Death Times Three SSC (10 page)

Judd had a hand extended. "Then it's mine." His

tone was sharp and peremptory. "And you opened it--"

"No, sir; I didn't." Cramer hung onto the envelope.

"It had already been opened. It is unquestionably your property, and eventually no doubt it will be surrendered to you, but we'll keep it for the present. Under the circumstances. It contains the birth certificate of `Baby Philip,' dated September 18, 1911, four pages from the records of the Ellen James Home regarding the sojourn in that institution of a young woman named Martha Judd, and a written statement, holograph, dated July 9, 1936, signed by Arthur Tingley. Also, a certificate of the legal adoption of Philip Tingley by Arthur Tingley, dated May 11, 1915. If you wish to inspect these documents now, in my presence --"

"No," Judd snapped. "I demand the immediate surrender of the box and its contents to me."

Cramer shook his head. "For the present, sir--" "I'll replevy."

"I doubt if you can. Evidence in a murder case--"

"That has nothing to do with Tingley's murder."

"I hope it hasn't." Cramer sounded as if he meant it. "I'm only a cop and you know what you are. A man in your position and a thing like this. It was too hot for the district attorney and he wished it onto me. So it's a job, and that's that. You have a sister named Martha. Was she at the Ellen James Home in the year 1911?"

"It would have been sensible of you," Judd said icily, "to follow the district attorney's example." He aimed a finger at the box. "I want that, and demand it."

"Yeah, I heard you before. I can get tough, you know, even with you. Let's try this. You said it wasn't you that entered the Tingley Building at seven-thirty yesterday evening. Do you still say that?"

"Yes."

"We're taking your chauffeur down to headquarters."

Judd made a contemptuous noise.

"Also Philip Tingley. You might as well come down off your horse. Somebody's going to talk; don't think they won't. If you expect "

The phone rang. I answered it, and learned that Sergeant Foster wished to speak to Inspector Cramer. Cramer came to my desk to take it. About all he did for two minutes was listen and grunt. At the end he said, "Bring him here to Nero Wolfe's place," and hung up.

"If you don't object," he said to Wolfe.

"To what?" Wolfe demanded.

"A little talk with Philip Tingley. They found him over in his kitchen tied up and gagged."

I have got, and always will have, a soft spot in my heart for Philip Tingley. Consider the situation from his standpoint when he entered Nero Wolfe's office at seven o'clock that Wednesday evening. Two burly detectives were right behind him. He was surrounded by the enemy. His jaw was swollen, his head must have been fuzzy, and he was wobbly on his pins. He knew I was stronger than he was. And yet, by gum, the minute he caught sight of me he power-dived at me as if all he asked was to plant one bomb! That's the spirit that wins ball games.

The dicks jumped for him. I hastily arose, but they got him and held him.

"What the hell?" Cramer inquired.

"It's a private matter," I explained, sitting down. "It. was me that fixed his jaw and tied him up. That has no bearing--"

I got on my feet again. With one mighty, spasmodic heave of his bony frame Philip had busted loose and was on the move. But not toward me; he had changed his objective. What he was after was the metal box on Cramer's knees. He not only grabbed for it, but he got it. The dicks went for him again, this time with more fervor. One of them retrieved the box and the other one slammed him down. I went to help, and we picked him up and shoved him into a chair. Panting like a polar bear on a hot day, he glared at us, but quit trying.

"Whistle for help," Cramer said sarcastically. He looked at me. "You say you fixed his jaw? Let's take that first."

I started to explain, but Philip took the floor again, this time verbally. He had seen Judd. "You!" he yelled. "You got it! You killed him and took it! And you framed me! You had her say she was coming to see me, and you sent that man--"

"Shut up!" I told him. "Judd never sent me anywhere and never will. She did come to see you, but she saw me instead."

"He got the box!"

"You damned idiot," Judd said bitterly. "You'll cook your goose--"

"That'll do," Cramer growled. "If--"

"You can't bully me, Inspector --"

"The hell I can't. If you don't like it, go hire a lawyer. Hang onto that box, Foster." Cramer regarded Philip. "You recognize it?"

"Yes! It's mine!"

"You don't say so. When and where did you see it before?"

"I saw it when I-"

"Don't be a fool," Judd snapped. He stood up. "Come with me. I'll see you through this. Keep your mouth shut."

"You're too late, Mr. Judd." It was Nero Wolfe taking a hand. "Either keep still or go home. You're licked."

"I have never been licked."

"Pfui! You are now. And this is my house you're in. If you try interrupting me, Mr. Goodwin will throw you out with enthusiasm." Wolfe turned to Philip: "Mr. Tingley, I'm afraid you're holding the short end of the stick. The police have got the box. Its contents are known, so you have no lever to use on Mr. Judd. And you're deep in another hole, too. Mr. Judd, who advises you to keep your mouth shut, has himself been talking. We know of your call on him Monday and the demands you made; and of the copies you showed him of the contents of that box; and of your talk with Arthur Tingley yesterday afternoon; and of the arrangement he made for you and Mr. Judd to come to his office last evening--"

Philip snarled at Judd. "You dirty rat

Wolfe sailed over it. "Also, we know that you went there. You walked to the building in the rain, wearing a raincoat, entered at twenty minutes to eight, and came out again seven minutes later. What did you see inside? What did you do?"

"Don't answer him," Judd commanded sharply. "He's only-"

"Save it," Philip told him in harsh contempt. He looked sullenly at Wolfe. "Yes, I went there, and I went in, and I saw him there dead on the floor."

"What--?" Cramer began blurting, but Wolfe stopped him: "I'll do this ..... Mr. Tingley, I beg you to reflect. I may know more than you think I do. You got there at seven-forty--is that right?"

"About that, yes."

"And Tingley was dead?"

"Yes."

"What if I have evidence that he was alive at eight O'clock?"

"You couldn't have. He was dead when I got there." "Was Amy Duncan there?"

"Yes. She was on the floor unconscious."

"Did you see anyone else anywhere in the build-mg?

"Where did you go besides Tingley's office?" "Nowhere. I went straight there and straight out." "You were there seven minutes. What did you do?" "I--" Philip halted and shifted in his chair. "I felt

Amy's pulse. I wanted to get her out of there--but I

didn't dare--and she was breathing all right and her

pulse was pretty good. Then I--" He stopped. "Yes? You what?"

"I looked for the box. The safe door was standing open, but it wasn't in there. I looked a few other places, and then I heard Amy move, or thought I did, and I left. Anyway, I thought Judd had been there and killed him and taken the box, so I didn't hope to find it. So I left."

Wolfe was scowling at him. "Are you aware," he demanded, "of what you're saying? Are your wits working?"

"You're damned right they are."

"Nonsense. You had previously stolen the box from the safe and had it in your possession. How could you have been looking for it in that office last evening?"

"I didn't have it in my possession."

"Oh, come. Don't be ass enough--"

"Good." He wiggled a finger at Sergeant Foster. "Let me have that box."

Foster handed him the box.

Wolfe looked at Philip Tingley: "When you stole this from the safe you had no key for it. So you had to pry it open?"

"No," Philip denied, "I didn't pry it open."

"The metal is gouged and twisted --"

"I can't help that. I didn't do it. I suppose Judd did. I took it to a locksmith and told him I had lost my key, and had him make one that would open it."

"Then it was locked yesterday afternoon?" "Yes."

"Good." Wolfe looked pleased with himself. "That settles it, I think. Let's see." Whereupon he grasped the box firmly in both hands and shook it violently from side to side. His attitude suggested that he was listening for something, but the banging of the shoes against the metal sides of the box was all there was to hear. He nodded with satisfaction. "That's fine," he declared.

"Nuts," Cramer said.

"By no means. Some day, Mr. Cramer--but no, I suppose never. I would like a few words with you and Archie. If your men will take these gentlemen to the front room?"

When they were shut off by the sound-proofed door Cramer advanced on Wolfe with his jaw leading the way. "Look here "

"No," Wolfe said decisively. "I tolerate your presence here and that's all. Take a guest from my house with a warrant, will you? I want to know what has been removed from Mr. Tingley's office."

"I say I didn't have it. I had had it. I didn't have it then. He went to my place and found it and took it." "Who did? When?"

"My half-brother. Arthur Tingley. He went to my flat yesterday afternoon--I don't know how he got in and found it."

So that, I thought, turning a page of my notebook, was the errand that had called Tingley away from his office when I had gone there to interview him about quinine.

Wolfe asked, "How do you know that?"

"Because he told me. He had the box there in the safe yesterday afternoon."

"Are you telling me that at five o'clock yesterday afternoon that box was in Tingley's safe in his office?" "I am."

"And when you returned two hours later, at seven-forty, it was gone?"

"It was. Judd had been there. Judd had taken it. And if the lousy ape thinks he can--"

"Be quiet, please," Wolfe said testily. He closed his eyes.

We sat. Wolfe's lips were moving, pushing out and then drawing in again. Judd started to say something, and Cramer shushed him. The inspector knew the signs as well as I did.

Wolfe's eyes opened, but they were directed, not at Judd or Philip, but at me. "What time," he asked, "did it begin raining yesterday?"

"I said, "Seven P.M."

"Seven precisely?"

"Maybe a little after. Not much."

"Not even a drizzle before that?"

"No."

"But if Judd--"

"No. Take them if you want to, get them out of here, and I'll proceed alone."

"Do you know who killed Tingley?"

"Certainly. I know all about it. But I need something. What has been removed from that office?"

Cramer heaved a sigh. "Damn you, anyway. The corpse. Two bloody towels. The knife and the weight. Five small jars with some stuff in them which we found in a drawer of Tingley's desk. We had the stuff analyzed and it contained no quinine. We were told they were routine samples."

"That's all?"

"Yes."

"No other sample jars were found?"

"No."

"Then it's still there. It ought to be. It must be. Archie, go and get it. Find it and bring it here. Mr. Cramer will telephone his men there to help you."

"Huh," Cramer grunted. "I will?"

"Certainly you will."

"As for me," I put in, "I'm a wonder at finding things, but I get better results when I know what I'm looking for."

"Pfui! What was it I spit out yesterday at lunch?" "Oh, is that it? Okay." I beat it, then.

It was only a three-minute ride to Tingley's, and I figured it might take longer than that for Wolfe to get Cramer to make the phone call, so I took a taxi to East 29th Street and picked up the roadster and drove it on from there. The entrance door at the top of the stone steps was locked, but just as I was lifting my fist to beat a tattoo I heard the clatter of feet inside, and in a moment the door opened and a towering specimen looked down at me.

"You Goodwin?" he demanded.

"I am Mr. Goodwin. Old Lady Cramer--"

"Yeah. You sound like what I've heard of you. Enter."

I did so, and preceded him up the stairs. In Tingley's office an affair with a thin little mouth in a big face was awaiting us, seated at a table littered with newspapers.

"You fellows are to help me," I stated.

"Okay," the one at the table said superciliously. "We'd just as soon have the exercise. But Bowen did this room. If you think you can find a button after Bowen "

"That will do, my man," I said graciously. "Bowen's all right as far as he goes, but he lacks subtlety. He's too scientific. He uses rules and calipers, whereas I use my brain. For instance, since he did that desk, it's a hundred to one that there's not an inch of it unaccounted for, but what if he neglected to look in that hat?" I pointed to Tingley's hat still there on the hook. "He might have, because there's nothing scientific about searching a hat; you just take it down and look at it.