by Rex Stout
I could see him shaking his head. “I live at the Chesebrough. Thanks for your invitation, but I prefer to sleep in my own bed.”
“I’m asking you, will you come?”
“To Mr. Wolfe’s house to sleep? No.”
“All right. You’re crazy. Surely you’ve got brains enough to realize that you’re going to have to have a talk with somebody about your driving sixty miles to go through a window to get an umbrella. Knowing Wolfe, and knowing the police, I merely advise you to talk with him instead of them. I’ve not trying to shatter your aplomb, I like it, I think it’s attractive, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to stand here and beg you all night. In a couple of minutes I’ll begin to get impatient.”
Gebert shrugged again. “I confess I don’t like the police. I leave here with you incognito. Is that it?”
“That’s it.”
“Very well. I’ll go.”
“To Wolfe’s for the night?”
“I tell you so.”
“Good for you. Don’t worry about your car; Saul will take care of it. Your name’s Jerry. Act tough and ignorant, like me or any other detective. —Okay, Orrie, choke it. Come on. Come on, Jerry.”
I opened the door to the lighted room and they followed me in. I collected Saul and Fred and briefly explained the strategy, and when Saul objected to letting the cops in I agreed with him without an argument. Our trio was supposed to resume operations in the morning, and in the meantime they had to have some shut-eye. It was settled that no one was to be permitted to enter, and excavations by strangers outdoors were barred. They were to send Fred to the village to get grub, and to phone the office, in the morning.
I went to a window and pushed my nose against the glass and saw that the party was still gathered about the steps. At a nod from me Saul unlocked the door and swung it open, and Gebert and I passed through to the porch. In our rear, Saul and Fred and Orrie occupied the doorsill. We clattered to the edge:
“Lieutenant Rowcliff? Oh, there you are. Jerry Martin and I are going back to town. I’m leaving three men here, and they still prefer privacy. They need some sleep and so do you. Just as a favor, I’ll tell you straight that Jerry and I haven’t got the red box on us, so there’s nothing to gnash your teeth about. —Okay, Saul, lock up, and one of you stay awake.” The door shut, leaving the porch in the dark again, and I turned. “Come on, Jerry. If anyone jostles you, stick a hatpin in him.”
But the instant the door had closed someone had got smart and clicked on a flashlight and aimed it at Gebert’s face. I had his elbow to urge him along, but there was a stir in front of us and a growl: “Now you don’t need to run.” A big guy was standing in front of Gebert and holding the light on him. He growled again. “Look here, Lieutenant, look at this Jerry. Jerry hell. This is that guy that was at Frost’s apartment when I was up there this morning with the inspector. His name’s Gebert, a friend of Mrs. Frost’s.”
I snickered. “I don’t know you, mister, but you must be cross-eyed. The country air maybe. Come on, Jerry.”
No go. Rowcliff and two other dicks and the pair of troopers all barred the way, and Rowcliff sang at me, “Back up, Goodwin. You’ve heard of Bill Northrup and you know how cross-eyed he is. No mistake, Bill?”
“Not a chance. It’s Gebert.”
“You don’t say. Keep the light on him. How about it, Mr. Gebert? What do you mean by trying to fool Mr. Goodwin and telling him your name’s Jerry Martin? Huh?”
I kept my trap shut. Through a bad piece of luck I was getting a kick on the shin, and there was nothing to do but take it. And I had to hand it to Gebert; with that light right in his face and that bunch of gorillas all sticking their chins at him, he smiled as if they were asking him whether he took milk or lemon.
He said, “I wouldn’t try to fool Mr. Goodwin. Indeed not. Anyway, how could I? He knows me.”
“Oh, he does. Then I can discuss the Jerry Martin idea with him. But you might tell me what you’re doing out here at the McNair place. They found you here, huh?”
“Found me?” Gebert looked urbane but a little annoyed. “Of course not. They brought me. At their request I came to show them where I thought McNair might have concealed the red box they are looking for. But no; it wasn’t there. Then you arrived. Then Mr. Goodwin arrived. He thought it would be pleasanter if you did not know I had come to help them, and he suggested I should be Mr. Jerry Martin. I saw no reason not to oblige him.”
Rowcliff grunted. “But you didn’t see fit to mention this place to Inspector Cramer this morning when he asked if you had any idea where the red box might be. Did you?”
Gebert had a cute reply for that too, and for several more questions, but I didn’t listen to them with much interest. I was busy taking a trial balance. I shied off because Gebert was being a little too slick. Of course he figured that I would let his story slide because I wanted to save him for Nero Wolfe, but it began to look to me as if he wasn’t worth the price. It wasn’t an attack of qualms; I would just as soon kick dust in the eyes of the entire Police Department from Commissioner Hombert up in anything that resembled a worthy cause; but it appeared more than doubtful whether Wolfe would be able to squeeze any profit out of Gebert anyhow, and if he couldn’t, we would just be giving Cramer another reason to get good and sore without anything to console us for it. I knew I was taking a big risk, for if Gebert had murdered McNair there was a fair chance that they would screw it out of him at headquarters, and there would be our case up the flue; but I wasn’t like Wolfe, I was handicapped by not knowing whether Gebert was guilty. While I was making these calculations I was listening with one ear to Gebert smearing it on Rowcliff, and he did a neat job of it; he had smoothed it down to a point where he and I could have got in a car and driven off without even being fingerprinted.
“See that you’re home in the morning,” Rowcliff was growling at him. “The inspector may want to see you. If you go out leave word where.” He turned to me, and you could have distilled vinegar from his breath. “You’re so full of lousy tricks, I’ll bet when you’re alone you play ’em on yourself. The inspector will let you know what he thinks of this one. I’d hate to tell you what I think of it.”
I grinned at him, his face in the dark. “And here I am all ready with another one. I’ve been standing here listening to Gebert reel it off just to see how slick he is. He could slide on a cheese grater. You’d better take him to headquarters and give him a bed.”
“Yeah? What for? You through with him?”
“Naw, I haven’t even started. A little before nine o’clock this evening he got here in his car. Not knowing there was anyone here because the lights were out, he tried to pry open a window to get in. When Saul Panzer asked him what he wanted, he said he left his umbrella here last fall and drove out to get it. Maybe it’s in your lost and found room at headquarters; you’d better take him there to look and see. Material witness would do it.”
Rowcliff grunted. “You were ready with another one all right. When did you think this up?”
“I didn’t have to. Fact is stranger than fiction. You shouldn’t be always suspecting everybody. If you want me to I’ll call them out and you can ask them; they were all three here. I would say that an umbrella that’s worth going in a window after is worth asking questions about.”
“Uh-huh. And you were calling this guy Jerry and trying to smuggle him out. Where to? How would you like to come down and look over some umbrellas yourself?”
That disgusted me. I wasn’t any too pleased anyhow, letting go of Gebert. I said, “Poop and pooh. Both for you. You sound like a flatfoot catching kids playing wall ball. Maybe I wanted the glory of taking him to headquarters myself. Or maybe I wanted to help him escape from the country by putting him on a subway for Brooklyn, where I believe you live. You’ve got him, haven’t you, with a handle I gave you to hold him by? Poops and poohs for all of youse. It’s past my bedtime.”
I strode through the cordon, brushing them aside like flies, went to
the roadster and got in, backed out through the gate, circling into the road and missing the fender of the troopers’ chariot by an inch, and rolled off the ruts and bumps. I was so disgruntled with the complexion of things that I beat my former time between Brewster and 35th Street by two minutes.
Of course I found the house dark and quiet. There was no note from Wolfe on my desk. Upstairs, in my room, whither I carried the glass of milk I had got in the kitchen, the pilot light was a red spot on the wall, showing that Wolfe had turned on his switch so that if anyone disturbed one of his windows or stepped in the hall within eight feet of his door, a gong under my bed would start a hullabaloo that would wake even me. I hit the hay at 2:19.
Chapter 14
I swiveled my chair to face Wolfe. “Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. This may strike a chord. That lawyer Collinger said that they are proceeding with McNair’s remains as instructed in his will. Services are being held at nine o’clock this evening at the Belford Memorial Chapel on 73rd Street, and tomorrow he’ll be cremated and the ashes sent to his sister in Scotland. Collinger seems to think that naturally the executor of McNair’s estate will attend the services. Will we go in the sedan?”
Wolfe murmured, “Puerile. You are no better than a gadfly. You may represent me at the Belford Memorial Chapel.” He shuddered. “Black and white. Dreary and hushed obeisance to the grisly terror. His murderer will be there. Confound it, don’t badger me.” He resumed with the atlas, doing the double page spread of Arabia.
It was noon Friday. I had had less than six hours’ sleep, having held my levee at eight in order to be ready, without skimping breakfast, to report to Wolfe at nine o’clock in the plant rooms. He had asked me first off if I had got the red box, and beyond that had listened with his back as he examined a bench of cattleya seedlings. The news about Gebert appeared to bore him, and he could always carry that off without my being able to tell whether it was a pose or on the level. When I reminded him that Collinger was due at ten to discuss the will and the estate, and asked if there were any special instructions, he merely shook his head without bothering to turn around. I left him and went down to the kitchen and ate a couple more pancakes so as to keep from taking a nap. Fritz was friendly again, forgiving and forgetting that I had jerked Wolfe back from the brink of the Wednesday relapse. He never toted a grudge.
Around 9:30 Fred Durkin phoned from Brewster. After my departure from Glennanne the night before the invaders had soon left, and our trio had had a restful night, but they had barely finished their stag breakfast when dicks and troopers had appeared again, armed with papers. I told Fred to tell Saul to keep an eye on the furniture and other portable objects.
At ten o’clock Henry H. Barber, our lawyer, came, and a little later Collinger. I sat and listened to a lot of guff about probate and surrogate and so forth, and went upstairs and got Wolfe’s signature to some papers, and did some typing for them. They were gone before Wolfe came down at eleven. He had arranged the orchids in the vase, rung for beer, tried his pen, looked through the morning mail, made a telephone call to Raymond Plehn, dictated a letter, and then gone to the bookshelves and returned with the atlas; and settled down with it. I had never been able to think of more than one possible advantage to be expected from Wolfe’s atlas work: If we ever got an international case we would certainly be on familiar ground, no matter where it took us to.
I went ahead with a lot of entries from Theodore Horstmann’s slips into the plant records.
Around a quarter to one Fritz knocked on the door and followed it in with a cablegram in his hand. I opened it and read it:
SCOTLAND NEGATIVE NUGANT GAMUT CARTAGENA NEGATIVE DESTRUCTION RIOTS DANNUM GAMUT
HITCHCOCK
I got out the code book and did some looking, and scribbled in my book. Wolfe stayed in Arabia. I cleared my throat like a lion and his eyes flickered at me.
I told him, “If no news is good news, here’s a treat from Hitchcock. He says that in Scotland there are no results yet because the subject refuses to furnish help or information but that efforts are being continued. In Cartagena likewise no results on account of destruction in riots two years ago, and likewise efforts are being continued. I might add on my own hook that Scotland and Cartagena have got it all over 35th Street in one respect anyhow. Gamut. Efforts are being continued.”
Wolfe grunted.
Ten minutes later he closed the atlas. “Archie. We need that red box.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes, we do. I phoned Mr. Hitchcock in London again, at the night rate, after you left last evening, and I fear got him out of bed. I learned that Mr. McNair’s sister is living on an old family property, a small place near Camfirth, and thought it possible that he had concealed the red box there during one of his trips to Europe. I requested Mr. Hitchcock to have a search made for it, but apparently the sister—from this cable—will not permit it.”
He sighed. “I never knew a plaguier case. We have all the knowledge we need, and not a shred of presentable evidence. Unless the red box is found—are we actually going to be forced to send Saul to Scotland or Spain or both? Good heavens! Are we so inept that we must half encircle the globe to demonstrate the motive and the technique of a murder that happened in our own office in front of our eyes? Pfui! I sat for two hours last evening considering the position, and I confess that we have an exceptional combination of luck and adroitness against us; but even so, if we are driven to the extreme of buying steamship tickets across the Atlantic we are beneath contempt.”
“Yeah.” I grinned at him; if he was getting sore there was hope. “I’m beneath yours and you’re beneath mine. At that, it may be one of those cases where nothing but routine will do it. For instance, one of Cramer’s hirelings may turn the trick by trailing a sale of potassium cyanide.”
“Bah.” Wolfe upturned a whole palm; he was next door to a frenzy. “Mr. Cramer does not even know who the murderer is. As for the poison, it was probably bought years ago, possibly not in this country. We have to deal not only with adroitness, but also with forethought.”
“So I suspected. You’re telling me that you do know who the murderer is. Huh?”
“Archie.” He wiggled a finger at me. “I dislike mystification and never practice it for diversion. But I shall load you with no burdens that will strain your powers. You have no gift for guile. Certainly I know who the murderer is, but what good does that do me? I am in no better boat than Mr. Cramer. By the way, he telephoned last evening a few minutes after you left. In a very ugly mood. He seemed to think we should have told him of the existence of Glennanne instead of leaving him to discover it for himself from an item among Mr. McNair’s papers; and he hotly resented Saul’s holding it against beleaguerment. I presume he will cool off now that you have made him a gift of Mr. Gebert.”
I nodded. “And I presume I would look silly if he squeezed enough sap out of Gebert to make the case jell.”
“Never. No fear, Archie. Mr. Gebert is not likely, under any probable pressure, to surrender the only hold on the cliff of existence he has managed to cling to. It would have been useless to bring him here; he has his profit and loss calculated. —Yes, Fritz? Ah, the soufflé chose to ignore the clock? At once, certainly.”
He gripped the edge of the desk to push back his chair.
We did not ignore the soufflé.
My lunch was interrupted once, by a phone call from Helen Frost. Ordinarily Wolfe flatly prohibited my disturbing a meal to go to the phone, letting it be handled by Fritz on the kitchen extension, but there were exceptions he permitted. One was a female client. So I went to the office and took it, not with any overflow of gaiety, for all morning I had been thinking that we might get word from her any minute that the deal was off. Up there alone with her mother, there was no telling what she might be talked into. But all she wanted was to ask about Perren Gebert. She said that her mother had phoned the Chesebrough at breakfast time and had learned that Gebert had not been there for the night, and after ph
oning and fussing all morning, she had finally been informed by the police that Gebert was being detained at headquarters, and they had told her mother something about Gebert being held on information furnished by Mr. Goodwin of Nero Wolfe’s office, and what about it?
I told her, “It’s all right. We caught him trying to get in a window out at Glennanne, and the cops are asking him what for. Just a natural sensible question. After a while he’ll either answer it or he won’t, and they’ll either turn him loose or keep him. It’s all right.”
“But they won’t …” She sounded harassed. “You see, I told you, it’s true there are things about him I don’t like, but he is an old friend of mother’s and mine too. They won’t do anything to him, will they? I can’t understand what he was doing at Glennanne, trying to get in. He hasn’t been there … I don’t think he ever was there … you know he and Uncle Boyd didn’t like each other. I don’t understand it. But they can’t do anything to him just for trying to open a window. Can they?”
“They can and they can’t. They can sort of annoy him. That won’t hurt him much.”
“It’s terrible.” The shiver was in her voice. “It’s terrible! And I thought I was hard-boiled. I guess I am, but … anyway, I want you and Mr. Wolfe to go on. Go right on. Only I thought I might ask you—Perren is really mother’s oldest friend—if you could go down there and see where he is and what they’re doing … I know the police are very friendly with you …”
“Sure.” I made a face at the phone. “Down to headquarters? Surest thing you know. Bless your heart, I’d be glad to. It won’t take me long to finish my lunch, and I’ll take it on the jump. Then I’ll phone you and let you know.”
“Oh, that’s fine. Thank you ever so much. If I’m not at home mother will be. I … I’m going out to buy some flowers …”
