Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 46 (3 page)

“Who do I let in?”

“Anybody. Everybody.”

“Bon Dieu.”

“I agree.” I turned and headed for the stairs and on
the way up decided not to get rubber gloves from the office because they would make it take longer.

He was still on the floor, and the first question was what had put him there. I couldn’t qualify as an expert on that, but I might get an idea, and I did. Here and there among the pieces of plaster on the floor I found several small objects that hadn’t come from the ceiling, which I couldn’t name. The biggest one was about half the size of my thumbnail. But I found four that I might name, or thought I might—four little pieces of aluminum. The biggest one was a quarter of an inch wide and nearly half an inch long, and
EDR
was printed on it, dark green. A smaller one had
DO
printed on it, and another one had
du
. One had no printing. I left them there, where I found them. The trouble with removing evidence from the scene of a crime is that someday you might want to produce it and have to tell where you got it.

The second question was what had made me consider rubber gloves: was there anything on him that would supply a name or other fact? I got on my knees beside him and did a thorough job. He still had the topcoat on, but there was nothing in the pockets. In the jacket and pants pockets were most of the usual items—cigarettes, matches, a couple of dollars in change, key ring, handkerchief, penknife, wallet with driving license and credit cards and eighty-four dollars in bills—but nothing that offered any hope of a hint. Of course there were other possibilities, his shoes or something taped to his hide, but that would take time, and I had already stretched it.

I went down to the office, and Fritz was there, fully dressed. I sat at my desk, pulled the phone around, and dialed a number I didn’t have to look up.

T
he attitude of Sergeant Purley Stebbins toward Wolfe and me is yes-and-no, or make it no-but-yes. When he finds us within ten miles of a homicide, he wishes he was on traffic or narcotics, but he knows that something will probably happen that he doesn’t want to miss. My attitude toward him is that he could be worse. I could name a few that are.

At 4:52 a.m. he sat on one of the yellow chairs in the office, swallowed a bite he had taken from a tongue sandwich made with Fritz’s bread, and said, “You know damn well I have to ask him if Ducos or anyone at the restaurant has ever said anything that could be a lead. Or someone does. Someone will come either at eleven o’clock or six.”

I had finished my sandwich. “I doubt if he’ll get in,” I said. “Certainly not at eleven, and probably not at six. He may not be speaking even to me. A man murdered here in his house, within ten feet of him? You know him, don’t you?”

“Do I. So does the inspector. I know you too. If you think you can—”

I slapped my desk with a palm. “Don’t start that again. I said in my signed statement that I went over
him. There might have been something that I should have included when I phoned. But I took nothing. One thing that’s not in my statement: I admit I’m withholding evidence. Knowledge of something that would certainly be used at the trial, if and when.”

“Oh. You are. You
are
?”

“I am. Of course you’ll send everything you found to the lab, and it won’t take them long to get it, maybe a couple of days. But you might like to have the pleasure of supplying it yourself. I know what the bomb was in.”

“You do. And didn’t put it in your statement.”

“It would have taken about a page, and I was tired, and also I prefer to tell you. Have you ever seen a Don Pedro cigar?”

He finished swallowing the last bite of the sandwich, with his eyes glued to me. “No.”

“Cramer wouldn’t buy them to chew. Ninety cents apiece. Rusterman’s has them. They come in aluminum tubes,
DON PEDRO
is on the tube in capital letters, dark green, and
Honduras
is on it, lower case. In the stuff you collected is a piece of aluminum with
DO
in caps on it, and one with
du
in lower case, and a bigger one with
EDR
in caps. So this is what happened. When I left the room, he sat or stood or walked around for a few minutes and decided he might as well undress and go to bed and went and opened the closet door. When you take your coat off to hang it up, do you automatically stick your hands in the pockets? I do. So did he. And in one of them was a Don Pedro cigar aluminum tube, which of course he recognized. He had no idea how it got there, and he screwed the cap off, holding it fairly close to his face—say ten inches. It was a piece of aluminum that made the gash on his jaw. There’s a word for the force that pushed his face in, but I’ve forgotten it. If you want to include it in your report, you can look it up.”

Purley’s mouth was shut tight. He didn’t open it. His eyes at me were half shut. There was half an inch of milk left in my glass, and I lifted it and drank. “What those pieces of aluminum were—” I said, “I had that figured before I phoned, but the rest of it, where it had been and exactly how it happened—I doped that out later to occupy my mind while I sat around. Also I considered what would have happened if I had frisked him before I took him upstairs. Of course I would have wanted to see what was in the tube. Well. I’m still here. I have explained why I didn’t frisk him. Since I left this out of my statement, leaving it for you, you ought to send me a box of candy. I like caramels.”

He finally opened his mouth. “I’ll send you an orchid. Do you know what would happen if Rowcliff got on this?”

“Certainly. He would send a squad out to dig up where I recently bought a Don Pedro cigar. But you have a brain, which you sometimes use.”

“Put
that
in a statement some day. My brain tells me that he might have said something which gave you a hint how the tube got in his pocket, but that’s not in your statement.”

“I guess I forgot. Nuts.”

“Also my brain tells me that the DA will want to know why I didn’t bring you down as a material witness. The bomb went off at one-twenty-four, and you were in the room and found him two or three minutes later, and you phoned at two-eleven. Forty-five minutes, and you know what the law says, and you’ve got a license.”

“Must we go back to that again?”

“The DA will want to know why I didn’t bring you.”

“Sure, and you’ll tell him. So will I after I get some sleep. It was obvious that there was no rush. Whatever
had killed him, he had brought it himself. It was the middle of the night. If you had got here in two minutes there wasn’t a damn thing you could do that wouldn’t wait. You can’t do anything now until morning, like finding out where he was and who he saw before he came here. There’s nobody at Rusterman’s but the night watchman, and he’s probably asleep. I have a suggestion. Instead of sending me an orchid, give me permission in writing to break the seal on that room and go in and cover the windows with something. It’s not sealed anyway. One of the windows, anyone could come up the fire escape and climb in. I admit there’s no hurry about the rest of it, the plaster and other stuff.”

“The plaster is gone.” He looked at his watch and got to his feet, gripping the chair arms for leverage, which he seldom does. “By god, you admit something. You’re going soft. That window’s blocked. You let that seal alone. Someone will come for another look, someone who knows about bombs. Also someone will come to see Wolfe.”

“I told you, he probably won’t—”

“Yeah. Do you know what I think? I think he made a hole in his ceiling and pushed the bomb through.” He headed for the door.

I got up and followed, in no hurry. There was no hurry left in me. There wasn’t much of anything left in me. When he was out and the door shut, I went and put the chain bolt on, put out the lights in the office and hall, and went up the two flights to my room, actually leaving the plates and glasses there on my desk, which is hard to believe. Fritz had gone to bed nearly an hour ago, when all the mob had cleared out except Purley, after bringing sandwiches without asking if they were wanted.

Of course I was asleep two minutes after I got flat,
and I stayed asleep. I don’t brag about my sleeping because I suspect it shows that I’m primitive or vulgar or something, but I admit it. But I also admit I set the alarm for ten o’clock. Anyway I would probably be interrupted before that, although I turned my phone switch off. I left the house phone on.

But I wasn’t. When the radio said, “And you’ll never regret that you obeyed the impulse and decided to try the only face cream that makes you want to touch your own skin,” I reached for it without opening my eyes. I tried to argue that another hour wouldn’t hurt, but it didn’t work because it came to me that there was a problem that wouldn’t wait. Theodore. I opened my eyes, reached for the house phone, and buzzed the kitchen.

In five seconds Fritz’s voice came. “Yes.”

He claims that he is not copying Wolfe, that Wolfe says “Yes?” and he says “Yes.”

I said, “You’re up and dressed.”

“Yes. I took his breakfast.”

“Did he eat?”

“Yes.”

“My god, you’re short and sweet.”

“Not sweet, Archie. Neither is he. Are you?”

“No. I’m neither sweet nor sour. I’m done. How about Theodore?”

“He came and went up. I told him he wouldn’t come.”

“I’ll be down, but don’t bother with breakfast. I’ll eat the second section of the
Times
. With vinegar.”

“It’s better with ketchup.” He hung up.

But when I finally made it down to the kitchen the stage was set. Tools and cup and saucer and the toaster and butter dish were on the little table, and the
Times
was on the rack, and the griddle was on the range. On
the big center table was a plate of slices of homemade scrapple. I got a glass and went to the refrigerator for orange juice, poured some, and took a sip.

“As far as I’m concerned,” I said, “you and I are still friends. You’re the only friend I’ve got in the world. Let’s go somewhere. Switzerland? That ought to be far enough. Have there been phone calls?”

“There have been rings, four, but I didn’t answer. Neither did he.” He had turned the heat on under the griddle. “That thing on the door of that room,
NEW YORK POLICE DEPARTMENT
, how long will it stay?”

I drank orange juice. “That’s a good idea,” I said. “Forget all the other details, such as headlines like
GUEST IN NERO WOLFE’S HOUSE KILLED BY BOMB
or
ARCHIE GOODWIN OPENS DOOR TO HOMICIDE
, and concentrate on that door. Wonderful idea.”

He was getting bacon fat on the griddle. I went to my chair at the little table and picked up the
Times
. President Ford wanted us to do something about inflation. Nixon was in shock from the operation. Judge Sirica had told Ehrlichman’s lawyer he talked too much. The Arabs had made Arafat it. Items which ordinarily would have had me turning to inside pages, but I had to use will power to finish the first paragraphs. I tried other departments—sports, weather, obituaries, metropolitan briefs—and decided that it’s possible to tell your mind what to do only when your mind agrees with you. I was going on from there to decide if that meant anything and if so what, when Fritz came with two slices of scrapple on a plate. As he put it down he made a noise which I’ll spell “Tchahh!” I asked him why, and he said he forgot the honey and went and brought it.

As I was buttering the third slice of toast the phone rang. I counted. It rang twelve times and stopped. In a
couple of minutes Fritz said, “I never saw you do that before.”

“There’ll probably be a lot of things you never saw me do before. Did you get the plates and glasses I left in the office?”

“I haven’t been to the office.”

“Did he mention me when you took his breakfast up or went for the tray?”

“No. He asked me if I had been up during the night. I started to tell him about it, how many of them had come, and he stopped me.”

“How did he stop you?”

“By looking at me and then turning his back.”

“Was he dressed?”

“Yes. The dark brown with little stripes. Yellow shirt and brown tie.”

When I put the empty coffee cup down and went to the office it was ten past eleven. Since he hadn’t come down at eleven, he probably wasn’t coming. I decided it would be childish not to do the chores, so I dusted the desks, removed yesterday’s calendar sheets, changed the water in the vase on Wolfe’s desk, took the plates and glasses to the kitchen, and put the chair Purley had sat on where it belonged, and was opening the mail when the house phone buzzed. I got it and said, “I’m in the office.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Yes.”

“Come up here.”

I got the carbon of my statement from the drawer and went. Since I had been summoned, of course I didn’t knock on his door. He was seated at the table between the windows, with a book. Either he had finished with his copy of the
Times
or his mind had refused to cooperate, like mine. As I crossed to him he put the
book down—
The Palace Guard
by Dan Rather and Gary Gates—and growled, “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I snarled.

“Have you been downtown?”

“No. I don’t answer the phone.”

“Sit down and report.”

Of course he had the big chair. I brought the other one over and sat and said, “The best start would be for you to read this copy of the statement I gave Stebbins.” I handed it to him. It was four pages. Once through is usually enough for him, but that time he went back to the first two pages—what Pierre and I had said, which I had given verbatim.

He eyed me. “What did you reserve?”

“Of my talk with Pierre, nothing. Every word is there. Of the rest, also nothing, except that you were armed when you came, with that club, and that you told me you supposed I had to. It’s all there, what was said and what happened, but I didn’t include a guess I made. I saved that for Stebbins. When I left Pierre there, he felt something in his topcoat pocket and took it out. It was an aluminum tube, the kind Don Pedro cigars come in. When he unscrewed the cap, he was holding it only a few inches from his face. You saw his face. There were pieces of aluminum on the floor, and I recognized the printing on them. Of course they had been collected and Stebbins had seen them. Also of course, they would soon make the same guess, so I thought I might as well give it to Stebbins.”