Part 11 (1/2)

”Yeah. You and Wolfe won't talk. Do you want me to talk?”

”I'd love it.”

He filled his pipe again. ”You know about the Dreyer thing. Do you know who bought the nitroglycerin tablets? Dreyer did. Sure. A week before he died, the day after Elkus phoned him that the pictures were phony and he wanted his money back. Maybe he had ideas about suicide and maybe he didn't; I think he didn't; there's several things people take nitroglycerin for in small doses.”

He took a drag at the pipe, pulled it in until I expected to see it squirt out at his belly-b.u.t.ton, and went on leaving it to find its way by instinct. ”Now, how did Chapin get the tablets out of the bottle that day? Easy. He didn't. Dreyer had had them for a week, and Chapin was in and out of the gallery pretty often. He had been there a couple of hours Monday afternoon, probably for a talk about Elkus's pictures. He could have got them then and saved them for an opening. The opening came Wednesday afternoon. Wait a minute. I know what Elkus says.

That Thursday morning a detective questioned Santini too, the Italian expert, and it checked, but of course at that time it looked like nothing but routine. Since then I've sent a request to Italy, and they found Santini in Florence and had a good long talk with him. He says it was like he told the detective in the first place, but he forgot to mention that after they all left the office Elkus went back for something and was in the office alone for maybe half a minute. What if Dreyer's gla.s.s was there maybe half full, and Elkus, having got the tablets from Chapin, fixed it up for him?” ^ ”What for? Just for a prank?”

”I'm not saying what for. That's one thing we're working on now. For instance, what if the pictures Dreyer sold Elkus were the real thing it was six years ago and Elkus put them away and subst.i.tuted phonies for them, and then demanded his money back? We're looking into that. The minute I get any evidence what for, I'll arrange for some free board and room for Elkus and Chapin.”

”You haven't got any yet.”

”No.” *: '

I grinned. ”Anyway, you're working in a lot of nice complications. I'll have to tell Wolfe about it; I hope to G.o.d it don't bore him. Why don't you just decide to believe it was suicide after all, and let it go at that?”

”Nothing doing. Especially since Hibbard disappeared. And even if I wanted to, George Pratt and that bunch wouldn't let me. They got those warnings.

I don't blame them. Those things sound like business to me, even if they are dolled up. I suppose you've read them.”

I nodded. He stuck his paw in his breast pocket and pulled out some papers and began looking through them. He said, ”I'm a d.a.m.n fool. I carry copies of them around with me, because I can't get rid of a hunch that there's a clue in them somewhere, some kind of a clue, if I could find it. Listen to this one, the one he sent last Friday, three days after Hibbard disappeared: T.

One. Two. Three.

Ye cannot see what I see: His b.l.o.o.d.y head, his misery, his eyes Dead but for terror and the wretched hope That this last blow, this finis, will not fall.

One. Two. Three.

Ye cannot hear what I hear: His moan for pity, now his ^desperate breath To suck the air in through the bubbling blood. *A i * * And I hear, too, in me the happy rhythm, The happy boastful strutting of my soul.

Yes! Hear! It boasts: One. Two. Three.

Ye should have killed me. (I ask you, does that sound like business?” Cramer folded it up again.

”Did you ever see a guy that had been beaten around the head enough so that things were busted inside? Did you ever notice one? All right, get this: to suck the air in through the bubbling blood. Does that describe it? I'll say it does. The man that wrote that was looking at it, I'm telling you he was looking right at it.

That's why, as far as Andrew Hibbard is concerned, all I'm interested in is stiffs.

Chapin got Hibbard as sure as h.e.l.l, and the only question is where did he put the leavings. Also, he got Dreyer, only with that one Elkus helped him.”

The inspector stopped for a couple of Pulls at his pipe. When that had been attended to he screwed his nose up at me and demanded, ”Why, do you think it was suicide?”

”h.e.l.l no. I think Chapin killed him.

And maybe Harrison, and maybe Hibbard. I'm just waiting to see you and Nero Wolfe and the Epworth League prove it on him. Also I'm annoyed about Elkus. If you get Elkus wrong you may gum it.”

”Uh-huh.” Cramer screwed his nose again. ”You don't like me after Elkus? I wonder if Nero Wolfe will like it. I hope not to gum it, I really do. I suppose you know Elkus has got a shadow on Paul Chapin? What's he suspicious about?”

I lifted my brows a little, and hoped that was all I did. ”No. I didn't know that.”

”The h.e.l.l you didn't.”

”No. Of course you have one, and we * have...” I remembered that I never had* got hold of Del Bascom to ask him about the d.i.c.k in the brown cap and pink necktie. ”I thought that runt keeping the boys company down there was one of Bascom's experts.”

”Sure you did. You didn't know I Bascom's been off the case since yesterday * morning. Try having a talk with the runt.

I did, last night, for two hours. He says he's got a G.o.ddam legal right to keep his G.o.ddam mouth shut. That's the way he talks, he's genteel. Finally I just shooed him away, and I'm going to find out who he's reporting to.” ^ ”I thought you said, Elkus.”

”That's my idea. Who else could it be?

Do you know?”

I shook my head. ”Hope to die.” r ”All right, if you do don't tell me, I j want to guess. Of course you realize that I'm not exactly a b.o.o.b. If you don't, Nero Wolfe does. I arrested a man once and he turned out to be guilty, that's why I was made an inspector. I know Wolfe expects to open up this Mr. Chapin and get well paid for it, and therefore if I expected him to pa.s.s me any cards out of his hand I would be a b.o.o.b. But I'll be frank with you, in the past six weeks I've made so many grabs at this cripple without getting anything that I don't like him at all and in fact I'd like to rip out his guts. Also, they're giving me such a riding that I'm beginning to get saddlesores.

I would like to know two things.

First, how far has Wolfe got? Sure, I know he's a genius. Okay. But has he got enough of it to stop that cripple?”

I said, and I meant it, ”He's got enough to stop any guy that ever started.”

”When? I won't lose any sleep if he nicks Pratt for four grand. Can you say when, and can I help?”

I shook my head. ”No twice. But he'll

do it.”

”All right. I'll go on poking around myself.

The other thing, you might tell me this, and I swear to G.o.d you won't regret it. When Dora Chapin was here this . morning did she tell Wolfe she saw nitroglycerin tablets in her husband's pocket any time between September eleventh and September nineteenth?”

I grinned at him. ”There are two ways I I could answer that, inspector. One way would be if she had said it, in which case I would try to answer it so you couldn't tell whether she had or not. The other way is the one you're hearing: she wasn't asked about it, and she said nothing about it.

She just came here to get her throat cut.”

”Uh-huh.” Cramer got up from his chair. ”And Wolfe started working on her from behind. He would. He's the d.a.m.nedest guy at getting in the back door .. well. So-long. I'll say much obliged some other day. Give Wolfe a Bronx cheer for me, and tell him that as far as I'm concerned he can have the money and the applause of the citizens in this Chapin case, and the sooner the better. I'd like to get my mind on something else.”

”I'll tell him. Like to have a gla.s.s of beer?”

He said no, and went. Since he was an inspector, I went to the hall and helped him on with his coat and opened the door for him. At the curb was a police car, one of the big Cadillacs, with a chauffeur.

Now, I thought, that's what I call being a detective.

I went back to the office. It looked dismal and gloomy; it was nearly six o'clock and the dark had come over half an hour ago and I had only turned on one ^ght. Wolfe was still upstairs monkeying ^th the plants; he wasn't due down for seven minutes. I didn't feel like sitting watching him drink beer, and had no reason to expect anything more pertinent out of him, and I decided to go out and find a stone somewhere and turn it up to see what was under it. I opened a couple of windows to let Cramer's pipe-smoke out, got my Colt from the drawer and put it in my pocket from force of habit, went to the hall for my hat and coat, and beat it.

13.

I didn't know Perry Street much, and was surprised when I walked up in front of number 203, across the street, having left the roadster half a block away. It was quite a joint, stucco to look like Spanish, with black iron entrance lamps and no fire escapes. On both sides were old brick houses. A few cars were parked along the block, and a couple of taxis. On my side of the street was a string of dingy stores: stationery, laundry, delicatessen, cigar store and so on. I moved along and looked in. At the delicatessen I stopped and went inside. There were two or three customers, and Fred Durkin was leaning against the end of the counter with a cheese sandwich and a bottle of beer. I (turned around and went out, and walked back down to where the roadster was and reason to expect anything more pertinent out of him, and I decided to go out and find a stone somewhere and turn it up to see what was under it. I opened a couple of windows to let Cramer^s pipe-smoke out, got my Colt from the drawer and put it in my pocket from force of habit, went to the hall for my hat and coat, and beat it. 4 ,4*: ^

13.