought about it and gone over all of them. I was moving in and out between bell rings, and so were most of them. The trouble is the door to the front room was standing open, and so was the door from the front room to the hall.”
Cramer grunted. “I’d give two bits to know how you would have answered that question if you had been alone with Wolfe, and how you will answer it.”
“If that’s how you feel about it,” I said, “you might as well skip it. My resistance to torture is strongest at dawn, which it is now, and how are you going to drag the truth out of me?”
“I could use a nap,” G. G. Spero said, and he got the votes.
But what with packing the scarf in a box as if it had been a museum piece, which incidentally it now is, and collecting papers and miscellaneous items, it was practically five o’clock before they were finally out.
The house was ours again. Wolfe started for the elevator. I still had to make the rounds to see what was missing and to make sure there were no public servants sleeping under the furniture. I called to Wolfe:
“Instructions for the morning, sir?”
“Yes!” he called back. “Let me alone!”
Chapter 24
From there on I had a feeling that I was out of it. As it turned out, the feeling was not entirely justified, but anyhow I had it.
What Wolfe tells me, and what he doesn’t tell me, never depends, as far as I can make out, on the relevant circumstances. It depends on what he had to eat at the last meal, what he is going to have to eat at the next meal, the kind of shirt and tie I am wearing, how well my shoes are shined, and so forth. He does not like purple. Once Lily Rowan gave me a dozen Sulka shirts, with stripes of assorted colors and shades. I happened to put on the purple one the day we started on the Chesterton-Best case, the guy that burgled his own house and shot a week-end guest in the belly. Wolfe took one look at the shirt and clammed up on me. Just for spite I wore the shirt a week, and I never did know what was going on, or who was which, until Wolfe had it all wrapped up, and even then I had to get most of the details from the newspapers and Dora Chesterton, with whom I had struck up an acquaintance. Dora had a way of—no, I’ll save that for my autobiography.
The feeling that I was out of it had foundation in fact. Tuesday morning Wolfe breakfasted at the usual hour—my deduction from this evidence, that Fritz took up his tray, loaded, at eight o’clock, and brought it down empty at ten minutes to nine. On it was a note instructing me to tell Saul Panzer and Bill Gore, when they phoned in, to report at the office at eleven o’clock, and furthermore to arrange for Del Bascom, head of the Bascom Detective Agency, also to be present. They were all there waiting for him when he came down from the plant rooms, and he chased me out. I was sent to the roof to help Theodore cross-pollinate. When I went back down at lunch time Wolfe told me that envelopes from Bascom were to reach him unopened.
“Hah,” I said. “Reports? Big operations?”
“Yes.” He grimaced. “Twenty men. One of them may be worth his salt.”
There went another five hundred bucks a day up the flue. At that rate the NIA retainer wouldn’t last long.
“Do you want me to move to a hotel?” I inquired. “So I won’t hear anything unfit for my ears?”
He didn’t bother to answer. He never let himself get upset just before a meal if he could help it.
I could not, of course, be really blackballed, no matter what whim had struck him. For one thing, I had been among those present, and was therefore in demand. Friends on papers, especially Lon Cohen of the Gazette, thought I ought to tell them exactly who would be arrested and when and where. And Tuesday afternoon Inspector Cramer decided there was work to be done on me and invited me to Twentieth Street. He and three others did the honors. What was eating him was logic. To this effect: The NIA was Wolfe’s client. Therefore, if I had seen any NIA person lingering unnecessarily in the neighborhood of Kates’s overcoat as it hung in the hall, I would h
ave reported it to Wolfe but not to anyone else. So far so good. Perfectly sound. But then Cramer went on to assume that with two hours of questions, backtracking, leapfrogging, and ambushing, he and his bunch could squeeze it out of me, which was droll. Add to that, that there was nothing in me to squeeze, and it became quaint. Anyhow, they tried hard.
It appeared that Wolfe too thought I might still have uses. When he came down to the office at six o’clock he got into his chair, rang for beer, sat for a quarter of an hour and then said:
“Archie.”
It caught me in the middle of a yawn. After that was attended to I said:
“Yeah.”
He was frowning at me. “You’ve been with me a long time now.”
“Yeah. How shall we do it? Shall I resign, or shall you fire me, or shall we just call it off by mutual consent?”
He skipped that. “I have noted, perhaps in more detail than you think, your talents and capacities. You are an excellent observer, not in any respect an utter fool, completely intrepid, and too conceited to be seduced into perfidy.”
“Good for me. I could use a raise. The cost of living has incr–”
“You eat and sleep here, and because you are young and vain you spend too much for your clothes.” He gestured with a finger. “We can discuss that some other time. What I have in mind is a quality in you which I don’t at all understand but which I know you have. Its frequent result is a willingness on the part of young women to spend time in your company.”
“It’s the perfume I use. From Brooks Brothers. They call it Stag at Eve.” I regarded him suspiciously. “You’re leading up to something. You’ve done the leading up. What’s the something?”
“Find out how willing you can make Miss Boone, as quickly as possible.”
I stared. “You know,” I said reproachfully, “I didn’t know that kind of a thought ever got within a million miles of you. Make Miss Boone? If you can think it you can do it. Make her yourself.”
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