Trio for Blunt Instruments

by Rex Stout

  “Affable exchanges even with a bootblack are not unheard of. Did you speak much with him?”

  “No. Hardly any.”

  “Describe the customary routine. He would appear in the anteroom where you were stationed, and then?”

  “He would ask me if it was all right to go in. He always went to Mr. Mercer’s room first. If someone was in with Mr. Mercer, it depended on who it was. Sometimes he wouldn’t want to be disturbed, and Pete would go to Mr. Busch first. Mr. Busch’s room is across the hall from Mr. Mercer’s.”

  “Are the two doors directly opposite?”

  “No. Mr. Mercer’s door comes first on the left. Mr. Busch’s door is nearly at the end of the hall on the right.”

  “After he had finished with Mr. Mercer and Mr. Busch, Mr. Vassos would go to Mr. Ashby?”

  “Yes, but that took him past the reception room and he would ask me on his way. If Mr. Ashby had an important customer with him he wouldn’t want Pete butting in.”

  “Are there any others in that office whom Mr. Vassos served?”

  “No.”

  “Never?”

  “No.”

  “Was the routine followed on Monday morning?”

  “Yes, as far as I know. When Pete came there was no one in with Mr. Mercer and he went on in. Then later he came and put his head around the corner and I nodded, and he went on to Mr. Ashby’s room.”

  “How much later?”

  “I never timed it. About fifteen minutes.”

  “Did you see him enter at Mr. Ashby’s door?”

  “No, it’s down the other hall. Anyway, I couldn’t see him enter any of the doors because my desk is in a corner of the reception room.”

  “What time was it when he put his head around the corner and you nodded him on to Mr. Ashby’s room?”

  “It was ten minutes to eleven, or maybe eight or nine minutes. The police wanted to know exactly, but that’s as close as I could come.”

  “How close could you come to the truth about Mr. Ashby and Miss Vassos?”

  It took her off balance, but only for two seconds, and she kept her eyes at him. She raised her voice a little. “You think that’s clever, don’t you?”

  “No. I’m not clever, Miss Cox. I’m either more or less than clever. What did you tell the police about Mr. Ashby and Miss Vassos?”

  “I say what Mr. Horan said. Ask them.”

  “What did you tell them about Mr. Ashby and yourself? Did you tell them that you and he were intimate? Did you tell them that Mrs. Ashby once asked an officer of the corporation to discharge you because you were a bad influence on her husband?”

  She was smiling, a corner of her mouth turned up. “That sounds like Andy Busch,” she said. “You don’t care who you listen to, do you, Mr. Wolfe? Maybe you’re less than clever.”

  “But I’m persistent, madam. The police let up on you because they thought their problem was solved; I don’t, and I won’t. I shall harass you, if necessary, beyond the limit of endurance. You can make it easier for both of us by telling me now of your personal relations with Mr. Ashby. Will you?”

  “There’s nothing to tell.”

  “There will be.” Wolfe left her. He swiveled to face John Mercer in the red leather chair. “Now, sir. I applaud your forbearance. You must have been tempted a dozen times to interrupt and you didn’t. Commendable. As I told you, the only way to stop me would be to satisfy me that I’m mistaken, and Mr. Horan and Miss Cox have made no progress. I invite you to try. Instead of firing questions at you-you know what they would be-I’ll listen. Go ahead.”

  When Mercer had finished his study of the corner of Wolfe’s desk he had turned his attention not to Wolfe, but to his salesman and receptionist. He had kept his eyes at Horan while Wolfe was questioning him, and then at Miss Cox, and, since I had him full-face past the profiles of the other two, I didn’t have to be more than clever to tell that his immediate worry wasn’t how to satisfy Wolfe but how to satisfy himself. And from his eyes when he moved them to Wolfe, he still wasn’t sure. He spoke.

  “I want to state that I shouldn’t have said that my attorney thinks this is a blackmailing trick and I agree with him. I want to retract that. I admit it’s possible that Miss Vassos has persuaded you-that you believe she has been slandered and you’re acting in good faith.”

  Wolfe said, “Ummf.”

  Mercer screwed his lips. He still wasn’t sure. He unscrewed them. “Of course,” he said, “if it’s just a trick, nothing will satisfy you. But if it isn’t, then the truth ought to. I’m going to disregard my attorney’s advice and tell you exactly what happened. It seems to me-”

  Two voices interrupted him. Horan said, “No!” emphatically, and Miss Cox said, “Don’t, Mr. Mercer!”

  He ignored them. “It seems to me that’s the best thing to do to stop this-this publicity. I told the police about Miss Vassos’-uh-her association with Mr. Ashby, and Mr. Horan and Miss Cox corroborated it. All three of us told them. It wasn’t slander. You may be right that we weren’t legally compelled to tell them, but they were investigating a murder, and we regarded it as our duty to answer their questions. According to my attorney, if you go on with it and the case gets to court, it will be dismissed.”

  Wolfe’s palms were flat on his desk. “Let’s make it explicit. You told the police that Miss Vassos had been seduced by Mr. Ashby?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you know that? I assume that you hadn’t actually witnessed the performance.”

  “Spontaneously? Voluntarily?”

  “No. I asked him. There had been complaints about his conduct with some of the employees, and I had been told specifically about Miss Vassos.”

  “Told by whom?”

  “Mr. Horan and Miss Cox.”

  “Who had told them?”

  “Ashby himself had told Miss Cox. Horan wouldn’t say where he had got his information.”

  “And you went to Ashby and he admitted it?”

  “Yes.”

  “When?”

  “Last week. Wednesday. A week ago yesterday.”

  Wolfe closed his eyes and took in air, through his nose, all the way down, and let it out through his mouth. He had got more than he had bargained for. No wonder the cops and the DA had bought it. He took on another load of air, held it a second, let it go, and opened his eyes. “Do you confirm that, Miss Cox? That Ashby himself told you he had seduced Miss Vassos?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who told you, Mr. Horan?”

  Horan shook his head. “Nothing doing. I didn’t tell the police and I won’t tell you. I’m not going to drag anyone else into this mess.”

  “Then you didn’t regard it as your duty to answer all their questions.”

  “No.”

  Wolfe looked at Mercer. “I must consult with Miss Vassos and her attorney. I shall advise her either to withdraw her action, or to pursue it and also to prefer a criminal change against you three, conspiracy to defame her character-whatever the legal phrase may be. At the moment I don’t know which I shall advise.” He pushed back his chair and arose. “You will be informed, probably by her attorney through yours. Meanwhile-”

  “But I’ve told you the truth!”

  “I don’t deny the possibility. Meanwhile, I am not clear about the plan of your premises, and I need to be. I want Mr. Goodwin to inspect them. I wish to discuss the situation with him first, and it is near the dinner hour. He’ll go after dinner, say at nine o’clock. I presume the door will be locked, so you will please arrange for someone to be there to let him in.”

  “Why? What good will that do? You said yourself that anyone could have got into Ashby’s room by the other door.”

  “It’s necessary if I am to be satisfied. I need to understand clearly all the observable movements of people-particularly of Mr. Vassos. Say nine o’clock?”

  Mercer didn’t like it, but he wouldn’t have liked anything short of an assurance that the heat was off or soon would be. The others d
idn’t like it either, so they had to lump it. It was agreed that one of them would meet me in the lobby of the Eighth Avenue building at nine o’clock. They left together, Miss Cox with her chin up, Mercer with his down, and Horan with his long bony face even longer. When I returned to the office after letting them out, Wolfe was still standing, scowling at the red leather chair as if Mercer were still in it.

  I said emphatically, “Nuts. Mercer and Miss Cox are both quoting a dead man, and Horan’s quoting anonymous. They’re all double-breasted liars. I now call her Elma. If she passes Busch up I’ll probably put in a bid myself after I find out if she can dance.”

  Wolfe grunted. “Innocence has no contract with bliss. Confound it, of course she’s innocent, that’s the devil of it. If she had misbehaved as charged, and as a result her father had killed that man and then himself, she wouldn’t have dared to come to me unless she’s a lunatic. There is always that possibility. Is she deranged?”

  “No. She’s a fine sweet pure fairly bright girl with a special face and good legs.”

  “Where is she?”

  “In her room.”

  “I’m not in a mood to sit at table with her. Tell Fritz to take up a tray.”

  “I’ll take it up myself, and one for me. She’ll want to know how you made out with them. After all, we’ve got her dollar.”

  8

  EVERY TRADE HAS ITS TRICKS. If he’s any good a detective gets habits as he goes along that become automatic, one of them being to keep his eyes peeled. As I turned the corner of Eighth Avenue at 8:56 that Thursday evening I wasn’t conscious of the fact that I was casing the neighborhood; as I say, it gets automatic; but when my eye told me that there was something familiar about a woman standing at the curb across the avenue I took notice and looked. Right; it was Frances Cox in her gray wool coat and gray fur stole, and she had seen me. As I stopped in front of the building I was bound for she beckoned, and I crossed over to her. As I got there she spoke.

  “There’s a light in Ashby’s room.”

  I rubbernecked and saw the two lit windows on the tenth floor. “The cleaners,” I said.

  “No. They start at the top and they’re through on that floor by seven-thirty.”

  “Inspector Cramer. He’s short a clue. Have you got a key?”

  “Of course. I came to let you in. Mr. Mercer and Mr. Horan are busy.”

  “With the lawyer?”

  “Ask them.”

  “The trouble with you is you blab. Okay, let’s go up and help Cramer.”

  We crossed the avenue and entered. It was an old building and the lobby looked it, and so did the night man sprawled in a chair, yawning. He gave Miss Cox a nod as we entered the elevator, and on the way up she asked the operator if he had taken anyone to the tenth floor and he said no. When we got out she pointed to a door across the hall to the left and said, “That’s Ashby’s room.”

  There were two doors in range across the hall, the one she had pointed to, six paces to the left, and one six paces to the right with the number 1018 and below it MERCER’S BOBBINS, INC., and below that ENTRANCE. I asked if that was the reception room, and she said yes.

  “This takes generalship,” I said. “If we both go through the reception room and around, he hears us and ducks out this way. This door can be opened from the inside?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I’ll stick here. Maybe you’d better get the elevator man to go in and around with you. He might get tough.”

  “I can take care of myself. But I’m not taking orders from you.”

  “Okay, I’ll get the elevator man.”

  “No.” Her chin was stiff again-too bad, for it was a nice chin. She moved. As she headed for the door to the right I told her back, not loud, “Don’t try to stalk him. Let your heels tap.”

  As I went to the door on the left and put my back to the wall, near its edge that would open, I was regretting that I had disregarded one of my personal rules, made some years back when I had spent a month in a hospital, that I would never go on an errand connected with a murder case without having a gun along. When you’re just standing and listening, your mind skips around. For instance, what if Ashby had been in with a narcotics ring, and he kept bobbins full of heroin in the files in his room, and one or more of his colleagues had come Monday and bumped him, and they had come back to look for bobbins, and they now emerged with hardware? Or, for instance, what if a competitor, knowing that Ashby was responsible for Mercer’s Bobbins taking over his customers, had got desperate and decided to put an end-

  The door opened, and the opener, not seeing me, was coming out backward, pulling the door shut, easy. I put my hand in the small of his back and pushed him back in, not too easy, and followed him. He stumbled but managed to recover without going down. Frances Cox’s voice came. “Oh, it’s you!”

  I spoke. “This is getting monotonous, Mr. Busch. A door opens, and there you are. Are you surprising me, or am I surprising you?”

  “You dirty double-crosser,” Andrew Busch said. “I can’t handle you, I know that, I found that out. I wish to God I could, and Nero Wolfe too. You lousy rat.” He started for the door, not the one to the outer hall, the one where Miss Cox was standing.

  “Wrong number,” I said. “I didn’t know who I was shoving. We don’t owe you anything; we’re working for Elma Vassos.” He had turned and I had approached. “As for my being with Miss Cox, I wanted to have a look around and someone had to let me in. That’s why I’m here. As I asked you once before, why are you here?”

  “Go to hell. I think you’re a damn liar and a rat.”

  “You’re wrong, but I can’t right you now. Of course you were looking for something, and if you found it I want to know what it is. I’m going over you. As you say, you can’t handle me, but that’s no disgrace. I’m bigger and stronger, and you’re an office manager and I’m a pro. Stand still, please.” I moved behind him.

  I frisked him. Since he hadn’t been expecting visitors it wasn’t necessary to have him take off his shoes, but I made sure that he had no paper or other object on him that he might have found in that room. He didn’t. Miss Cox had moved away from the door and stood and watched, saying nothing. Busch stood stiff, stiff as stone. When I stepped back and said, “Okay, I guess you hadn’t found it,” he walked to the door, the inner one, and on out, without a word.

  I looked around. Everything seemed to be in order; not even a drawer or a file was standing open. It was an ordinary executive office, nothing special, except that most of one wall was lined with filing cabinets. There was no hunk of polished petrified wood on the desk; it was probably still at the police laboratory. I went to the door Busch had left by, crossed the sill, turned right, stepped nine paces to a door on the right, turned through it, and was in the reception room. Miss Cox was at my heels. Facing me was the door to the outer hall with MERCER’S BOBBINS, INC. on it. To the right of it were chairs. The wall on the left was lined with shelves displaying Mercer’s Bobbins products. Near the corner at the right were a desk and a switchboard. On the chair nearest the door was Andrew Busch, sitting straight and stiff, his palms on his knees.

  “I’m an officer of this corporation,” he said. “I belong here. You don’t.”

  I couldn’t dispute that, so I ignored it and turned to Miss Cox. “That’s your desk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Where are Mercer’s and Busch’s rooms?”

  She showed me, and I went for a look. It was like this: When you entered the reception room from the outer hall the desk and switchboard were near the far left corner, and at the far right corner was the door into the inner hall. Passing through that door, if you turned left you went down a short stretch of hall with only one door in it, Ashby’s, on the left; if you went straight ahead you were in a longer hall with a window at the end, and you came to Mercer’s door first, on the left, and then Busch’s door farther on, on the right. So, as Miss Cox had said, she could see none of the doors from her desk. Another habit a de
tective forms is looking in drawers and cupboards and closets, on the principle that you sometimes find things you’re not even looking for, and I would have pottered around a little in Mercer’s and Busch’s rooms, and Ashby’s too, if Miss Cox hadn’t been tagging along. I made a rough plan of the layout on a sheet of paper she furnished on request, folded it and put it in my pocket, and went to the chair where I had put my hat and coat.

  “Just a minute,” Andrew Busch said. He stood up. “Now I’m going to search you.”

  “I’ll be damned. You are?”

  “I am. If you’re taking something I want to know what it is.”

  “Good for you.” I dropped my coat on the chair. “I’ll make a deal. Tell me what you were after in Ashby’s room and I’ll let you finger me if you don’t tickle.”

  “I don’t know. I was going through his files. I thought I might find something that would give me an idea who killed him. I’m for Elma Vassos, and I think you’re lying when you say you are. You came here with her.” He aimed a finger at Frances Cox. “She’s a liar too. She lied to the police.”

  “Can you prove it?”

  “No. But I know her.”

  “Watch it. She’ll sue you for slander. Did you find anything helpful in Ashby’s files?”

  “No.”

  “Since you’re an officer of the corporation, why did you scoot to the hall when you heard footsteps?”

  “Because I thought it was her. I was coming back in this way and see what she was up to.”

  “Okay. You’re wrong about Nero Wolfe and me, but time will tell. Frisking me will be easier with my hands up.” I put them up. “If you tickle, the deal’s off.”

  He wasn’t as clumsy as you would expect, and he didn’t miss a pocket. He even flipped through my notebook. With some practice he would have made a good dipper. When he was through he said all right and returned to his chair and I put on my coat and went to the door; and there was Miss Cox with her coat and stole on. Evidently she was seeing me out of the building. Not a word had passed between her and Busch since she had said, “Oh, it’s you,” and no more than necessary between her and me. I opened the door and followed her through, and at the elevator she pressed the button, touched my sleeve with fingertips, and said, “I’m thirsty,” in a voice I hadn’t thought she had in her. It was unquestionably a come-on.