Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 25 (18 page)

Assa looked at me. He glanced at the refreshment table, came back to me, and said, “There’s a bottle of Pernod there. That’s my drink. Could I have some?”

I said certainly and asked if he wanted ice, and he said no. I took him the Pernod and an Old-Fashioned glass, and he poured two fingers as plump as his own, and darned if he didn’t toss it off as if it were a jigger of bourbon. I’m not a Pernod drinker, but there is such a thing as common sense. Not only that, he poured again, this time only one finger, and then, without taking a sip, put the glass down on the little table at his elbow, beside the bottle.

He swallowed a couple of times for a chaser. “That’s a highhanded attitude, Mr. Wolfe,” he said. He paused to collect more words. “Frankly, I don’t see what you expect to accomplish. You’ll get your fee, and from our standpoint, as far as the contest is concerned, it no longer matters who got the wallet. Of course it may still be a factor in the murder, but you weren’t hired to investigate the murder. That’s up to the police. Why do you insist on this meeting?”

“To finish my job. What I engaged to do.”

“But you’re more apt to undo what you’ve already
done. The police know now—they were told on your advice—that you have had a copy of the answers in your possession since last Wednesday. How far the discretion of the police can be trusted I don’t know, but it’s conceivable that one or more of the contestants have learned about it, and if so, God only knows what would happen at the meeting. You might even find yourself backed into a corner where you had to admit you had mailed the answers to them, and LBA would be responsible, and we’d be in a deeper hole than ever.”

“You would indeed,” Wolfe conceded. “But if that’s your fear, dismiss it. There will be no such admission by me.”

“What will there be?”

“I couldn’t tell you if I would. I have formed certain conjectures and I intend to explore them. That’s what the meeting is for, and I shall not abandon it.”

Assa regarded him in silence, steadily, for a full half a minute. At length he broke it. “When your man Goodwin came to our office on Friday and got the word for you to go ahead, he wanted it unanimous. He polled us, and I voted yes with the others. Now I don’t, so it’s no longer unanimous. I ask you to suspend operations until I have conferred with my associates—say until tomorrow noon. I not only ask you, I direct you.”

Wolfe was shaking his head. “I’m afraid I can’t oblige you, Mr. Assa. Time’s important now, now that the spark has been struck and the fire started. It’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“To stop.”

Assa’s eyes dropped. He gazed at his right palm, saw nothing there to encourage him, tried the left,
and there was nothing there either. “Very well,” he said, and arose, in no haste, and started for the door. Considering the turn things had taken, I wouldn’t have been astonished if Wolfe had told me to fasten onto him and lock him in the front room until nine o’clock, but he didn’t, so I got up and followed the guest into the hall. I didn’t resent his not thanking me for holding his topcoat and opening the door, since he was obviously preoccupied.

Back in the office, I stood and looked down at Wolfe. “I suppose,” I observed, “it doesn’t matter who struck the spark as long as it caught.”

“Yes. Get Mr. Cramer.”

I sat at my desk and dialed. It was a bad time of day to get Cramer ordinarily, but when something big was stirring, or refusing to stir, he sometimes ate at his desk instead of going home for what he called supper. That was one of the times. From the way he growled at me, it was very much one of the times.

Wolfe took it. “Mr. Cramer? I thought you might be interested in a meeting at my office this evening. We’re going to discuss the Dahlmann case. It will—”

“Who’s going to discuss it?”

“Everyone concerned—that is, everyone I know about. It will of course be confined to the theft of the wallet, since that’s what I’m investigating, but it will inevitably touch upon points that affect you, so I’m inviting you to come—as an observer.”

Silence. Cramer could have been chewing a bite of a corned beef sandwich, or he could have been chewing what he had heard.

“What have you got?” he demanded.

“For myself, a reasonable expectation. For you, the possibility of a suitable disclosure. Have I ever wasted your time on frivolity?”

“No. Not on frivolity. There’s no use asking you on the phone…. Stebbins will be there in ten minutes.”

“No, sir. Nor you. I need a little time to arrange the inside of my head, and my dinner will be ready shortly. The meeting will be at nine o’clock.”

“I’ll bring Stebbins with me.”

“By all means. Do so.”

We hung up.

“You know darned well,” I said, “that Purley will bring handcuffs, and he hates to take them back empty—”

I stopped because he was leaning back and closing his eyes, and his lips were starting to move, pushing out and then in, out and in…. He was working at last. I went across the hall for two more chairs.

I
f a successful party is one where everybody comes, there was no question about that one. In fact, some came too early. Gertrude Frazee showed up at eight-thirty-five, when Wolfe and I were still in the dining room, and I was having coffee in the office with her when Philip Younger arrived, and a minute later Talbott Heery. Patrick O’Garro and Oliver Buff came together, and almost on their heels Professor Harold Rollins. When Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins got there it was still ten minutes short of nine. They wanted to see Wolfe immediately, of course, and I took them to the dining room and shut them in there with him. Back at the front door, I opened it for Vernon Assa, who was still in no frame of mind to thank anybody for anything, and then for Susan Tescher, of
Clock
magazine. I had been sort of hoping to see Mr. Tite himself, but all she had along was Mr. Hibbard, the tall and skinny one. It was nine on the dot when Mrs. Wheelock appeared, and not more than thirty seconds later here came Rudolph Hansen. Not only did everybody come, they all beat the bell except Hansen, and he just shaved it.

I went to glance in at the office door and saw that
Fritz had things under control at the refreshment table. Evidently they had all been thirsty, or else they didn’t want to talk and were drinking instead. Pleased that the party was starting well, I crossed to the dining room to tell Wolfe we had a full house and were set for his entrance, but, entering, I shut the door and stood. Cramer, sitting with his big rough fist tapping the table, was reading Wolfe the riot act, with Purley standing behind his shoulder looking satisfied. I approached. What seemed to be biting Cramer was that he did not intend to let Wolfe call a meeting of murder suspects and expect him, Cramer, to sit and take it in like a goddam stenographer (Cramer’s words, not mine; I have known at least three stenographers who were absolutely—anyway, I have known stenographers).

I had heard Cramer lose that argument with Wolfe some twenty times. What he wanted was the moon. He wanted, first, to know in advance exactly what Wolfe was going to say, which was ridiculous because most of the time Wolfe didn’t know himself. Second, he wanted it understood that he would be free to take over at any point, bound by no commitment, whereas Wolfe demanded a pledge that the proceedings would be left to him short of extreme provocation, such as gunplay or hair pulling. Since it was a cinch that Cramer wouldn’t have been there at all if he hadn’t thought Wolfe had something he badly needed, he might as well have given up on that one for good, but he never did. All he accomplished that Monday evening was holding up the start of the meeting by a quarter of an hour. I cut in on the squabble to announce that the audience was ready and waiting, and then went to the office.

A few details needed attention. Miss Frazee had
copped the red leather chair, which was reserved for Inspector Cramer, and I had to talk her into moving. Buff and Hansen were in a huddle at the wall end of the couch, where Wolfe would have to look through me to see them, and I got them to transfer to chairs, Buff stopping on the way for a refill of his highball glass. Hibbard was seated beside Miss Tescher in the front row, and when I asked him to move to the rear I thought he was going to speak at last, but he controlled it and went without a word. Vernon Assa bothered me. He was standing backed up against the far wall, staring straight ahead, an Old-Fashioned glass in his hand, presumably holding Pernod. When I went to him he turned his eyes on me and I didn’t like them. He could have been high, too high, but when I suggested that he come and take a chair he said in a perfectly good voice that he was all right where he was. As I turned to leave him Wolfe and Cramer and Stebbins entered.

Wolfe walked across to his desk. Cramer stood a moment taking in the crowd and then went to the red leather chair and sat. I had put a chair for Purley against the wall, so he would be facing the audience, and he didn’t need to be told it was his. The talking had stopped, and all eyes went to Wolfe as he rested his clasped hands on the desk and moved his head from left to right and back again.

He took a breath. “Ladies and gentlemen. I must first explain the presence of Inspector Cramer of the New York Police Department. He is here by invitation, not to—”

Two sounds came almost simultaneously from the rear of the room—first from a throat, part gurgle and part scream, and then a bang as something hit the floor. Everybody jerked around by reflex, so we all
saw Vernon Assa stagger toward us with the fingers of both hands clutching at his mouth, and then he went down. By the time he touched the floor I was there, but Purley Stebbins was right behind me, and Cramer behind him, so I dived back to my desk for the phone and dialed Doc Vollmer’s number. At the second buzz he answered and I told him to come on the jump. As I hung up Cramer called to me to get a doctor and I told him I had one. He stood up, saw Susan Tescher and Hibbard crossing the sill into the hall, and sang out, “Get back in here!” He came to me. “I’ll call downtown. Put ’em all in the dining room and stay there with ’em. Understand? No gags.” He was at the phone.

I looked around. They were behaving pretty well, except Susan Tescher and her silent partner, who had apparently had the notion of fading. There had been no shrieks. Wolfe was sitting straight, his lips pressed tight, his eyes narrowed to slits. He didn’t meet my glance. O’Garro and Heery and Hansen had gone to the prostrate Assa, but Purley, kneeling there, had ordered them back. I went to the doorway to the hall and turned.

“Everybody this way,” I said. No one moved. “I’d rather not yell,” I said, “because the inspector’s phoning. He wants you out of this room, and four of the men will please bring chairs.”

That helped, giving them something to do. Philip Younger picked up a chair and came, and the others after him. I opened the door to the dining room, and they filed across and in. Fritz was at my elbow, and I told him there would be lots of company and he might as well leave the bolt off. The doorbell rang, and he went and admitted Doc Vollmer, and I waved Doc to the office.

Leaving the door from the dining room to the hall wide open and standing just inside, I surveyed my herd. Mrs. Wheelock had flopped onto a chair, and so had Philip Younger. I hoped Younger wasn’t having a paroxysm. Most of the others were standing, and I told them they might as well sit down.

The only one who put up a squawk was Rudolph Hansen. He confronted me. “Vernon Assa is my client and my friend, and I have a right to see that he gets proper—”

“He’s already got. A doctor’s here, and a good one.” I raised my voice. “Just take it easy, everybody, and it would be better if you’d shut up.”

“What happened to him?” Gertrude Frazee demanded.

“I don’t know. But if you want something to occupy your minds, just before Mr. Wolfe entered he was standing by the wall with a glass in his hand and there was liquid in the glass. You heard the glass hit the floor, but I saw no sign of spilled liquid. You might turn that over and see what you think of it.”

“It was Pernod in the glass,” Patrick O’Garro said. “I saw him pour it. He always drank Pernod. He put the glass down on the table when Hansen called to him, and went—”

“Hold it, Pat,” Hansen snapped at him. “This may be—I hope not—but this may be a very grave matter.”

“You see,” I told the herd. “I advised you to shut up, and Mr. Hansen, who is a lawyer, agrees with me.”

“I want to telephone,” Heery said.

“The phone’s busy. Anyway, I’m just a temporary watchdog. I’ll be getting a relief, and you can—”

I broke it off to stretch my neck for a look at the
newcomers Fritz was admitting—two city employees in uniform. They came down the hall and headed for me, but I pointed across to the office and they right-angled. From there on it was a parade. A minute later two more in uniform came, and then three in their own clothes, two of whom I knew, and before long one with a little black bag. My herd had more or less settled down, and I had decided I didn’t need to catch Doc Vollmer on his way out for a look at Younger. Two more arrived, and when I saw one of them was Lieutenant Rowcliff a little flutter ran over my biceps. He affects me that way. He and his pal went to the office, but pretty soon appeared again, heading for the dining room, and I sidestepped to keep from being trampled.

They entered, and the pal closed the door, and Rowcliff faced the herd. “You will remain here under surveillance until otherwise notified. Vernon Assa is dead. I am Lieutenant George Rowcliff, and for the present you are in my custody as material witnesses.”

That was like him. In fact, it was him. What the hell did they care whether he was George Rowcliff or Cuthbert Rowcliff? Also he had said it wrong. If they were in his custody they were under arrest, and in that case they could demand to be allowed to communicate with their lawyers before answering any questions as a matter of ordinary prudence, which would stop the wheels of justice for hours. I was surprised that neither Hansen nor Hibbard picked it up, but they could have thought it would sound like soliciting business and didn’t want to be unethical. Lawyers are very delicate.