Part 18 (1/2)

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?” y 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 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 cla.s.s, the kind where you can press a b.u.t.ton 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 I started pulling on my gloves. I said to him friendly and brisk, ”Thank you, my man. I a.s.sure you we appreciate this,*' and went on to the elevator. i..,*

18.

At 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: 6:05 Mrs. Burton arrives home. Present in apartment: Burton, daughter, H Bowen, maid, cook. 6:20 Bowen leaves. 6:25 Daughter leaves. 6:30 Dora Chapin arrives. 7:20 Dora leaves. 7:30 Paul Chapin arrives. 7:33 Burton is shot. 7:50 Fred Durkin phones.

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 highb.a.l.l.s 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 a.s.suming 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 circ.u.mstances 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 fas.h.i.+on 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 ch.o.r.es 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 ninethirty and got the body rinsed off and the face sc.r.a.ped. When I found myself whistling as I b.u.t.toned my s.h.i.+rt 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 suns.h.i.+ne 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 ca.s.serole with b.u.t.ter, 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 G.o.d 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 ca.s.serole 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 d.i.c.ks the best way to persuade some Harlem citizen to quit his anatomy experiments on the skulls of drugstore cas.h.i.+ers, 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 pa.s.sed 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 G.o.d 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. h.e.l.l, 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.”

”Okay. It just means extra trouble.

Wolfe will have to arrange it at the D.A.'s office.”