“It was at NYU, but I don’t know which building or room.”
“Can you find out?”
“Yes, easily.”
“And the names of some of the people who were there?”
“I can tell you one name now. Bill Magnus. William Magnus. I have his address and phone number at the office. He could give you other names. I saw him last week. Many people have wanted to see me, since Susan-“
“The meeting took place and Miss Brooke was there?”
“Yes.”
“Can Mr. Goodwin call you in the morning and get Mr. Magnus’s address?”
“I had better call him. I’m never sure just when I’ll be there.”
“Will you do so?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ve talked with Magnus,” Oster said. “So have the police, naturally. You won’t get anything conclusive, one way or the other.”
Wolfe was swallowing beer. It was turning into a big beer night, three bottles instead of the usual one or two. He put the glass down and licked his lips. “There’s always a chance of a hint, and Mr. Goodwin is good at hints. I can’t say about you, but the police were surely satisfied to have it that Miss Brooke made that call, and I am not. If there’s any-“
The phone rang, and I turned and got it. “Nero Wolfe’s resi-“
“Saul, Archie. I’ve got a slice of maybe bacon.”
“We could use some. We have company. Hold it.”
“Sure.”
I pressed a button, rose, detoured around the chairs, passing only eight inches from Miss Tiger’s shoulder, went to the kitchen, and got at the phone on my breakfast table.
“Goodwin speaking.”
“You sound more like Lieutenant Rowcliff.”
“I do not. I don’t stutter. Well?”
“It cost twenty bucks. Some garage attendants have delusions of grandeur. The Brookes have two cars, Herons; a sedan and a station wagon. Mr. Brooke uses the wagon every day, Monday to Friday; he drives to his laboratory in Brooklyn. He returned it to the garage that Monday evening, March second, around midnight. Mrs. Brooke came and got the sedan that evening between seven and eight. His guess is about a quarter to eight. She brought it back about an hour later, maybe an hour and a half.”
“Saul, I love you, except at the poker table. Will he tell her?”
“No. He would deny he told me. I had to swear he wouldn’t be quoted. I merely wanted the information, you know?”
“Yeah. How much chance is there that he made it up to give you your money’s worth?”
“Now listen. Wouldn’t I have said so?”
“I withdraw it. Of course you have the color and license number. How was she dressed?”
“He didn’t notice.”
With Saul you don’t ask silly questions, such as was she alone going and coming. “All right,” I said, “she may not be a murderer, but she’s a damn liar. He’s finishing up a three-bottle session with an integrated audience. One of them is a brown girl, golden brown, whom you’d better never meet if you don’t want to be glued. I don’t want to be rude, but I have to get back in there. Where are you?”
“A booth. Sixty-fourth and Lexington.”
“Where will you be?”
“Home in bed. It’s nearly midnight.”
“If we don’t ring you tonight we will in the morning. Stand by, huh?”
He said he would. I cradled the phone and sat a minute looking at it. It was the kind of thing Wolfe hates and I’m not too fond of myself. Trying to find someone or ones who had seen that car in Harlem that evening, granting it had been there, was a job for an army. Facing her with it as a known fact without naming the source would be a waste of breath. I got up, said a word aloud that needn’t be in the record, went to the hall, and found that the party was over. Two of them were on their way to the front, and the others were filing out of the office, all but Paul Whipple, who was having a word with Wolfe at his desk.
I went to help with coats and hats, and deliberately selected Maud Jordan’s, letting one of the others serve Miss Tiger. I didn’t want to give her the impression that I was at her beck, let alone her call. Then Paul Whipple came, and I had his ready for him. He was the last one out.
When I went to the office Wolfe had his reading light on and had opened _The Minister and the Choir Singer_. That was as it should be; he would stay to keep me company while I took things out and straightened up. To go to bed, leaving the mess to me, would sort of imply that I was merely a menial, so he stayed to collaborate. As I entered he looked a question.
I nodded. “Saul. Mrs. Brooke forgets things. Monday evening, March second, around a quarter to eight, she got her car from the garage and brought it back an hour or more later. Saul shelled out twenty dollars to the garage attendant and promised not to reveal the source. No one with her.”
He growled. “Confound her.”
“Yes, sir. I told Saul we’d ring him tonight or in the morning. Any instructions?”
“It’s past bedtime. Ask Saul to come at eleven. If Miss Kallman hasn’t called by ten o’clock you should call her.”
“Right. Do you want to see Magnus?”
“No. You will.”
Meaning he only did the tricky ones. He raised his book, and I started collecting glasses. Miss Tiger’s was still two-thirds full. Wasting good gin, Follansbee’s.
A problem like Dolly Brooke’s lie is plain ornery. Even if we could get the garage man to play along and he said it to her face, a big if, she could say that he was mistaken, it had been another evening, or that she had gone on a personal errand which she preferred to keep to herself; and if she had actually driven to 128th Street and killed Susan Brooke it wouldn’t heip any to let her know we had caught her in a lie just to show her how smart we were. You might like to know how Nero Wolfe would handle such a problem, but I can’t tell you in this particular case because he didn’t handle it at all. Luck did. The luck rang the doorbell of the old brownstone at five minutes to ten Tuesday morning.
But first William Magnus. Rae Kallman phoned while I was at my breakfast table in the kitchen, on my fourth homemade Creole pork sausage and my third Creole fritter. She had discovered that she had Magnus’s phone number in a notebook at home, and she had called him early, to get him before he left. By now he had gone for a day at school. He would have no free time until four-thirty, and we could expect him a little before five. As I resumed with the sausage and fritters I considered the fact that Miss Kallman was cooperating beyond the call of duty; she had promised only to supply his address and phone number. Sometimes-not often, but it does happen-such a little detail has a point. Had she wanted to brief him, and if so, why'A corner of my mind was still considering it in the office as I opened the morning mail.
When luck rang the doorbell at 9:55 I didn’t know it was luck, even after I went to the hall and saw him on the stoop. Peter Vaughn was mereiy the long and lanky specimen who was still trying to hang onto the notion that he had been going to marry Susan Brooke after she got rid of her kink. As a candidate for the tag, at least 100 to 1. But when I opened the door and saw him closer, it was obvious that something really sharp was biting him. His bony face looked even narrower, and he had to unclamp his jaw to speak, to say that he knew Wolfe wasn’t available at that hour, but he would rather see me anyway. That was grease, or it wasn’t. I took him to the office and moved a chair up to face mine. He sat, clamped his jaw again, and rubbed his eyes, which were red and puffy, first with his fingertips and then with the heels of his palms.
“I haven’t slept for four nights,” he said.
I nodded. “You look it.” Four nights had passed since he had been there with his future in-laws. If I had been Wolfe I would have asked if he had eaten. Being me, I asked, “How about a drink'Or coffee?”
“No, thanks.” He tried to eye me, but it was mostly blinks. “I know a couple of men who know about you, and it’s because of what they said that I would rather see you than Wolfe. They said you’re tough but straight, and you’re more human than Wolfe.”
“At least I try.”
He didn’t hear it. He was in the kind of condition when you’re so concentrated on what you want to say that nothing anyone else says can get in.
“I’m in one hell of a squeeze,” he said. “I’m stuck. First I ought to tell you, I don’t owe Kenneth and Dolly Brooke anything. They don’t owe me anything, either. met them through Susan, about three years ago. I only knew them, I only kept knowing them and seeing them, on account of her. So I don’t feel- Wait a minute. I didn’t say this is confidential. It is.”
I shook my head. “Not if it connects up with murder. I mustn’t make liars of the men who told you I’m straight. Put it this way: nothing you tell me will be disclosed unless it has to be in order to nail a murderer. Everything else is, and will stay, confidential. Is that plain?”
“Yes.” A muscle at the side of his neck was twitching. “I suppose& All right. I admit I’m thinking of me. I lied to the police.”
“If I had a dime for every lie I’ve told them I’d be on my yacht in the Caribbean. What is it you don’t feel?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘I don’t feel,’ and stopped.”
“I don’t- Oh. Yes. I don’t feel that there’s any question of loyalty. I don’t owe them any loyalty. I said I’m thinking of me, and I am, but the trouble is I have a conscience. That’s an old-fashioned word, and I’m not religious, but I don’t know what else to call it. That’s why I haven’t been able to sleep. What I can’t stand- You remember, when we were here Friday evening, we tried to get Wolfe to tell us why he thinks that man is innocent, and he wouldn’t. I want you to tell me why. Confidentially. Just for me.”
It was beginning to sound promising. What was eating him might be something we could use, and the odds had at least doubled that he wasn’t it. I made an effort. “If it would get you some sleep,” I said, “I wish I could tell you. But if I did, people would no longer call me straight. Dunbar Whipple is Nero Wolfe’s client, and I work for Nero Wolfe. But look at it. You read that piece in the Gazette. Mr. Wolfe has never taken a murder suspect for a client if he thought there was any chance that he was guilty. He knows Whipple is innocent. So do I. The only way he can prove it is to get the murderer. That’s all I can tell you or your conscience.”
He kept trying to focus on me without blinking. “I can’t stand it,” he said, “and I don’t intend to. An innocent man convicted of murder because I didn’t have the guts& ” He shut his eyes tight and jerked his head from side to side.
“Look,” I said, “let’s get down to cases. What did you lie to the police about?”
“About where I was. That evening. I lied to Wolfe too. I wasn’t at the club all evening. I left right after dinner and was gone for more than two hours.”
My lips parted to say “Where did you go?” but it didn’t get out. I don’t know what stopped it. You never know where a hunch comes from; if you did it wouldn’t be a hunch. I took three seconds to look at it, liked it, and said, “Sure. You went and baby-sat for Dolly Brooke while she went and got her car and went for a ride.”
It stopped the blinks. He stared. “How in the name of& “
I grinned at him. “You have just heard a detective detect. I knew that she had got the car from the garage around a quarter to eight and returned about an hour and a half later. I doubted if she would leave an eight-year-old alone in the apartment. You come and make a big point of not owing them any loyalty and then say you lied about where you were that evening. So I detect.” I turned a palm up. “Simple. Now that the beans are spilled, let’s use the broom. Where did she go in the car?”
He still wasn’t blinking. “So you knew. I didn’t need& I’m a damn fool. How did you find out?”
“Confidential information. We respect confidences, including yours. Where did-“
“Did you know when we were here'Friday?”
“No. We got it last night. Where did she go in the car?”
“I didn’t need to come.” He got to his feet, none too steady. “You already knew.” He turned and was going.
I moved and was between him and the door. “Now you’re a damn fool,” I told him. “The only question is would you rather tell me or the police.”
He was blinking again. “You said you respect confidences.”
“Nuts. You know what I said. We would prefer to tell the police nothing, about you or anyone else, until we can name the murderer, but you’re not leaving until either (a) you answer my questions or (b) I get a cop here and you answer his questions. Take your pick.”
He didn’t size me up. He stood and blinked at me, but not to decide if he could rush me. He was contemplating the situation, not me. I let him take his time. Finally he turned, not too sure of his legs, walked back to the chair, and sat. Back in my chair, I asked him, not demanding, just wanting to know, “Where did she go in the car?”
“If I tell you that,” he said, “I ought to tell you all about it.”
“Fine. Go ahead.”
He took a while to decide where to start. “You know I was going to marry Susan.”
“If that’s the way you want to put it, yes.”
“That’s exactly the way I want to put it. We knew about that apartment. We all knew-her mother, Kenneth, Dolly, and I. We knew she was emotionally involved in the civil rights movement. Her mother and Dolly thought she was also emotionally involved with that man, Dunbar Whipple, but I didn’t. I thought I understood Susan, and I still think so. You don’t think so, do you?”
There was no point to rubbing salt in. “I don’t count. I didn’t know her. All I want is to get a murderer.”
“Well, I knew her. I understood her. Her mother and Dolly kept saying I ought to do something, but I thought it was better just to let her work her way through it. They kept harping about that apartment and the disgrace, the scandal, Susan would bring on the family. Then about a month ago Dolly said if I wouldn’t do something she would. She didn’t tell Kenneth because she knew he wouldn’t approve, but she told me. Some evening when Kenneth was staying at the laboratory Mother Brooke would come and stay with the boy, and she would go up there and see what was going on. In one way I didn’t approve either, but in another way I did, because I thought she would find there was nothing wrong. You see the situation?”
I only nodded. What a situation for a grown man with a brain supposedly in working order. I wasn’t thinking of color; that was an unimportant detail.
“All right,” he said, “that’s how it was. That evening, that Monday evening, I got a phone call as I was eating dinner at the club. It was Dolly. Mother Brooke couldn’t come because she was sick, and Dolly wanted me to come and stay with the boy. I suppose I should have refused, but-anyway, I went. I got there a little after eight. She left right away, and-“
“Hold it. Our information is that she got the car from the garage about a quarter to eight.”
“Then your information is wrong. She left the house about ten after, and the garage is four blocks away. My God, do you think I don’t know'When I know what happened'When I’ve been over it and over it a thousand times?”
“Okay, you know.”
“God knows I do. Give her ten minutes to get to the garage and get the car, and ten more to One Hundred and Twenty-eighth Street, and-“
“Maybe not enough. Fifteen.”
“No. Straight up Park Avenue and across, nothing to it at that time in the evening. I drove it and timed it twice yesterday. Nine minutes both times, and I didn’t push. So she got there just after half past eight, out of the car and to the building. She went up the two flights and stood at the door of the apartment a few minutes, listening. She didn’t hear anything, and she knocked on the door and then stood some more, and then knocked again, and nothing happened. I’m telling you what she told me. She went down and stood across the street, and pretty soon Dunbar Whipple came and entered the building. She wanted-“
“Did she know Whipple?”
“She had met him. Susan had taken her to a couple of ROCC meetings. She wanted to go back in and up to the apartment, but she was afraid to. She went back to the car, which she had double-parked around the corner, and drove to the garage and came home. If you allow twenty-five minutes for that, Whipple got to the apartment at five minutes after nine. It was exactly half past when she got home.”
“And told you what had happened.”
“Yes.”
“What was her-uh-attitude?”
“She was excited. She thought she had proved something, but I didn’t. I thought obviously Susan wasn’t there, since Dolly had knocked twice and she hadn’t answered. A girl who works for the ROCC lived in that building, Susan had told me about her, and Whipple could have been going to see her. We got into an argument about it, and I left and went back to the club.”
I regarded him. He was really a pitiful sight. “Tell me something. Just curiosity. Why were you so hot to know why we think Whipple is innocent when you already knew damn well he is?”
“I didn’t know it.”
“Certainly you did. Only two alternatives. Either Susan was already dead when Dolly arrived, since she didn’t answer the door, or she did answer the door and let Dolly in, and Dolly killed her. In either case she wasn’t alive at five minutes past nine. Don’t tell me you hadn’t figured that.”
“Of course I had. But it wasn’t certain. Sometimes people don’t go to the door when there’s a knock.”
“Nuts. No wonder you had conscience trouble. You think Dolly killed her and you baby-sat for her while she did it.”
“I haven’t said so and I’m not going to.” He was blinking again. If his eyelashes had been wings he would have been around the world by now. He asked, “What are you going to do?”
I looked at my watch: 10:43. “Nothing, for seventeen minutes. Mr. Wolfe comes down from the plant rooms at eleven. I would advise- Oh, a question. Did you tell her you were going to spill it?”
“No. It would have been& tough. She would have tried to talk me out of it.”
“Are you going to tell her you have spilled it?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t. I advise you to flop. Now that it’s off your chest you can probably do twelve hours. We have an extra room with a good bed. In your condition you might get run over crossing the street.”
He shook his head. “I’m going home. God, the sound of that, going home!” He got to his feet and put a hand on the chair back for help. “I don’t want Wolfe to see me. I couldn’t take him right now. Can’t you tell me what you’re going to do?”
“I have no idea. Mr. Wolfe is the cook, I only wait on table. As for your lying to the police, forget it. They expect it. If nobody ever lied to them, most of them would have been out of jobs long ago.” I rose. “If it has to be that you hear from them, you’ll hear from me first.” I touched his arm. “Come along. Get home in one piece if possible.”
The guy was just about out on his feet. After I got his coat on him, and his hat, and opened the door, I wanted to convoy him down the stoop, but if he couldn’t manage that he would never make it home, so I stood out in the raw March wind and watched him to Tenth Avenue, where he would sooner or later get a taxi headed uptown. Of course the trouble was the let up after getting rid of a ten-ton load.
Even after he had reached the corner I stayed on the stoop, for the air, while I asked myself if I should have kept him for more digging. For instance, granting that Dolly had killed her, had it been planned or offhand'I might have asked him if Dolly was good at mimicking, and if he had ever heard her imitate Susan’s voice, perhaps to him on the phone. Wolfe would have. I might have asked him what Dolly had said when she came back, tried to get her exact words. If she had just committed a murder, smashed her sister-in-law’s skull with a club, almost certainly her tongue had made some little slip, and probably more than one. I had collected four or five might-haves when a bellow came from inside.