by Rex Stout
“I didn’t batter him. I didn’t even tap him. It was just a gesture of annoyance. I’m in an ugly mood.”
“I know you are. I don’t blame you. This case has been tedious and disagreeable from the beginning. Something seems to have happened to Saul. We have a job ahead of us. It will end, I think, as disagreeably as it began, but we shall do it in style if we can, and with finality—ah! There, I hope, is Saul now.”
The doorbell had rung. But again, as on the evening before, it wasn’t Saul. This time it was Inspector Cramer.
Fritz ushered him in and he lumbered across. He looked as if he was about due for dry dock, with puffs under his eyes, his graying hair straggly, and his shoulders not as erect and military as an inspector’s ought to be. Wolfe greeted him:
“Good morning, sir. Sit down. Will you have some beer?”
He took the dunce’s chair, indulged in a deep breath, took a cigar from his pocket, scowled at it and put it back again. He took another breath and told both of us:
“When I get into such shape that I don’t want a cigar I’m in a hell of a fix.” He looked at me. “What did you do to Frisbie, anyway?”
“Not a thing. Nothing that I remember.”
“Well, he does. I think you’re done for. I think he’s going to plaster a charge of treason on you.”
I grinned. “That hadn’t occurred to me. I guess that’s what it was, treason. What do they do, hang me?”
Cramer shrugged. “I don’t know and I don’t care. What happens to you is the least of my worries. God, I wish I felt like lighting a cigar.” He took one from his pocket again, looked it over, and this time kept it in his hand. He passed me up. “Excuse me, Wolfe, I guess I didn’t mention I don’t want any beer. I suppose you think I came here to start a fracas.”
Wolfe murmured, “Well, didn’t you?”
“I did not. I came to have a reasonable talk. Can I ask you a couple of straight questions and get a couple of straight replies?”
“You can try. Give me a sample.”
“Okay. If we searched this place would we find McNair’s red box?”
“No.”
“Have you ever seen it or do you know where it is?”
“No. To both.”
“Did McNair tell you anything here Wednesday before he died that gave you any line on motive for these murders?”
“You have heard every word Mr. McNair said in this office; Archie read it to you from his notes.”
“Yeah. I know. Have you received information as to motive from any other source?”
“Now, really.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “That question is preposterous. Certainly I have. Haven’t I been on the case four days?”
“Who from?”
“Well, for one, from you.”
Cramer stared. He stuck his cigar in his mouth and put his teeth into it without realizing he was doing it. He threw up his hands and dropped them.
“The trouble with you, Wolfe,” he declared, “is that you can’t forget for one little moment how terribly smart you are. Hell, I know it. Do you think I ever waste my time making calls like this on Del Pritchard or Sandy Mollew? When did I tell you what?”
Wolfe shook his head. “No, Mr. Cramer. Now—as the children say—now you’re getting warm. And I’m not quite ready. Suppose we take turns at this; I have my curiosities, too. The story in the morning paper was incomplete. What sort of contraption was it that spilled the poison on Mr. Gebert?”
Cramer grunted. “You want to know?”
“I am curious, and we might as well pass the time.”
“Oh, we might.” The inspector removed his cigar and looked at its end with surprise at finding it unlit, touched a match to it, and puffed. “It was like this. Take a piece of ordinary adhesive tape an inch wide and ten inches long. Paste the ends of the tape to the cloth of the top of Gebert’s car, above the driver’s seat, about five inches apart, so that the tape swings loose like a hammock. Take an ordinary beetleware sauce dish, like they sell in the five and ten, and set it in that little hammock, and you’ll have to balance it carefully, because a slight jar will upset it. Before you set the dish in the hammock, pour into it a couple of ounces of nitrobenzene—or, if you’d rather, you can call it essence of mirbane, or imitation oil of bitter almonds, because it’s all the same thing. Also pour in with it an ounce or so of plain water, so that the nitrobenzene will settle to the bottom and the layer of water on top will keep the oil from evaporating and making a smell. If you will make the experiment of getting into a car the way a man ordinarily does, you will find that your eyes are naturally directed toward the seat and the floor, and there isn’t one chance in a thousand that you would see anything pasted to the roof, especially at night, and furthermore you will find that your head will go in within an inch of the roof and you’re sure to bump the sauce dish. And even if you don’t, it will fall and spill on you the first hole you hit or the first corner you turn. How do you like that for a practical joke?”
Wolfe nodded. “From the pragmatic standpoint, close to perfect. Simple, effective, and cheap. If you had had the poison in your possession for some time, as provision against an emergency, your entire outlay would not be more than fifteen cents—tape, an ounce of water, and sauce dish. From the newspaper account I suspected the nitrobenzene. It would do that.”
Cramer nodded emphatically. “I’ll say it would. Last year a worker in a dye factory spilled a couple of ounces on his pants, not directly on his skin, and he was dead in an hour. The man I had tailing Gebert handled him when he ran up to him after he fell, and got a little on his hands and some strong fumes, and he’s in a hospital now with a blue face and purple lips and purple fingernails. The doctor says he’ll pull through. Lew Frost got a little of it too, but not bad. Gebert must have turned his head when he felt it spilling and smelled it, because he got a little on his face and maybe even a couple of drops in his eyes. You should have seen him an hour after it happened.”
“I think not.” Wolfe was pouring beer. “For me to look at him could have done him no good, and certainly me none.” He drank, and felt in his pocket for a handkerchief and had none, and I got him one from the drawer. He leaned back and looked sympathetically at the inspector. “I trust, Mr. Cramer, that the routine progresses satisfactorily.”
“Smart again. Huh?” Cramer puffed. “I’ll call the turn again in a minute. But I’ll try to satisfy you. The routine progresses exactly as it should, but it don’t get anywhere. That ought to make you smack your lips. You tipped me off Wednesday to stick to the Frost family—all right, any of them could have done it. If it was either of the young ones they did it together, because they went together to the chapel. They would have had barely enough time to do the taping and pouring, because they got there only a minute or two after Gebert did. It could have been done in two minutes; I’ve tested it. The uncle and the mother went separately, and either of them would have had plenty of time. They’ve accounted for it, of course, but not in a way you can check it up to the minute. On opportunity none of them is absolutely out.”
The inspector puffed some more. “One thing, you might think we could find some passerby who saw someone making motions with the top of that car, but it could have been done sitting inside with the door closed and wouldn’t have attracted much attention, and it was night. We’ve had no luck on that so far. We found the empty bottles in the car, in the dashboard compartment—ordinary two-ounce vials, stocked by every drug store, no labels. Of course there were no fingerprints on them or on the sauce dish, and as for finding out where they came from, you might as well try to trace a red-headed paper match. We’re checking up on sources of nitrobenzene, but I agree with you that whoever is handling this business isn’t leaving a trail like that.
“I’ll tell you.” Cramer puffed again. “I don’t think we can do it. We can keep on trying, but I don’t believe we can. There’s too much luck and dirty cleverness against us. It’ll be months before I get in my car again without looking u
p at the top. We’ve got to get at it through motive, or I swear I’m beginning to believe we won’t get it at all. I know that’s what you’ve wanted too, that’s why you said the red box would do it. But where the hell is it? If we can’t find it we’ll have to get at the motive without it. So far it’s a blank, not only with the Frosts, but with everyone else we’ve investigated. Granted that Dudley Frost is short as trustee of the estate, which he may or may not be, what good does it do him to croak McNair and Gebert? With Lew and the girl, there’s not even a hair of a motive. With Mrs. Frost, we know she’s been paying Gebert a lot of jack for a long time. She says she was paying off an old debt, and he’s dead and he wouldn’t tell us anyhow. It was probably blackmail for something that happened years ago, but what was it that happened, and why did she have to kill him right now, and where did McNair fit in? McNair was the first to go.”
Cramer reached to knock ashes into the tray, sat back in his chair, and grunted. “There,” he said bitterly. “There’s one or two questions for you. I’m back to where I was last Tuesday, when I came here and told you I was licked, only there’s been two more people killed. Didn’t I tell you this one was yours? It’s not my type. Down at the D.A.’s office an hour ago they wanted to put a ring in your nose, and what I told Frisbie would have fried an egg. You’re the worst thorn in the flesh I know of, but you are also half as smart as you think you are, and that puts you head and shoulders above everybody since Julius Caesar. Do you know why I’ve changed my tune since yesterday? Because Gebert’s been killed and you’re still keeping your client. If you had run out on the case this morning, I would have been ready and eager to put three rings in your nose. But now I believe you. I don’t think you’ve the red box—”
The interruption was Fritz—his knock on the office door, his entry, his approach within two paces of Wolfe’s desk, his ceremonial bow:
“Mr. Morgan to see you, sir.”
Wolfe nodded and the creases of his cheeks unfolded a little; I hadn’t seen that since I had jerked him back from the relapse. He murmured, “It’s all right, Fritz, we have no secrets from Mr. Cramer. Send him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Fritz departed, and Saul Panzer entered. I put the eye on him. He looked a little crestfallen, but not exactly downhearted; and under his arm he carried a parcel wrapped in brown paper, about the size of a cigar box. He stepped across to Wolfe’s desk.
Wolfe’s brows were up. “Well?”
Saul nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Contents in order?”
“Yes, sir. As you said. What made me late—”
“Never mind. You are here. Satisfactory. Archie, please put that package in the safe. That’s all for the present, Saul. Come back at two o’clock.”
I took the package and went and opened the safe and chucked it in. It felt solid but didn’t weigh much. Saul departed.
Wolfe leaned back in his chair and half closed his eyes. “So,” he murmured. He heaved a deep sigh. “Mr. Cramer. I remarked a while ago that we might as well pass the time. We have done so. That is always a triumph, to evade boredom.” He glanced at the clock. “Now we can talk business. It is past noon, and we lunch here at one. Can you have the Frost family here, all of them, at two o’clock? If you will do that, I’ll finish this case for you. It will take an hour, perhaps.”
Cramer rubbed his chin. He did it with the hand that held his cigar, and ashes fell on his pants, but he didn’t notice it. He was gazing at Wolfe. Finally he said:
“An hour. Huh?”
Wolfe nodded, “Possibly more. I think not.”
Cramer gazed. “Oh. You think not.” He jerked forward in his chair. “What was in that package Goodwin just put in the safe?”
“Something that belongs to me. —Now wait!” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “Confound it, why should you explode? I invite you here to observe the solution of the murders of Molly Lauck and Mr. McNair and Mr. Gebert. I shall not discuss it, and I won’t have you yelling at me. Were I so minded I could invite, instead of you, representatives of the newspapers, or Mr. Morley of the District Attorney’s office. Almost anyone. Sir, you are churlish. Would you quarrel with good fortune? Two o’clock, and all the Frosts must be here. Well, sir?”
Cramer stood up. “I’ll be damned.” He glanced at the safe. “That’s the red box. Huh? Tell me that.”
Wolfe shook his head. “Two o’clock.”
“All right. But look here. Sometimes you get pretty fancy. By God, you’d better have it.”
“I shall, at two o’clock.”
The inspector looked at the safe again, shook his head, stuck his cigar between his teeth, and beat it.
Chapter 18
The Frost tribe arrived all at the same time, a little after two, for a good reason: they were escorted by Inspector Cramer and Purley Stebbins of the Homicide Squad. Purley rode with Helen and her mother in a dark blue town car which I suppose belonged to Helen, and Cramer brought the two men in his own bus. Lunch was over and I was looking out of the front window when they drove up, and I stood and watched them alight, and then went to the hall to let them in. My instructions were to take them directly to the office.
I was as nervous as a congressman on election day. I had been made acquainted with the high spots on Wolfe’s program. It was all well and good for him to get up these tricky charades as far as he himself was concerned, because he didn’t have any nerves, and he was too conceited to suffer any painful apprehension of failure, but I was made of different stuff and I didn’t like the feeling it gave me. True, he had stated just before we went in to lunch that we had a hazardous and disagreeable task before us, but he didn’t seriously mean it; he was merely calling my attention to the fact that he was preparing to put over a whizz.
I admitted the visitors, helped get hats and topcoats disposed of in the hall, and led them to the office. Wolfe, seated behind his desk, nodded around at them. I had already arranged chairs, and now allotted them: Helen the closest to Wolfe, with Cramer at her left and Llewellyn next to Cramer; Uncle Dudley not far from me, so I could reach him and gag him if necessary, and Mrs. Frost the other side of Dudley, in the big leather chair which was usually beside the big globe. None of them looked very festive. Lew looked as if he had the pop-eye and his face had a gray tinge, I suppose from the nitrobenzene he had got too close to. Mrs. Frost wasn’t doing any sagging, but looked pale in black clothes. Helen, in a dark brown suit with a hat to match, twisted her fingers together as soon as she sat down and put her eyes on Wolfe, and stayed that way. Dudley looked at everybody and squirmed. Wolfe had murmured to the inspector:
“Your man, Mr. Cramer. If he would wait in the kitchen?”
Cramer grunted. “He’s all right. He won’t bite anybody.”
Wolfe shook his head. “We won’t need him. The kitchen would be better for him.”
Cramer looked as if he’d like to argue, but called it off with a shrug. He turned: “Go on out to the kitchen, Stebbins. I’ll yell if I want you.”
Purley, with a sour glance at me, turned and went. Wolfe waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke, looking around at them:
“And here we are. Though I am aware that you came at Mr. Cramer’s invitation, nevertheless I thank you for coming. It was desirable to have you all here, though nothing will be expected of you—”
Dudley Frost blurted, “We came because we had to! You know that! What else could we do, with the attitude the police are taking?”
“Mr. Frost. Please—”
“There’s no please to it! I just want to say, it’s a good thing nothing will be expected of us, because you won’t get it! In view of the ridiculous attitude of the police, we refuse to submit to any further questioning unless we have a lawyer present. I’ve told Inspector Cramer that! I, personally, decline to say a word! Not a word!”
Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “On the chance that you mean that, Mr. Frost, I promise not to press you; and we now have another good reason for admitt
ing no lawyers. I was saying: nothing will be expected of you save to listen to an explanation. There will be no questioning. I prefer to do the talking myself, and I have plenty to say. —By the way, Archie, I may as well have that thing handy.”
That was the cue for the first high spot. For me it wasn’t a speaking part, but I had the business. I arose and went to the safe and got out Saul’s package and put it on the desk in front of Wolfe; but the wrapping paper had been removed before lunch. What I put there was an old red leather box, faded and scuffed and scarred, about ten inches long and four wide and two deep. On one side were the backbones of two gilt hinges for the lid, and on the other a small gilt escutcheon with a keyhole. Wolfe barely glanced at it, and pushed it to one side. I sat down again and picked up my notebook.
There was some stirring, but no comments. They all stared at the box, except Helen Frost; she stuck to Wolfe. Cramer was looking wary and thoughtful, with his eyes glued on the box.
Wolfe spoke with sudden sharpness: “Archie. We can dispense with notes. Most of the words will be mine, and I shall not forget them. Please take your gun and keep it in your hand. If it appears to be needed, use it. We don’t want anyone squirting nitrobenzene around here—that will do, Mr. Frost! I say stop it! I remind you that a woman and two men have been murdered! Stay in your chair!”
Dudley Frost actually subsided. It may have been partly on account of my automatic which I had got from the drawer and now held in my hand resting on my knee. The sight of a loaded gun out in the open always has an effect on a guy, no matter who he is. I observed that Cramer had shoved his chair back a few inches and was looking even warier than before, with a scowl on his brow.
Wolfe said, “This, of course, is melodrama. All murder is melodrama, because the real tragedy is not death but the condition which induces it. However.” He leaned back in his chair and aimed his half-closed eyes at our client. “I wish to address myself, Miss Frost, primarily to you. Partly through professional vanity. I wish to demonstrate to you that engaging the services of a good detective means much more than hiring someone to pry up floorboards and dig up flower beds trying to find a red box. I wish to show you that before I ever saw this box or its contents, I knew the central facts of this case; I knew who had killed Mr. McNair, and why. I am going to shock you, but I can’t help that.”
