Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

by Rex Stout

  “You anticipate me,” Wolfe said. “Mr. Cather is not a blackmailer.”

  Ballou stared. “You actually – after what I…” He rose and picked up the package. “By God, you are committed.”

  “I am indeed. I can name the blackmailer. Sit down.”

  “I have already named him.”

  “No. You know only his noms de guerre, Robert Service Kipling and Milton Thales. His real name is Barry Fleming. The husband of Miss Kerr’s sister.”

  “That’s absurd. You didn’t even know I had been blackmailed until an hour ago.”

  Wolfe would have had to slant his head back to focus on his face, and he doesn’t like to, so he wasn’t focusing at all. “For a man of affairs,” he said, “you’re remarkably obtuse. You’re in a pickle, and I am your only hope. You must have help, and you can’t go to a lawyer, or to anyone, without disclosing your connection with Miss Kerr and a murder. But you talk and act as if you were in control. You spring to your feet and grab that package of money. Pfui. You probably have no further information for me. Either sit down and listen, or go.”

  You have to hand it to the president of the Federal Holding Corporation. He had pride and he had grit. If he had put the package back on Wolfe’s desk he would have been buckling under, so he didn’t. He put it on the little stand by the red leather chair, and there it was at his elbow when he sat, under his control.

  “I’m listening,” he said.

  “That’s better,” Wolfe said. “First, Mr. Cather. Knowledge of a man cannot alone exclude him as a murderer, but it can as a blackmailer. Murder can be merely a spasm, but not blackmail. Four of us who have known Mr. Cather well for years – the two men I sent for, and Mr. Goodwin and I – agree that it can’t possibly be Mr. Cather who blackmailed you. Now, the blackmailer. That name, Milton Thales – pronouncing it as you did and as almost any American would. But if I pronounce it Tha-lez does it stir your memory?”

  “Should it?”

  “Yes.”

  He was frowning. “Tha-lez – why, yes. An early Greek… eclipse of the sun… geometry…”

  Wolfe nodded. “That’s enough. A renowned name in the history of mathematics. Tha-lez of Miletus. Milton Thales. Barry Fleming, Miss Kerr’s brother-in-law, teaches mathematics at a high school. Miss Kerr told her sister your name, and she told her husband. So I have named the blackmailer.”

  “Tha-lez,” Ballou said. “Thales. Miletus. Milton. By God, I believe you have. And Isabel – Miss Kerr told me she had told my name to no one. She lied. I wonder how many more.”

  “Probably none. Those two were special to her. I think we may assume that only five people know of your connection with Miss Kerr: Mr. Cather, Mr. and Mrs. Fleming, Mr. Goodwin, and I. And only three know you were blackmailed, besides the blackmailer: Mr. Goodwin, you, and I. The two men upstairs, out of hearing, know of the blackmail, but not of you. I call your attention to a detail. My objective is to get Mr. Cather released and not charged with homicide. It’s likely that I could achieve it simply by telling the police about Mr. Fleming blackmailing you. At least that would divert them, but I don’t intend or desire to do it. I owe you some consideration, since I learned of the blackmailing only through you. I’m obliged to you.”

  Ballou reached a hand to tap the package. “And there’s this.”

  “Yours. I haven’t accepted it. Nor shall I, until I have concluded with finality that you did not kill that woman. A blackmailer is not ipso facto a murderer. I’m obliged to you because we have spent four futile days trying to find someone with a likely motive and have failed. The motive you suggested for Mr. Cather fits Mr. Fleming admirably. A question. How soon after the first phone call from the blackmailer did you tell Miss Kerr about it?”

  “Right away. A day or two later.”

  “Was it ever mentioned again? By you or her?”

  “Yes. She asked two or three times if it was continuing. I told her about the phone call in December. The last time she asked me was in January. Around the middle of January.”

  Wolfe nodded. “She knew it must be her brother-in-law, and she told him it must stop, and he -”

  “Better than that,” I cut in. “She was going to tell on him. Tell her sister. He might rather have called it off than kill her, but he would rather kill her than have his wife know. He may not be ipso facto a murderer, but ipso Archie Goodwin he is.”

  “Mr. Goodwin is sometimes a little precipitate,” Wolfe told Ballou. “He has seen and spoken with them – Mr. and Mrs. Fleming. At length.” He pointed to the package. “That money. If I earn it I want it, but you can’t engage me now. My purpose is to clear Mr. Cather; yours is to prevent disclosure of your name. If I can serve your purpose without damage to mine, I shall. When you go, take the package; here in my safe it might affect my mental processes. There is -”

  “What are you going to do?” Ballou demanded. Demanding again.

  “I don’t know. Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Panzer, Mr. Durkin, and I are now going to confer.” He looked at the clock. “It’s nearly midnight. If you don’t want two more men in on your secret, go.”

  Chapter 11

  At one o’clock Friday afternoon I was on a chair in a hotel bedroom, at arm’s length from an attractive young woman in the bed. Various possible approaches had been discussed in the Thursday night conference that went on for more than two hours. Two of them – get a picture of him and show it to the General Delivery clerks at the Grand Central Station post office, and find out if he had been spending more money than he should have had – were discarded offhand because they could only confirm the blackmailing, and that was regarded as settled.

  An obvious one was where had he been Saturday morning, but we weren’t ready for that. If he was open, he was open. If he had an alibi, cracking it could and should wait until we had some kind of leverage on him.

  Get three pictures of him, somehow – one for Saul, one for Fred, and one for me – and do the neighborhood again, to dig up someone who had seen him Saturday morning. The cops had of course been at that for four days, with pictures of Orrie. Fred was for it, and Saul was willing to try, but Wolfe vetoed it. He said we had tolerated banality long enough.

  Give it to Cramer. Saul suggested it, and he had a case. We could give him the crop, all except Ballou’s name. It wouldn’t hurt us any, certainly it wouldn’t stop us, and it would give Cramer something to think about, and even work on, besides Orrie Cather. If they had a few of Fleming’s fingerprints in their collection from the apartment, or even one, it would open it up good. Wolfe wouldn’t buy it. He said it would be inept to have the police move in on Fleming before we did; for one thing, they would probably pry X’s name out of either Fleming or his wife, and we weren’t giving it even to Saul and Fred. The fifty grand wasn’t there in the safe to affect his mental processes, but he knew where it was.

  I made the suggestion that gave him a bright idea. There was nothing bright about the suggestion; it was simply that I would bring the Flemings to the office for some conversation with Wolfe. As we all knew, many people had said more to Wolfe than they had realized they were saying, and why not give them a chance? Saul and Fred could be at the peephole in the alcove, and then we would have another conference. I was the only one who had ever seen them. Saul and Fred were all for it, but Wolfe sat and scowled at me, which was natural, since it would mean another session with a woman. He sat and scowled, and we sat and looked at him. After half a minute of that he spoke to me. “Your notebook.”

  I swiveled and got it, and a pen.

  “A letter. The regular letterhead. To Mr. Milton Thales, care of Mr. Barry Fleming, and the address. Dear Mr. Thales. It is a truism that people who have a sudden substantial increase in income often spend it, comma, or part of it, comma, on luxuries which they have previously been unable to afford. Period. It is possible that you are an admirer of orchids, comma, and that you would like to buy a few orchid plants with part of the five thousand dollars of extra income you have received during
the past four months. Period. If so, comma, I shall be glad to show you my collection if you will telephone for an appointment. Sincerely yours.”

  I tossed the notebook on the desk. “Wonderful,” I said. “It will bring him but not her. Maybe. If it goes to his home address and she’s there when it’s delivered but he isn’t, it may bring her but not him. Statistics show that seventy-four per cent of wives open letters, with or without a teakettle. Why not send it to the school?”

  “It’s two o’clock Friday morning,” Saul said. “He wouldn’t get it until Monday.”

  Wolfe growled. I said, “Damn it.”

  “It’s a beautiful idea,” Saul said. “It will get him sweating before he comes, and that will help, and he’ll have to come. Even if he didn’t kill her, he’d have to come. But may I offer an amendment?”

  “Yes.”

  “The letter might read something like this – your notebook, Archie? Dear Mr. Thales. As you know, comma, I was Isabel’s closest friend, comma, and we told each other many things. One thing she told me was how you got that five thousand dollars and how she felt about it. I haven’t told anyone else because she told me in confidence – no, change that. Change ‘because she told me in confidence’ to ‘because I promised her I wouldn’t.’ Then: You may want to show your appreciation by giving me part of the five thousand, comma, at least half of it. I will expect you to bring it not later than Sunday afternoon. I work evenings. My address is above, and my phone number is so-and-so. It will be signed by Julie Jaquette. I suppose she should write it; I doubt if she uses a typewriter.”

  Fred said, “And he croaks her and then we’ve got him.”

  Saul nodded. “He would if we let him, and if he killed Isabel Kerr. If he’s had practice.” To Wolfe: “I just think that might be quicker than coming from you. I couldn’t get her to do it, I’m a rat, but Archie could.”

  “Sure,” I said. “I’ll tell her I’ll send orchids to her funeral.” I looked at Wolfe. “You wished her well.”

  “So you demur,” he said.

  “No, sir. I like it. I merely remark that selling her won’t be easy, and if she buys it we can’t let her out of our sight for one second, and what if she won’t cooperate on that? Nobody suggests anything to her. She said so.”

  “But you like it?”

  “Yes. If it misses we can blame it on Saul.”

  “Blaming is fatuous. The wording of the letter is important. Read it.”

  So that’s why, at one o’clock Friday afternoon, I was settled in a comfortable chair in a bedroom on the ninth floor of the Maidstone Hotel, on Central Park West in the Seventies. Julie Jaquette, in the bed, was not stretched out; she was propped up against three pillows, drinking her third cup of coffee, having cleaned up the toast and bacon and eggs and muffins and strawberry jam, while I explained about the blackmailing caper, including Tha-lez of Miletus, but not including Ballou’s name. It was a nice big room, made even nicer by the clusters of Vanda rogersi which I had brought, in a vase on the over-the-bed table. She had stuck one of the flowers in the front V of what she had on, a light blue thing with sleeves and no frills. She had said she was no treat in bed in the morning, but actually she wasn’t at all hard to look at. Clear-eyed and fresh and kind of hard-boiled wholesome.

  “Poor Isabel,” she said. “You can’t beat that for lousy breaks, a blackmailer for a brother-in-law and a murderer for a pet. My God.”

  “And a heehaw for a friend,” I said.

  “She only had one real friend. Me.”

  “Right. I call you a mule only professionally. If I was being personal I would call you kitten or snuggle bunny or lamb. Profess -”

  “Do you realize this is a bed? That I could reach out and grab you?”

  “Yeah, I’m watching every move. I call you a mule professionally because the minute you heard that your friend Isabel had been murdered you decided Orrie Cather had done it and you won’t budge, not even when the third smartest detective in New York gives you ten to one. It would -”

  “Who are the two smartest?”

  “Nero Wolfe and me, but don’t quote me. It would take an hour to explain why all three of us have crossed Orrie off, and even then you might not budge. But now we think we know who did kill her. The blackmailer. Barry Fleming. Her sister’s husband.”

  She put the coffee cup down. “Huh. You got reasons?”

  “If you mean evidence, no. But if there’s any other good candidate we can’t find him or her, and we have tried hard. Barry Fleming is perfect. Obviously Isabel told Stella who was keeping her – X, to you – and Stella had told Barry, since he couldn’t blackmail him unless -”

  “I may be a mule, but I can count up to two and I can say the alphabet backward.”

  “A mule would say it backward. When X told Isabel he was being blackmailed, she knew it must be Barry. She tried to make him stop, but he wouldn’t. Finally she told him she was going to tell Stella; she had probably threatened to before. That was Saturday morning. She told him she had definitely decided to tell Stella when she saw her that evening, and he killed her. Count up to two.”

  “Don’t wear me out.” She shoved the table away, and the vase swayed, and I jumped to save it. She slid down in the bed, tossed one of the pillows on the floor, and propped her head on the other two. “You’re quick,” she said. “Graceful, too. You could make a chorus line easy. Leave your name with the girl at the desk. Have you explained all this to the cops?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  I thought it unnecessary to tell her about the fifty grand. “Because they like Orrie and they’ve got him, and we have no evidence. Not one little scrap. The reason I’m telling you, we thought you might be willing to help. You do want the man that murdered her to get it, don’t you?”

  “You’re damn right I do.”

  “Then you might help. You could write Fleming a letter, calling him Thales, and telling him you want the five grand he got from X – or most of it. Tell him that Isabel told you everything, maybe even hint that you think he killed her and you know why. Of course he would have to see you, and also, if he killed Isabel, he would have to kill you, and it would be a cinch for us to arrange to have evidence of that. So we’d have him. Happy ending.”

  She laughed, and she was such a good laugher that I caught it and joined in. When she had it under control she said, “You’re not married, are you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope.”

  “Never?”

  “Nope. I’ve asked at least a thousand.”

  “I’ll bet. I was once, and what a year that was. Do you know what I’m going to do when you leave?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m going to stand at the window and look out, and think it’s a damn shame that it simply won’t work. Anyway, if I’m going to get killed, all you’d get out of it would be a trip to the cemetery. This letter. Exactly what do I say?”

  I waved a hand. “Forget it. A gag is for a laugh, and I got it.”

  “Nuts.” She aimed a finger at me. “Listen, you. ZYXWVUTSRQPONMLKJIHGFEDCBA. You came to deal me in. Don’t spoil it with a phony shuffle. Ten to one, twenty to one, you and Nero Wolfe wrote it out and you’ve got it in your pocket. Let’s see it.”

  She would have had me if I hadn’t taken the trouble to memorize it. “Thank God,” I said, “you decided not to marry me. I’d get a Charley horse just trying to keep up. All right, we did discuss what the letter might say. But if you write it and I mail it, the minute he gets it you’re a sitting duck. Tomorrow’s Saturday. If you write it now and I mail it, he’ll get it tomorrow morning. He might move fast and he might try anything. At ten o’clock tomorrow morning I’ll be here, outside in the hall, and Saul Panzer, the rat, will be down in the lobby. When you leave, we leave with you, and we stick, and you don’t try any dodges just to show that you know what men are for and what they’re not for. At the Ten Little Indians we’ll be there, and so will Fred Durkin, and one of us will be here, in
the hall, all night. And so on until something happens.”

  “That’s screwy,” she said. “How could anything happen with all you heroes right there?”

  “Leave that to us. We can’t arrange details until we see how he reacts. You’re willing to give it a try?”

  “Certainly. The way you danced me in, I have to. Anyway, I want to. Nobody has ever tried to kill me, and it will make me feel important. All my life I have wanted to feel important.”

  “So has everybody else. But it must be understood that you will follow sugges – you will obey orders. You’ll do exactly what you’re told. What do you swear on, the Bible?”

  “No, some of the men in it are awful, and so are the women. We’ll shake.” She offered a hand.

  It was a purely professional contact, but it was a fact that she had nice hands, and I said so. “Before we go to work on the letter,” I said, “I should mention the possibility that Stella may open it and read it. That would make it a different situation, but maybe even a better one. Anyhow, tomorrow is Saturday and he’ll probably be there. Now the letter. We had the idea of addressing it to Milton Thales, care of Barry Fleming, but that would just be a stunt. Mr. Wolfe likes stunts. Would you call him Barry or Mr. Fleming?”

  “I’ve never seen him. Mr. Fleming.”

  “Okay. On the hotel stationery. Dear Mr. Fleming. As you know, I was Isabel’s closest friend, and we told each other everything. She told me all about Milton Thales, and how you got that five thousand dollars, and how she felt about it. She also told me she was going to tell her sister, and that she would tell you first that she was going to tell her. That didn’t surprise me, I knew her so well. But I wonder if that had anything to do with what happened to her, and I would like to know. One thing, considering how you got that five thousand dollars, I don’t think you should keep it. I think you should give it to me and I’ll give it to some charity. I expect to hear from you soon. I live at this hotel. Sincerely yours. Of course the wording can be changed, as long as the points are covered.”