If Death Ever Slept

by Rex Stout

  “Yes.”

  “Horland’s was right about one thing. If you want to find out who it was, the sooner the better, while it’s hot. The best way would be to get them all in here, now, and go to it.”

  “What good would that do?” His hands were fists. “I know who it was. So do you.”

  “I do not.” I shook my head. “Look, Mr. Jarrell. Suspecting her of cheating your son and diddling you, without any evidence, that’s your privilege. But saying that I know she came in here and took a loaded gun, when I don’t, that is not your privilege. Of course you have a permit for it?”

  “Certainly.”

  “The law says when a gun is stolen it must be reported. It’s a misdemeanor not to. Do you‹want to report it?”

  “Good God, no.” The fists relaxed. “How about this? I’ll get her in here, and Wyman too, and I’ll keep them here while you go up and search their rooms. You know how to search a room.”

  One of two things, I thought. Either he is sure it was her, for some reason or no reason, or he took it himself and planted it in her room. “No good,” I declared. “If she took it, the last place she would hide it would be in her room. I could find it, of course, in a couple of days, or much quicker if I got help in, but what if it turned up in one of the tubs on the terrace? You’d have the gun back, that’s true, if that’s what you want.”

  “You know damn well what I want.”

  “Yes, I ought to, but that’s not the point now, or not the whole point. Anyone going to all that trouble and risk to get hold of a gun, he must-I beg your pardon-she must intend to use it for something. I doubt if it’s to shoot a squirrel. It might even be to shoot you. I would resent that while I’m employed as your secretary. I advise you to get them in here and let me ask questions. Even better, take them all down to Mr. Wolfe and let him ask questions.”

  “No.”

  “You won’t?”

  “No.”

  “Then what?”

  “I don’t know. I’ll see. I’ll have to think.” He looked at his wrist. “They’re in the lounge.” He stood up. “I’ll see.”

  “Okay.” I stood up. “I’d rather not appear barefooted. I’ll go up and put on my shoes and socks.”

  As I said before, that added a new element to the situation.

  Chapter 5

  WHEN NERO WOLFE CAME down from the plant rooms at six o’clock Thursday afternoon I was at my desk in the office, waiting for him. Growling a greeting, if you can call it that, as he crossed to his chair, he lowered his bulk and got it properly disposed, rested his elbows on the chair arms, and glared at me.

  “Well?”

  I had swiveled to him. “To begin with,” I said, “as I told you on the phone, I’m not asking you to exert yourself if you’d rather not. I can hang on up there if it takes all summer, and with Orrie here you certainly don’t need me. Only I didn’t want you to have a client shot from under you with no warning from me. By the way, where is Orrie?”

  “He stepped out. Who is going to shoot Mr. Jarrell?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t even know he’s going to be the target. Do you care to hear about it?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I did so. Giving him only a sketchy outline of my encounters and experiences up to 6:15 p.m. Wednesday, when Jarrell had opened my door and yelled at me to come on, from there I made it more detailed. I reported verbatim my conversation with Jarrell after Horland’s had gone.

  Wolfe grunted. “The man’s an ass. Every one of those people would profit by his death. They need a demonstration, or one of them does. He should have corralled them and called in the police to find the gun.”

  “Yeah. He’s sure his daughter-in-law took it, or pretends he is. As I said on the phone Monday night, he may have an itch he can’t reach and is not accountable. He could have pulled the rug act himself, answered the phone call from Horland’s there in the library, raced upstairs to get me, and raced down again. He could have taken the gun earlier. I prefer it that way, since in that case there will probably be no bullets flying, but I admit it’s not likely. He is not a nitwit.”

  “What has been done?”

  “Nothing, actually. After dinner we played bridge, two tables-Trella, Lois, Nora, Jarrell, Wyman, Roger Foote, Corey Brigham, me. Incidentally, when I finally got down to the lounge before dinner Brigham was there with them, and I learned from Steck that he had come early, shortly after six o’clock, so I suppose it could have been him that got the gun, provided he had a key to the library. It was around midnight when we quit, and-”

  “You didn’t include the daughter-in-law.”

  “Haven’t I mentioned that she doesn’t play bridge? She doesn’t. And we went to bed. Today I saw four of them at breakfast-Jarrell, Wyman, Lois, and Nora-but not much of anybody since, except Susan and Trella at lunch. Jarrell mentioned at lunch that he would be out all afternoon, business appointments. At two-thirty, when I went around looking for company, they were all out. Of course Roger had gone to Jamaica, with the sixty bucks I gave him-by the way, I haven’t entered that on the expense account. At three o’clock I went for a walk and phoned you, and when I got back there was still nobody at home except Nora, and she is no-oh, I forgot. The pictures.”

  “Pictures?”

  “Sure, from the camera. A Horland’s man brought them while I was out phoning you, and when I got back Nora had them. She wasn’t sure whether she should let me look at them, but I was. That woman sure plays them close to her chin; I don’t know now whether Jarrell had told her about the rug affair or not. If not, she must have wondered what the pictures were all about. There were three of them; the camera takes one every two seconds until the door is shut. They all showed the rug broadside, coming straight in. He must have kicked the door shut. That rug is seven by three, so it could have been a tall man holding the top edge a little above the top of his head, or it could have been a short woman holding it as high as she could reach. At the bottom the rug was just touching the floor. At the top its edge was turned back, hiding the hands. I was going to bring the pictures along to show you, but would have had to shoot Nora to get away with them. Jarrell wasn’t back when I left at five-thirty.”

  I turned a hand over. “That’s it. Any instructions?”

  He made a face. “How the devil can I have instructions?”

  “You might. For instance, instruct me to take Lois out tonight. Or take Trella to lunch tomorrow. Or stick around until Sunday and take Susan to church.”

  “Pfui. Give me a plain answer for once. How likely is it that you’ll accomplish anything up there?”

  “One in a million, if you mean fairly soon. Give me until Thanksgiving and I might show you something. However, there’s one little teaser. Its name is Eber, James L. Eber. He was upset about something when I found him in the studio with Susan, and so was she. Wyman was upset when I told him Eber had been there. When it was mentioned at the lunch table Roger was upset, and maybe one or two of the others. Jarrell was upset when Nora told him about it. And it was only an hour or so later that the gun was taken. There might be something to be pried out of Eber. I’ve been prying for three days without breaking off a splinter, and as a last resort he might have one loose. He just might have something interesting to say to the guy who took his job.”

  He grunted. “I doubt if any of those people has anything interesting to say to anyone.”

  “I said I did too but that Eber should have a chance and I would go and give him one after dinner.

  Orrie Cather dined with us. I went upstairs two flights to tell my room hello, and when I went back down Orrie was there, and we had time to exchange some friendly insults before Fritz announced dinner. The main dish was shad roe with creole sauce. Shad roe is all right, and Fritz’s creole sauce is one of his best, but the point is that with that item Fritz always serves bread triangles fried in anchovy butter; and since he knew four hours ago that I would be there, and he was aware of my attitude toward bread triangles fried in ancho
vy butter, he had proceeded beyond the call of duty. Again I passed up a salad, but only because there wasn’t room for it.

  Back in the office, with coffee, Orrie, who had been told that I was going on an errand, asked if I needed any help, and I said I hoped not. When he saw me getting a ring of keys from a drawer he said I might need a lookout, and I repeated that I hoped not. When he saw me getting a shoulder holster and a gun from another drawer he said I might need a loader, and I told him he ought to know better, that if six wasn’t enough what I would need would be a meat basket to bring me home in.

  I had no reason to think there would be any occasion for the gun, but ever since Jarrell had opened the drawer and found his gone I had felt unfurnished. A man who-I beg your pardon-a woman who steals a loaded gun deserves to be treated with respect. As for the keys, they were routine equipment when calling on a stranger who might have useful information and who might or might not be home. There would probably be no occasion for them either, but I dislike waiting in dark halls with nothing to sit on.

  The address, which I got from my notebook, on 49th Street between Second and Third avenues, was above the door of an old five-story building that was long past its glory if it had ever had any. In the vestibule, I found EBER in the middle of the row of names, and pushed the button. No click. I pushed it five times, with waits in between, before giving up. I certainly wasn’t going to do my waiting there, if any, and the old Manson lock was no problem, so I got out the keys, selected one, and in less than a minute was inside. If the position of his name in the row was correct he was two flights up, and he was-or his name was on the jamb of a door in the rear, with a button beside it. When I pushed the button I could hear the ring inside.

  I was in the dark hall with nothing to sit on that I don’t like to wait in. Since there might be some information inside, in some form or other, that I could get more easily with him not there, I was sorry I hadn’t brought Orrie along, because with a lookout there would have been nothing to it, but in three minutes I was glad I hadn’t. That was how long it took me to decide to go on in, to get the lock worked, to enter, to see him sprawled on the floor, and to check that he was dead. Then I was glad Orrie hadn’t come.

  He was backside up, so I didn’t have to disturb him in order to see the hole in the back of his head, a little below the center. When I spread the hair it looked about the right size for a.38, but I wasn’t under oath. Standing up, I looked around, all the way around. There was no gun in sight, and it couldn’t very well be under him. I didn’t have to sniff to get the smell of powder, but there were no open windows, so it would take it a while to go.

  I stood and considered. Had I been seen by anybody who might identify me later? Possibly, but I doubted it. Certainly by no one inside, or even in the vestibule. Was it worth the risk to give the dump a good going over to see what I could find? Maybe; but I had no gloves, and everything there would be tried for prints; and it would be embarrassing if someone came before I left. Had I touched anything besides his hair? You can touch something without knowing it-the top of a table, for instance, as you cross a room. I decided I hadn’t.

  It was a pity that I had to wipe the doorknob and the surface around the keyhole outside, since there might be prints there that Homicide could use, but there was no help for it. I did it thoroughly but quickly. I hadn’t liked the idea of hanging around the hall before, and I liked it much less now. At the top of the stairs I listened three seconds, and, descending, did the same on the next landing. My luck held, and I was down, out to the sidewalk, and on my way without anyone to notice me. I was thinking that items of routine that become automatic through habit, though they are usually wasted, can be very useful-for instance, my having the taxi drop me at 49th Street and Third Avenue instead of taking me to the address. Now, not caring to have anything at all to do with a taxi on the East Side, I walked crosstown all the way to Ninth Avenue before flagging one. I needed a little walk anyway, to jolt my brain back into place. It was 8:57 when I stood up after looking at the hole in Jim Eber’s head. It was 9:28 when the taxi pulled up at the curb in front of the old brownstone on West 35th Street.

  When I entered the office Orrie was in one of the yellow chairs over by the big globe, with a magazine. I noted that with approval, since it showed that he fully appreciated the fact that my desk was mine. At sight of me Wolfe, behind his desk with a book, dropped his eyes back to the page. I hadn’t been gone long enough to get much of a splinter.

  I tossed my hat on my desk and sat. “I have a comment to make about the weather,” I said, “privately. Orrie hates to hear the weather mentioned. Don’t you, Orrie?”

  “I sure do.” He got up, closing the magazine. “I can’t stand it. If you touch on anything you think I’d be interested in, whistle.” He went, closing the door behind him.

  Wolfe was scowling at me. “What is it now?”

  “A vital statistic. Ringing James L. Eber’s bell several times and getting no reaction, and finding the door was locked, I used a key and entered. He was on the floor facedown in the middle of the room, with a bullet hole in the back of his head which could have been made by a thirty-eight. He was cooling off, but not cold. I would say, not for quotation, that he had been dead from three to seven hours. As you know, that depends. I did no investigating because I didn’t care to stay. I don’t think I was seen entering or leaving.”

  Wolfe’s lips had tightened until he practically didn’t have any. “Preposterous,” he said distinctly.

  “What is?” I demanded. “It’s not preposterous that he’s dead, with that hole in his skull.”

  “This whole affair. You shouldn’t have gone there in the first place.”

  “Maybe not. You suggested it.”

  “I did not suggest it. I raised difficulties.”

  I crossed my legs. “If you want to try to settle that now,” I said, “okay, but you know how things like that drag on, and I need instructions. I should have called headquarters and told them where to find something interesting, but didn’t, because I thought you might possibly have a notion.”

  “I have no notion and don’t intend to have one,” Wolfe said.

  “Then I’ll call. From a booth. They say they can’t trace a local dial call, but there might be a miracle. Next, do I get back up there quick, I mean to Jarrell’s, and if so what’s my line?”

  I said I have no notion. Why should you go back there at all?”

  I uncrossed my legs. “Look,” I said, “you might as well come on down. I could go back just to return his ten grand and tell him we’re bowing out, if that’s what you want, but it’s not quite so simple and you know it. When the cops learn that Eber was Jarrell’s secretary and got fired, they’ll be there asking questions. If they learn that Jarrell hired you and you sent me to take his place-don’t growl at me, they’ll think you sent me no matter what you think-you know what will happen, they’ll be on our necks. Even if they don’t learn that, we have a problem. We know that a thirty-eight revolver was taken from Jarrell’s desk yesterday afternoon, and we know that Eber was there yesterday morning and it made a stir, and if and when we also know that the bullet that killed him came from a thirty-eight, what do we do, file it and forget it?”

  He grunted. “There is no obligation to report what may be merely a coincidence. If Mr. Jarrell’s gun is found and it is established that Eber was killed by a bullet from it, that will be different.”

  “Meanwhile we ignore the coincidence?”

  “We don’t proclaim it.”

  “Then I assume we keep the ten grand and Jarrell is still your client. If he turns out to be a murderer, what the hell, many lawyers’ clients are murderers. And I’m back where I started, I need instructions. I’ll have to go-”

  The phone rang. I swiveled and got it, and I noticed that Wolfe reached for his too, which he rarely does unless I give him a sign.

  “Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.”

  “Where the hell are you? This
is Jarrell.”

  “You know what number you dialed, Mr. Jarrell. I’m with Mr. Wolfe, reporting and getting instructions about your job.”

  “I’ve got instructions for you myself. Nora says you left at five-thirty. You’ve been gone over four hours. How soon can you be here?”

  “Oh, say in an hour.”

  “I’ll be in the library.”

  He hung up. I cradled it and turned.

  “He reminds me of you a little,” I said-just an interesting fact, nothing personal. “I was about to say, I’ll have to go back up there and I need to know what for. Just hang around or try to start something? For instance, it would be a cinch to put the bee on Jarrell. You couldn’t ask for a better setup for blackmail. I tell him that if he makes a sizable contribution in cash, say half a million, we’ll regard the stolen gun as a coincidence and forget it. If he doesn’t we’ll feel that we must report it. Of course I’ll have to wait until the news is out about Eber, but if-”

  “Shut up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He eyed me. “You understand the situation. You have expounded it.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “This may or may not affect the job you undertook for Mr. Jarrell-don’t interrupt me-very well, that we undertook. Murder sometimes creates only ripples, but more frequently high seas. Assuredly you are not going back there to take women to lunch at Rusterman’s or to taverns to dance. I offer no complaint for what has been done; I will concede that we blundered into this mess by a collaboration in mulishness; but if it was Mr. Jarrell’s gun that was used to kill Eber, and it isn’t too fanciful to suppose that it was, we are in it willy-nilly, and we should emerge, if not with profit, at least without discomfiture. That is our joint concern. You ask if you should start something up there. I doubt if you’ll need to; something has already started. It is most unlikely that the murder had no connection with that hive of predators and parasites. I can’t tell you how to proceed because you’ll have to wait on events. You will be guided by your intelligence and experience, and report to me as the occasion dictates. Mr. Jarrell said he has instructions for you. Have you any notion what they’ll be?”