by Rex Stout
“I think I’m it,” she said. “I don’t know exactly where I was at a quarter past six. I was out, and I got home about six o’clock, and I wanted to ask my father something and went to the library, but the door was locked. Then I went to the kitchen to look for Mrs. Latham, but she wasn’t there, and I found her in the dining room and asked her to iron a dress for me. I was tired and I started for the lounge to get a quick one, but I saw Mr. Brigham in there and I didn’t feel like company, so I skipped it and went up to my room to change. If I had had a key to the library, and if I had thought of the rug stunt, I might have gone there in between and got the gun, but I didn’t. Anyway, I hate guns. I think the rug stunt was absolutely dreamy.” She twisted around. “Don’t you, Ar-Al-Alan?”
A marvelous girl. So playful. If I ever got her on a dance floor again I’d walk on her toes. She twisted back again when Wolfe asked a question.
“What time was it when you saw Mr. Brigham in the lounge? As near as you can make it.”
She shook her head. “Not a chance. If it were someone I’m rather warm on, for instance Mr. Green, I’d say it was exactly sixteen minutes after six, and he would say he saw me looking in and he looked at his watch, and we’d both be out of it, but I’m not warm on Mr. Brigham. So I won’t even try to guess.”
“This isn’t a parlor game, Lois,” her father snapped. “This may be serious.”
“It already is, Dad. It sounds darned serious to me. You notice I told him all I could. Didn’t I, Mr. Wolfe?”
“Yes, Miss Jarrell. Thank you. Will you oblige us, Miss Kent?”
I was wondering if Nora would rip it. Not that it would have been fatal, but if she had announced that the new secretary was Archie Goodwin, that Wolfe was a damn liar when he gave them to understand that he had had no finger in the Jarrell pie until that afternoon, and that therefore they had better start the questions going the other way, it would have made things a little complicated.
She didn’t. Speaking as a competent and loyal stenographer, she merely said, “On Wednesday Mr. Jarrell and I left the library together at six o’clock, as usual, locking the door. We took the elevator upstairs together and parted in the hall. I went to my room to wash and change, and stayed there until half past six, and then I went down to the lounge.”
Wolfe leaned back, clasped his fingers at the highest point of his central mound, took in a bushel of air and let it out, and grumbled, “I may have gone about this wrong. Of course one of you has lied.”
“You’re damn right,” Jarrell said, “and I know which one.”
“If Susan lied,” Roger objected, “so did Wyman. What about this Green?”
I would walk on his toes too, some day when I could get around to it.
“It was a mistake,” Wolfe declared, “to get you all on record regarding your whereabouts at that hour. Now you are all committed, including the one who took the gun, and he will be more reluctant than ever to speak. It would be pointless to hammer at you now; indeed, I doubt if hammering would have helped in any case. The time for hammering was Wednesday afternoon, the moment Mr. Jarrell found that the gun was gone. Then there had been no murder, with its menace of an inexorable inquisition.”
He looked them over. “So here we are. You know how it stands. I said that I shall have to inform the police if the possibility that Mr. Jarrell’s gun was used to kill Mr. Eber becomes a probability. It is nearer a probability, in my mind, now than it was an hour ago-now that all of you have denied taking the gun, for one of you did take it.”
His eyes went over them again. “When I speak to a man, or a woman, I like to look at him, but I speak now to the one who took the gun, and I can’t look at him because I don’t know who he is. So, speaking to him, I close my eyes.” He closed them. “If you know where the gun is, and it is innocent, all you have to do is let it reappear. You need not expose yourself. Merely put it somewhere in sight, where it will soon be seen. If it does not appear soon I shall be compelled to make one of two assumptions.”
He raised a finger, his eyes still closed. “One. That it is no longer in your possession and is not accessible. If it left your possession before Eber was killed it may have been used to kill him, and the police will have to be informed. If it left your possession after he was killed and you know it wasn’t used to kill him-and, as I said, that can be demonstrated-you will then have to expose yourself, but that will be a trifle since it will establish the innocence of the gun. I don’t suppose Mr. Jarrell will prosecute for theft.”
Another finger went up. “Two. My alternative assumption will be that you killed Eber. In that case you certainly will not produce the gun even if it is still available to you; and every hour that I delay telling the police what I know is a disservice to the law you and I live under.”
He opened his eyes. “There it is, ladies and gentlemen. As you see, it is exigent. There is nothing more to say at the moment. I shall await notice that the gun has been found, the sooner the better. The conference is ended, except for one of you. Mr. Foote has suggested that the record of the man who took Mr. Eber’s place, Mr. Alan Green, should be looked into, and I agree. Mr. Green, you will please remain. For the rest of you, that is all for the present. I should apologize for a default in hospitality. That refreshment table is equipped and I should have invited you. I do so now. Archie?”
Orrie Archie Cather Goodwin said, “I asked them, Mr. Wolfe,” and got up and headed for the table. Roger Foote was there as soon as he was, so the bourbon would get a ride. Thinking it might be expected that my nerves needed a bracer, since my record was going to be probed, I went and asked Mr. Goodwin for some scotch and water. The others had left their chairs, but apparently not for refreshment. Jarrell and Trella were standing at Wolfe’s desk, conversing with him, and Corey Brigham stood behind them, kibitzing. Nora Kent stood at the end of the couch, sending her sharp gray eyes around. Seeing that Wyman and Susan were going, I caught Orrie’s eye and he made for the hall to let them out. I took a sip of refreshment, stepped over to Roger Foote, and told him, “Many thanks for the plug.”
“Nothing personal. It just occurred to me. What do I know about you? Nothing. Neither does anybody else.” He went to the table and reached for the bourbon bottle.
I had been considering whether I should tackle Lois or let bad enough alone, and was saved the trouble when she called to me and I went to her, over by the big globe.
“We pretend we’re looking at the globe,” she said. “That’s called covering. I just wanted to tell you that the minute I saw that character, when he let us in, I remembered. One thing I’ve got to ask, does my father know who you are?”
She was pointing at Venezuela on the globe, and I was looking at her hand, which I knew was nice to hold to music. Obviously there was no chance of bulling it; she knew; and there wasn’t time to take Wolfe’s line with Nora and set it up as an assumption. So I turned the globe and pointed to Madagascar.
“Yes,” I said, “he knows.”
“Because,” she said, “he may not be the flower of knighthood, but he’s my father, and besides, he pays my bills. You wouldn’t string me, would you?”
“I’d love to string you, but not on this. Your father knew I was Archie Goodwin when he took me to his place Monday afternoon. When he wants you and the others to know I suppose he’ll tell you.”
“He never tells me anything.” She pointed to Ceylon. “If there was anything I wanted to blackmail you for, this would be wonderful, but if I ever do yearn for anything from you I would want it to pour out, just gush out from an uncontrollable passion. I wouldn’t meet you halfway, because that wouldn’t be maidenly, but I wouldn’t run. It’s too bad-”
“You coming, Lois?”
It was Roger Foote, with Nora beside him. Lois said the globe was the biggest one she had ever seen and she hated to leave it, and Roger said he would buy her one, what with I don’t know, and they went. I stayed with the globe. Jarrell and Trella were still with Wolfe, but Corey Brigham had g
one. Then they left too, ignoring me, and while Orrie was in the hall seeing them out I went and sat on one of the yellow chairs, the one Susan had occupied.
I cringed. “Very well, sir,” I said, “you want my record. I was born in the maternity ward of the Ohio State Penitentiary on Christmas Eve, eighteen sixty-five. After they branded me I was taken-”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, sir.” I got up and went to my own chair as Orrie appeared. “Do you want my opinion?”
“No.”
“You’re quite welcome. One will get you twenty that the gun will not be found.”
He grunted.
I replied, “Lois has remembered who I am, and I had to tell her that her father knows. She won’t spread it. One will get you thirty that the gun will not be found.”
He grunted.
I replied, “To be practical about it, the only real question is how soon we call Cramer, and I’m involved in that as much as you are. More. One will get you fifty that the gun will not be found.”
He grunted.
Chapter 9
AT NINE-THIRTY Saturday morning, having breakfasted with Lois and Susan and Wyman, more or less-more or less, because we hadn’t synchronized-I made a tour of the lower floor of the duplex, all except the library and the kitchen. It wasn’t a search; I didn’t look under cushions or in drawers. Wolfe’s suggestion had been to put the gun at some spot where it would soon be seen, so I just covered the territory and used my eyes. I certainly didn’t expect to see it, having offered odds of fifty to one, and so wasn’t disappointed.
There was no good reason why I shouldn’t have slept in my own bed Friday night, but Wolfe had told Jarrell (with Trella there) that he would send his secretary back to him as soon as he was through asking him about his past. I hadn’t really minded, since even a fifty-to-one shot has been known to deliver, and if one of them sneaked the gun out into the open that very evening it would be a pleasure to be the one to discover it, or even to be there when someone else discovered it. So I made a tour before I went up to bed.
My second tour, Saturday morning, was more thorough, and when, having completed it, I entered the reception hall on my way to the front door, Steck was there.
He spoke. “Could I help you, sir? Were you looking for something?”
I regarded him. What if he was a loyal and devoted old retainer? What if he had been afraid his master was in a state of mind where he might plug somebody, and had pinched the gun to remove temptation? Should I take him up to my room for a confidential talk? Should I take him down to Wolfe? It would make a horse laugh if we unloaded to Cramer, and our client and his family were put through the wringer, and it turned out that the gun had been under Steck’s mattress all the time. I regarded him, decided it would have to be referred to a genius like Wolfe, and told him that I was beyond help, I was just fidgety, but thanked him all the same. When he saw I was going out he opened the door for me, trying not to look relieved.
Whenever possible I go out every morning, sometime between nine and eleven, when Wolfe is up in the plant rooms, to loosen up my legs and get a lungful of exhaust fumes, but it wasn’t just through force of habit that I was headed outdoors. An assistant district attorney, probably accompanied by a dick, was coming to see Jarrell at eleven o’clock, to get more facts about James L. Eber, deceased, and Jarrell and I had agreed that it was just as well for me to be off the premises.
Walking the thirty blocks to the Gazette building, I dropped in to ask Lon Cohen if the Giants were going to move to San Francisco. I also asked him for the latest dope on the Eber murder, and he asked me who Wolfe’s client was. Neither of us got much satisfaction. As far as he knew, the cops were making a strenuous effort to turn up a lead and serve the cause of justice, and as far as I knew, Wolfe was fresh out of clients but if and when I had anything good enough for the front page I would let him know. From there, having loosened up my legs, I took a taxi to 35th Street.
Wolfe had come down from the plant rooms and was at his desk, dictating to Orrie, at my desk. They took time out to greet me, which I appreciated, from two busy men with important matters to attend to like writing to Lewis Hewitt to tell him that a cross of Cochlioda noezliana with Odontoglossum armainvillierense was going to bloom and inviting him to come and look at it. Not having had my usual forty minutes with the morning Times at breakfast, I got it from the rack and went to the couch, and had finished the front-page headlines and the sports pages when the doorbell rang. The man seated at my desk should have answered it, but he was being told by Wolfe how to spell a word which should have been no problem, so I went.
One glance through the panel, at a husky specimen in a gray suit, a pair of broad shoulders, and a big red face, was sufficient. I went and put the chain bolt on, opened the door to the two inches allowed by the chain, and spoke through the crack. “Good morning. I haven’t seen you for months. You’re looking fine.”
“Come on, Goodwin, open up.”
“I’d like to, but you know how it is. Mr. Wolfe is engaged, teaching a man how to spell. What do I tell him?”
“Tell him I want to know why he changed your name to Alan Green and got you a job as secretary to Otis Jarrell.”
“I’ve been wondering about that myself. Make yourself comfortable while I go ask him. Of course if he doesn’t know, there’s no point in your bothering to come in.”
Leaving the door open to the chain, not to be rude, I went to the office and crossed to Wolfe’s desk. “Sorry to interrupt, but Inspector Cramer wants to know why you changed my name to Alan Green and got me a job as secretary to Otis Jarrell. Shall I tell him?”
He scowled at me. “How did he find out? That Jarrell girl?”
“No. I don’t know. If you have to blame it on a woman, take Nora Kent, but I doubt it.”
“Confound it. Bring him in.”
I returned to the front, removed the chain, and swung the door open. “He’s delighted that you’ve come. So am I.”
He may not have caught the last three words, as he had tossed his hat on the bench and was halfway down the hall. By the time I had closed the door and made it back to the office he was at the red leather chair. Orrie wasn’t visible. He hadn’t come to the hall, so Wolfe must have sent him to the front room. That door was closed. I went to my chair and was myself again.
Cramer, seated, was speaking. “Do you want me to repeat it? What I told Goodwin?”
“That shouldn’t be necessary.” Wolfe, having swiveled to face him, was civil but not soapy. “But I am curious, naturally, as to how you got the information. Has Mr. Goodwin been under surveillance?”
“No, but a certain address on Fifth Avenue has been, since eight o’clock this morning. When Goodwin was seen coming out, at a quarter to ten, and recognized, and it was learned from the man in the lobby that the man who had just gone out was named Alan Green and he was Otis Jarrell’s secretary, and it was reported to me, I wasn’t just curious. If I had just been curious I would have had Sergeant Stebbins phone you. I’ve come myself.”
“I commend your zeal, Mr. Cramer. And it’s pleasant to see you again, but I’m afraid my wits are a little dull this morning. You must bear with me. I didn’t know that taking a job under an alias is an offense against society and therefore a proper subject for police inquiry. And by you? The head of the Homicide Squad?”
“I ought to be able to bear with you, I’ve had enough practice. But by God, it’s just about all I-” He stopped abruptly, got a cigar from a pocket, rolled it between his palms, stuck it in his mouth, and clamped his teeth on it. He never lit one. The mere sight of Wolfe, and the sound of his voice, with the memories they recalled, had stirred his blood, and it needed calming down.
He took the cigar from his mouth. “You’re bad enough,” he said, under control, “when you’re not sarcastic. When you are, you’re the hardest man to take in my jurisdiction. Do you know that a man named Eber was shot, murdered, in his apartment on Forty-ninth Street Thursday afternoon? Da
y before yesterday?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Do you know that for five years he had been Otis Jarrell’s secretary and had recently been fired?”
“Yes, I know that too. Permit me to comment that this seems a little silly. I read newspapers.”
“Okay, but it’s in the picture, and you want the picture. According to information received, Goodwin’s first appearance at Jarrell’s place was on Monday afternoon, three days before Eber was killed. Jarrell told the man in the lobby that his name was Alan Green and that he was going to live there. And he has been. Living there.” His head jerked to me. “That right, Goodwin?”
“Right,” I admitted.
“You’ve been there since Monday, under an assumed name, as Jarrell’s secretary?”
“Right-with time out for errands. I’m not there now.”
“You’re damn right you’re not. You’re not there now because you knew someone was coming from the DA’s office to see Jarrell and you didn’t want to be around. Right?”
“Fifth Amendment.”
“Nuts. That’s for Reds and racketeers, not for clowns like you.” He jerked back to Wolfe, decided his blood needed calming again, stuck the cigar in his mouth, and chewed on it.
He removed it. “That’s the picture, Wolfe,” he said. “We’ve got no lead that’s worth a damn on who killed Eber. Naturally our best source on his background and his associates has been Jarrell and the others at his place. Eber not only worked there, he lived there. We’ve got a lot of facts about him, but nothing with a motive for murder good enough to fasten on. We’re just about ready to decide we’re not going to get anywhere with Jarrell and that bunch and we’d better concentrate on other possibilities, and then this. Goodwin. Goodwin and you.”
His eyes narrowed, then he realized that was the wrong attitude and opened them. “Now it’s different. If a man like Otis Jarrell hires you for something so important that you’re even willing to get along without Goodwin so he can go and stay there under an assumed name, with a job as Jarrell’s secretary, and if the man who formerly had the job gets murdered three days later, do you expect me to believe there’s no connection?”
