Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 02 (27 page)

I said, “I almost didn’t get there. Two seconds at the most. Of course she rushed it, but it shows it must have been quick.—Okay, Rose. I won’t ask you to do any more yelling. You’re a good brave girl. Just a couple more questions. When you heard the shots you ran to the foyer with Mrs. Burton. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did you see when you got there?”

“I didn’t see anything. It was dark.”

“What did you hear?”

“I heard something on the floor and then I heard Mr. Chapin saying Mrs. Burton’s name and then the light went on and I saw him.”

“What was he doing?”

“He was trying to get up.”

“Did he have a gun in his hand?”

“No, sir. I’m sure he didn’t because he had his hands on the floor getting up.”

“And then you saw Dr. Burton.”

“Yes, sir.” She swallowed. “I saw him after Mrs. Burton went to him.”

“What did you do then?”

“Well … I stood there I guess … then Mrs. Burton told me to go for Dr. Foster and I ran out and
ran downstairs and they told me Dr. Foster had just left and I went to the elevator—”

“Okay, hold it.”

I looked back over my notes. Mrs. Burton was patting Rose’s arm again and Rose was looking at her with her lip ready to sag. My watch said five minutes till eleven; I had been in that room nearly two hours. There was one thing I hadn’t gone into at all, but it might not be needed and in any event it could wait. I had got enough to sleep on. But as I flipped the pages of my pad there was another point that occurred to me which I thought ought to be attended to. I put the pad and pencil in my pocket and looked at Mrs. Burton:

“That’s all for Rose. It’s all for me too, except if you would just tell Rose—”

She looked up at the maid and nodded at her. “You’d better go to bed, Rose. Good night.”

“Oh, Mrs. Burton—”

“All right now. You heard Mr. Goodwin say you’re a brave girl. Go and get some sleep.”

The maid gave me a look, not any too friendly, looked again at her mistress, and turned and went. As soon as the door had closed behind her I got up from my chair.

I said, “I’m going, but there’s one more thing. I’ve got to ask a favor of you. You’ll have to take my word for it that Nero Wolfe’s interest in this business is the same as yours. I’ll tell you that straight. You don’t want Paul Chapin to burn in the electric chair for killing your husband, and neither does he. I don’t know what his next move will be, that’s up to him, but it’s likely he’ll need some kind of standing. For instance, if he wants to ask Inspector Cramer to let him see the gun he’ll have to give a better reason than idle curiosity. I can’t quite see Paul Chapin engaging him,
but how about you? If we could say we were acting on commission from you it would make things simple. Of course there wouldn’t be any fee, even if we did something you wanted done. If you want me to I’ll put that in writing.”

I looked at her. Her head was still up, but the signs of a flop were in her eyes and at the corners of her mouth. I said to her, “I’m going, I won’t stay and bark at you about this, just say yes or no. If you don’t lie down somewhere and relax, let it go ahead and bust, you’ll be doing another kind of relaxing. What about it?”

She shook her head. I thought she was saying no, to me, but then she spoke—though this didn’t sound as if it was directed at me any more than the headshake: “I loved my husband, Mr. Goodwin. Oh yes, I loved him. I sometimes disapproved of things he did. He disapproved of things I did, more often—though he seldom said so. He would disapprove of what I am doing now—I think he would. He would say, let fate do her job. He would say that as he so often said it—gallantly—and about Paul Chapin too. He is dead … Oh yes, he is dead … but let him live enough to say that now, and let me live enough to say what I always said, I will not keep my hand from any job if I think it’s mine. He would not want me to make any new concessions to him, dead.” She rose to her feet, abruptly, and abruptly added, “And even if he wanted me to I doubt if I could. Good night, Mr. Goodwin.” She held out her hand.

I took it. I said, “Maybe I get you, but I like plain words. Nero Wolfe can say he is acting in your behalf, is that it?”

She nodded. I turned and left the room.

In the foyer I took a glance around as I got my hat
and coat from the table and put them on. I took the black bag from the closet. When I opened the door I gave the lock an inspection and saw it was the usual variety in houses of that class, the kind where you can press a button countersunk in the edge of the door to free the cylinder. I tried it and it worked. I heard a noise in the hall and stepped out and shut the door behind me. There sitting in a chair, twisting the hide on his neck to see who had been monkeying with the door but not bothering to get up, was the snoop Cramer had left to protect the family from annoyance as I had suspected he would.

I started pulling on my gloves. I said to him friendly and brisk, “Thank you, my man. I assure you we appreciate this,” and went on to the elevator.

A
t two o’clock that night—Sunday morning—I sat at my desk, in the office, and yawned. Wolfe, behind his own desk, was looking at a schedule I had typed out for him, keeping a carbon for myself, during one of the intervals in my report when he had called time out to do a little arranging in his mind. The schedule looked like this:

I looked at my carbon and yawned. Fritz had kept some squirrel stew hot for me, and it had long since been put away, with a couple of rye highballs because the black sauce Fritz used for squirrel made milk taste like stale olive juice. After I had imparted a few of the
prominent details without saying how I had got hold of them, Wolfe had explained to Hibbard that it is the same with detectives as with magicians, their primary and constant concern is to preserve the air of mystery which is attached to their profession, and Hibbard had gone up to bed. The development that had arrived over the telephone while he was taking his bath had changed his world. He had eaten no dinner to speak of, though the need to chaperon the gold leaf on his teeth had departed. He had insisted on phoning fifty or sixty people, beginning with his niece, and had been restrained only by some tall talk about his word of honor. In fact, that question seemed not entirely closed, for Wolfe had had Fritz cut the wire of the telephone which was in Hibbard’s room. Now he was up there, maybe asleep, maybe doping out a psychological detour around words of honor. I had gone on and given Wolfe the story, every crumb I had, and there had been discussions.

I threw the carbon onto the desk and did some more yawning. Finally Wolfe said:

“You understand, Archie. I think it would be possible for us to go ahead without assuming the drudgery of discovering the murderer of Dr. Burton. I would indeed regard that as obvious, if only men could be depended upon to base their decisions on reason. Alas, there are only three or four of us in the world, and even we will bear watching. And our weak spot is that we are committed not to refer our success to a fact, we must refer it to the vote of our group of clients. We must not only make things happen, we must make our clients vote that they have happened. That arrangement was unavoidable. It makes it necessary for us to learn who killed Dr. Burton, so that if
the vote cannot be sufficiently swayed by reason it can be bullied by melodrama. You see that.”

I said, “I’m sleepy. When I have to wait until nearly midnight for my dinner and then it’s squirrel stew …”

Wolfe nodded. “Yes, I know. Under those circumstances I would be no better than a maniac.—Another thing. The worst aspect of this Burton development, from our standpoint, is what it does to the person of Mr. Chapin. He cannot come here to get his box—or for anything else. It will be necessary to make arrangements through Mr. Morley, and go to see him. What jail will they keep him in?”

“I suppose, Centre Street. There are three or four places they could stick him, but the Tombs is the most likely.”

Wolfe sighed. “That abominable clatter. It’s more than two miles, nearer three I suppose. The last time I left this house was early in September, for the privilege of dining at the same table with Albert Einstein, and coming home it rained. You remember that.”

“Yeah. Will I ever forget it. There was such a downpour the pavements were damp.”

“You deride me. Confound it … ah well. I will not make a virtue of necessity, but neither will I whimper under its lash. Since there is no such thing as bail for a man charged with murder, and since I must have a conversation with Mr. Chapin, there is no escaping an expedition to Centre Street. Not, however, until we know who killed Dr. Burton.”

“And not forgetting that before the night’s out the cripple may empty the bag for Cramer by confessing that he did it.”

“Archie.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at me. “If you
persist … but no. King Canute tried that. I only say again, nonsense. Have I not made it clear to you? It is the fashion to say anything is possible. The truth is, very few things are possible, pitiably few. That Mr. Chapin killed Dr. Burton is not among them. We are engaged on a project. It is futile to ask you to exclude from your brain all the fallacies which creep, familiar worms, through its chambers, but I do expect you not to let them interfere with our necessary operations. It is late, past two o’clock, time for bed. I have outlined your activities for tomorrow—today. I have explained what may be done, and what may not. Good night, sleep well.”

I stood up and yawned. I was too sleepy to be sore, so it was automatic that I said, “Okay, boss.” I went upstairs to bed.

Sunday morning I slept late. I had been given three chores for that day, and the first one on the list probably wouldn’t be practical at any early hour, so twice when I woke up to glance at the clock I burrowed in again. I finally tumbled out around nine-thirty and got the body rinsed off and the face scraped. When I found myself whistling as I buttoned my shirt I stopped to seek the source of all the gaiety, and discovered I probably felt satisfied because Paul Chapin was behind bars and couldn’t see the sunshine which I was seeing on the front of the houses across the street. I stopped whistling. That was no way to feel about a guy when I was supposed to be fighting for his freedom.

It was Sunday morning in November, and I knew what had happened when I had called down to Fritz that I was out of the bathtub: he had lined a casserole with butter, put in it six tablespoons of cream, three fresh eggs, four Lambert sausages, salt, pepper,
paprika and chives, and conveyed it to the oven. But before I went to the kitchen I stopped in the office. Andrew Hibbard was there with the morning paper. He said that he hadn’t been able to sleep much, that he had had breakfast, and that he wished to God he had some of his own clothes. I told him that Wolfe was up on the top floor with the orchids and that he would be welcome up there if he cared to see them. He decided to go. I went to the phone and called up Centre Street and was told that Inspector Cramer hadn’t shown up yet and they weren’t sure when he would. So I went to the kitchen and took my time with the casserole and accessories. Of course the murder of Dr. Burton was front page in both papers. I read the pieces through and enjoyed them very much.

Then I went to the garage and got the roadster and moseyed downtown.

Cramer was in his office when I got there, and didn’t keep me waiting. He was smoking a big cigar and looked contented. I sat down and listened to him discussing with a couple of dicks the best way to persuade some Harlem citizen to quit his anatomy experiments on the skulls of drugstore cashiers, and when they went I looked at him and grinned. He didn’t grin back. He whirled his chair around to face me and asked me what I wanted. I told him I didn’t want anything, I just wanted to thank him for letting me squat on the sidelines up at Doc Burton’s last night.

He said, “Yeah. You were gone when I came out. Did it bore you?”

“It did. I couldn’t find any clue.”

“No.” But still he didn’t grin. “This case is one of those mean babies where nothing seems to fit. All we’ve got is the murderer and the gun and two witnesses. Now what do you want?”

I told him, “I want lots of things. You’ve got it, inspector. Okay. You can afford to be generous, and George Pratt ought to hand you two grand, half of what you saved him. I’d like to know if you found any fingerprints on the gun. I’d like to know if Chapin has explained why he planned it so amateur, with him a professional. But what I’d really like is to have a little talk with Chapin. If you could arrange that for me—”

Cramer was grinning. He said, “I wouldn’t mind having a talk with Chapin myself.”

“Well, I’d be glad to put in a word for you.”

He pulled on his cigar, and then took it out and got brisk. “I’ll tell you, Goodwin. I’d just as soon sit and chin with you, but the fact is it’s Sunday and I’m busy. So take this down. First, even if I passed you in to Chapin you wouldn’t get anywhere. That cripple is part mule. I spent four hours on him last night, and I swear to God he wouldn’t even tell me how old he is. He is not talking, and he won’t talk to anyone except his wife. He says he don’t want a lawyer, or rather he don’t say anything when we ask him who he wants. His wife has seen him twice, and they won’t say anything that anyone can hear. You know I’ve had a little experience greasing tongues, but he stops them all.”

“Yeah. Did you try pinching him, just between you and me?”

He shook his head. “Haven’t touched him. But to go on. After what Nero Wolfe said on the phone last night—I suppose you heard that talk—I had an idea you’d be wanting to see him. And I’ve decided nothing doing. Even if he was talking a blue streak, not a chance. Considering how we got him, I don’t see why you’re interested anyhow. Hell, can’t Wolfe take the short end once in his life?—Now wait a minute. You
don’t need to remind me Wolfe has always been better than square with me and there’s one or two things I owe him. I’ll hand him a favor when I’ve got one the right size. But no matter how tight I’ve got this cripple sewed up, I’m going to play safe with him.”