Rex Stout

Not Quite Dead Enough

Chapter 1

We swooped down and hit the concrete alongside the Potomac at 1:20 p.m. on a raw Monday in early March.

I didn’t know whether I would be staying in Washington or hopping a plane for Detroit or Africa, so I checked my bags at the parcel room at the airport and went out front and flagged a taxi. For twenty minutes I sat back and watched the driver fight his way through two million government employees, in uniforms and in civies, on wheels and on foot, and for another twenty minutes, after entering a building, I showed credentials and waited and let myself be led through corridors, and finally was ushered into a big room with a big desk.

It was the first time I had ever seen the top mackaroo of United States Army Intelligence. He was in uniform and had two chins and a pair of eyes that wasted neither time nor space. I was perfectly willing to shake hands, but he just said to sit down, glanced at a paper on top of a pile and told me in a dry brittle voice that my name was Archie Goodwin.

I nodded noncommittally. For all I knew, it was a military secret.

He inquired acidly, “What the hell is the matter with Nero Wolfe?”

“Search me, sir. Why, is he sick?”

“You worked for him for ten years. As his chief assistant in the detective business. Didn’t you?”

“All of that. Yes, sir. But I never found out what was the matter with him. However, if you want some good guesses—”

“You seem to have done pretty well with that mess down in Georgia, Major Goodwin.”

“Much obliged, sir. Speaking of Nero Wolfe—”

“I am about to.” He shoved the papers aside. “That’s why I sent for you. Is he crazy?”

“That’s one theory.” I looked judicious and crossed my legs, remembered who I was now, and uncrossed them. “He’s a great man, I grant that, but you know what it was that made the Australian wild dog so wild. Assistant is not the word for it. I was a combination accelerator and brake. I may mention that my pay was roughly three times what it is at the moment. Of course if I were made a colonel—”

“How long have you been a major?”

“Three days.”

He pronounced a certain word, just one word, very snappy.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He nodded curtly, to signify that that was settled for good, and went on. “We need Nero Wolfe. Not necessarily in uniform, but we need him. I don’t know whether he deserves his reputation—”

“He does,” I declared. “I hate to admit it, but he does.”

“Very well. That seems to be the prevailing opinion. And we need him, and we’ve tried to get him. He has been seen by Captain Cross and by Colonel Ryder, and he refused to call on General Fife. I have a report here—”

“They handled him wrong.” I grinned. “He wouldn’t call on the King of China even if there was one. I doubt if he’s been outdoors since I left, two months ago. The only thing he has got is brains, and the only way to go is to take things to him: facts, problems, people—”

The mackaroo was shaking his head impatiently. “We tried to. Colonel Ryder went to try to get him to work on a certain matter of great importance, and he flatly refused. He’s no fascist or appeaser, according to his record. What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing sir. Nothing like that. He’s probably in a bad mood. His moods never are anything to brag about, and of course he’s dejected because I’m not there. But the main thing is they don’t know how to handle him.”

“Do you know how to handle him?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then go and do it. We want him on a day basis under Schedule 34H. We want him immediately and urgently on a matter that Colonel Ryder went to him about. Nobody has even been able to make a start on it. How long will it take you?”

“I couldn’t say. It all depends.” I stood up with my heels together. “An hour, a day, a week, two weeks. I’ll have to live in his house with him as I always did. The best time to work on him is late at night.”

“Very well. On your arrival, report to Colonel Ryder at Governor’s Island by telephone, report progress to him, and tell him when you are ready for him to see Mr. Wolfe.” He got up and offered me a hand, and I took it. “And don’t waste any time.”

In another room downstairs I found they had got me a priority for a seat on the three o’clock plane for New York, and a taxi got me to the airport just in time to weigh my luggage through and make a run for it.

Chapter 2

All the seats were taken but one, the outside of a double near the front, and I nodded down at the occupant of the seat next to the window, a man with spectacles and a tired face, stuffed my hat and coat on the shelf, and lowered myself. In another minute we were taxiing down the runway, turning, vibrating, rolling, picking it up, and in the air. Just as I unfastened my seat belt, dainty female fingers gripped the seat arm, a female figure stopped, and the profile of a female head with fine blond hair was there in front of me, speaking across to the man with spectacles:

“Would you mind changing seats with me? Please?”

Not wanting to make a scene, there was nothing for me to do but scramble out of the way to permit the transfer. The man got out, the female got in and settled herself, and I sat down again just as the plane tilted for a bank.

She patted my arm and said, “Escamillo darling. Don’t kiss me here. Good heavens, you’re handsome in uniform.”

“I haven’t,” I said coolly, “any intention of kissing you anywhere.”

Her blue eyes were not quite wide open and a corner of her mouth was turned up a little. Viewed objectively, there was nothing at all wrong with the scenery, but I was in no frame of mind to view Lily Rowan objectively. I have told elsewhere how I met her just outside the fence of an upstate pasture. The episode started with me in the pasture along with a bull, and the situation was such that when I reached the fence considerations of form and dignity were minor matters. Anyhow, I got over, rolled maybe ten yards and scrambled to my feet, and a girl in a yellow shirt and slacks clapped her hands sarcastically and drawled at me. “Beautiful, Escamillo! Do it again!”

That was Lily. One thing had led to another. Several others. Until finally …

But now—

She squeezed my arm and said, “Escamillo darling.”

I gazed straight at her and said, “Lookit. The only reason I don’t get up and ask one of our fellow passengers to change seats with me is that I am in uniform and the service has notions about dignity in public places, and I know quite well that you are capable of acting like a lunatic. I am going to read the paper.”

I unfolded the Times. She was laughing in her throat, which I had once thought was an attractive sound, and she arranged herself in her seat so that her arm was against mine.

“Sometimes,” she said, “I wish that bull had got you that day three years ago. I never dreamed, when I saw you tumbling over that fence, that it would ever come to this. You haven’t answered my letters or telegrams. So I came to Washington to find out where you were, intending to go there — and here I am. Me, Lily Rowan! Escamillo, look at me!”

“I’m reading the paper.”

“Good heavens, you’re wonderful in uniform. Very rugged. Doesn’t it impress you that I found out you were taking this plane and got on before you did? Am I a smart girl or not?”

I didn’t say anything.

“Answer me,” she said with an edge to her voice.

She was capable of anything. “Yeah,” I said, “you’re smart.”

“Thank you. I’m also smart enough to know that your being mad at me because I said that Ireland shouldn’t give up any naval or air bases is phony. My father came here from Ireland and made eight million dollars building sewers — and I’m Irish and you know it, so your going sour on me on account of that is the bunk. I think you think you’re tired of me. I have palled on you. Well?”

I kept my eyes on the paper. “I’m in the Army now, pet.”

“So you are. Haven’t I sent you forty telegrams offering to go and be near you and read aloud to you? Thinking you might be sick or something, haven’t I been three times to see Nero Wolfe to find out if he was hearing from you? Which reminds me, what the dickens is the matter with him? He refuses to see me. And he likes me.”

“He does not like you. He likes no woman.”

“Well, he likes my being interested in his orchids. And besides, I wrote him that I had a case for him and would pay him myself. He wouldn’t even talk to me on the phone.”

I looked at her. “What kind of a case?”

A corner of her mouth went up. “Like to know?”

“Go to the devil.”

“Now, Escamillo. Am I your bauble?”

“No.”

“I am too. I like the way your nose twitches when you smell a case. This is about a friend of mine, or anyway a girl I know, named Ann Amory. I was worried about her.”

“I can’t see you being worried about a girl named Ann Amory, or any girl except one named Lily Rowan.”

Lily patted my arm. “That sounds more like you. Anyway, I wanted an excuse to see Nero Wolfe, and Ann was in trouble. All she really wanted was advice. She had found out something about somebody and wanted to know what to do about it.”

“What had she found out about who?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t tell me. Her father used to work for my father, and I helped her out when he died. She works at the National Bird League and gets thirty dollars a week.” Lily shivered. “Good lord, think of it, thirty dollars a week! Of course that’s no worse than thirty dollars a day; you couldn’t possibly live anyhow. She came and asked me to send her to a lawyer and she certainly was upset. All she would tell me was that she had learned something terrible about someone, but from several things she let slip I think it’s her fiancé. I thought Nero Wolfe would be better for her than any lawyer.”

“And he wouldn’t see you?”

“No.”

“Ann didn’t mention any names at all?”

“No.”

“Where does she live?”

“Downtown, not far from you — 316 Barnum Street.”

“Who is her fiancé?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Lily patted my arm. “Listen, you big rugged hero. Where shall we have dinner tonight? My place?”

I shook my head. “I’m on duty. Your attitude on bases in Ireland is subversive. For all I know, you’re an Irish spy. I regard you as irresistible, but I’ve got my honor to think of. I warned you that day in the Methodist tent that my spiritual side—”

She cut me off and so it went. So it went for another hour, until we touched ground again at LaGuardia Airport. I wasn’t able to duck her there. For the sake of decorum I split a taxi with her to Manhattan, but in front of the Ritz, where she had her own tower, and where I knew she would be disinclined to tear up sidewalks. I got myself transferred to another taxi with my bags and gave the driver the address of Wolfe’s house on 35th Street.

In spite of the encounter with Lily, as I rolled downtown and then turned west, I’m here to tell you it was okay with me. I don’t know why it seemed as if I’d been away a lot longer than two months, but it did. I recognized stores and buildings, as if I owned them, that I didn’t remember ever bothering to look at before. I hadn’t sent a wire because I thought it would be fun to surprise them, and naturally I was looking forward to seeing Theodore up in the plant rooms with the orchids, and Fritz in the kitchen stirring things in bowls and sniffing and tasting, and Nero Wolfe himself seated at his desk, frowning at a page of the atlas or maybe growling at a book he was reading— No, he wouldn’t be in the office. He didn’t come down from the plant rooms until six o’clock, so he would be up there with Theodore. I would say hello to Fritz in the kitchen and then sneak up to my room and wait until after I heard the elevator descending, bringing Wolfe down to the office.

Chapter 3

That was the worst shock I ever got in my life, bar none.

I let myself in with my key, which was still on my ring, dropped my bags in the hall, entered the office, and didn’t believe my eyes. Stacks of unopened mail were on Wolfe’s desk. I walked over to it and saw that it hadn’t been dusted for ten years, and neither had mine. I turned around to face the door and felt myself swallowing. Either Wolfe or Fritz was dead, the only question was which. Next thing I knew I was in the kitchen, and what I saw there convinced me that they both were dead. They must be. The rows of pots and pans were dusty too, and the spice jars.

I swallowed again. I opened a cupboard door and saw not a damn thing but a dish of oranges and six cartons of prunes. I opened the refrigerator, and that finished it. There was nothing there but four heads of lettuce, four tomatoes, and a dish of applesauce. I dashed out and made for the stairs.

One flight up, both Wolfe’s room and the spare were uninhabited, but the furniture looked normal. Same for the two rooms on the floor above, one of which was mine. I kept going, on up to the plant rooms. In the four growing-rooms there was nothing under the glass but orchids, hundreds of them in bloom, but in the potting-room I finally found a sign of human life, namely a man. It was Theodore Horstmann, on a stool at the bench, making entries in a propagation record book which I had formerly kept.

I demanded, “Where’s Wolfe? Where’s Fritz? What the hell’s going on here?”

Theodore finished a word, blotted it, turned on the stool, and squeaked at me:

“Why, hello, Archie. They’re out exercising. Only they call it training. They’re out training.”

“Are they well? Alive?”

“Of course they’re alive. They’re training.”

“Training what?”

“Training each other. Or perhaps more accurately, training themselves. They’re going into the Army, to fight. I am going to stay here as caretaker. Mr. Wolfe was going to dispose of the plants, but I persuaded him to leave them with me. Mr. Wolfe doesn’t work with the plants any more; he only comes up here to sweat. He has to sweat all he can in order to reduce his weight, and then he has to get hardened up, so he and Fritz go over by the river and walk fast. Next week they’re going to start to run. He is dieting and he has stopped drinking beer. Last week he caught cold but he’s over it now. He won’t buy any bread or cream or butter or sugar or lots of things and I have to buy my own meat.”

“Where do they train?”

“Over by the river. Mr. Wolfe obtained permission from the authorities to train on a pier because the boys on the street ridiculed him. From seven to nine in the morning and four to six in the afternoon. Mr. Wolfe is very persistent. He spends the rest of the time up here sweating. He doesn’t talk much, but I heard him telling Fritz that if two million Americans will kill ten Germans apiece—”

I had had enough of Theodore’s squeak. I left him, went back down to the office, got a cloth and dusted my desk and chair, sat down and elevated my dogs, and scowled at the stacks of mail on Wolfe’s desk.

Good God, I thought, what a homecoming this turned out to be. I might have known something like this would happen if I left him to manage himself. It is not only bad, it may be hopeless. The fathead. The big fat goop. And I told that general I know how to handle him. Now what am I going to do?

At 5:50 I heard the front door open and close, and footsteps in the hall, and there was Nero Wolfe looking in at me from the threshold with Fritz back of him.

“What are you doing here?” he boomed.

I’ll never forget that sight as long as I live. I was speechless. He didn’t exactly look smaller, he merely looked deflated. The pants were his own, an old pair of blue serge. The shoes were strangers, rough army style. The sweater was mine, a heavy maroon number that I had bought once for a camping trip, and in spite of his reduction of circumference it was stretched so tight that his yellow shirt showed through the holes.

I found my tongue to say, “Come in! Come on in!”

“I’ve given up the office for the time being,” he said, and he and Fritz both turned and headed for the kitchen.

I sat there awhile, screwing up my lips and scowling, hearing noises they were making, and finally got up and moseyed out to join them. Apparently Wolfe had given up the dining-room too, for he and Fritz were both seated at the little table by the window eating prunes, with a bowl of lettuce and tomatoes, no dressing in sight, waiting for them. I propped myself against the long table, looking down at them, and managed a grin.

“Trying an experiment?” I asked pleasantly.

With his spoon Wolfe conveyed a prune seed from his mouth to the dish. He was looking at me and pretending not to. “How long,” he demanded, “have you been a major?”

“Three days.” I couldn’t help staring at him. It was unbelievable. “They promoted me on account of my table manners. Theodore tells me you are going to join the Army. May I ask in what capacity?”

Wolfe had another prune in his mouth. When he got rid of the seed he said, “Soldier.”

“You mean forward march and bang? Parachute troops? Commandos? Driving a jeep maybe—”

“That will do, Archie.” His tone was sharp and his glance was too. He put down his spoon. “I am going to kill some Germans. I didn’t kill enough in 1918. Whatever your reason for coming here — I presume it is your furlough before going overseas — I am sorry you came. I am quite aware of the physical difficulties that confront me, and I will tolerate no remarks from you. I am more keenly aware of them than you are. I am sorry you came, because I am undertaking a complicated adjustment in my habits, and your presence will make it more burdensome. I congratulate you on your promotion. If you are staying for dinner—”

“No, thank you,” I said politely. “I’ve got a date for dinner. But I’ll sleep here in my bed if you don’t mind. I’ll try not to annoy you—”

“Fritz and I go to bed at nine sharp.”

“Okay. I’ll take my shoes off downstairs. Much obliged for the fatted calf. I apologize for dusting off my desk and chair, but I was afraid I’d get my uniform dirty. My furlough is two weeks.”

“I hope, Archie, you will understand—”

I didn’t wait to hear it. If I had stayed there a second longer I would simply have had to cut loose.

Chapter 4

At Sam’s Place, at the corner, I went first to the phone booth and called Colonel Ryder at Governor’s Island to tell him I was on the job, and then settled myself at a table with a plate of beef stew and two glasses of milk.

As I ate the stew I considered the situation. It was not only tough, it was probably impossible. What had happened was quite plain: Wolfe had simply put his brains away in a drawer for the duration. He wasn’t going to do any thinking, because that was just work, whereas dieting and going outdoors every day and walking fast, getting ready to shoot some Germans — that was heroic. And he had already gone so far with it, and he was so damn bullheaded, that it looked hopeless. After mulling it over, I would have crossed it off and got my bags and headed for Governor’s Island, but for two things: first, I had told the general I knew how to handle him; and second, it looked as if he was going to kill himself if I didn’t stop him. If even one cell of his brain had been working — but it wasn’t.

I thought of appealing for help, to Marko Vukcic or Raymond Plehn or Lewis Hewitt, or even Inspector Cramer, but of course that was no good. Any kind of appeal or argument would only make him stubborner, since he was refusing to think. The only thing that would turn the trick was to manage somehow to get his brain going. I knew from experience what a job that was, and he had never been in a condition to compare with the one he was in now. Futhermore I was handicapped by having been away for two months and not knowing who had called at the office or tried to, or whether there had been any current events.

That, I thought, was one possibility, so after I had paid my check I went to the phone booth and called Inspector Cramer. He said he thought I was in the Army, and I said I thought so too, and then I asked him: “You got any good crimes on hand? Murders or robberies or even missing persons?”

That didn’t get me anywhere. Either he had nothing promising or he wasn’t telling me. I went out to the sidewalk and stood there scowling at a taxi driver. It was cold, darned cold for the middle of March, and flurries of snow were scooting around, and I had no overcoat. As a forlorn hope, because there was nothing else to do, I climbed in the taxi and told the driver to take me to 316 Barnum Street. It wasn’t actually a hope at all, just a stab in the dark because there wasn’t any light.

There was nothing about the outside of the building to warn me of the goofy assortment of specimens inside, merely an ordinary-looking old brick structure of four stories, the kind that had once been a private house but somewhere around the time I was born had been made into flats, with the vestibule fitted up with mailboxes and bell buttons. The card in one of the slots said Pearl O. Chack and beneath it in smaller letters, Amory. I pushed the button, shoved the door open when the click sounded, and was proceeding along the hall when a door toward the rear was suddenly flung open and somebody’s female ancestor appeared on the threshold. If you had deducted for skin and bones there wouldn’t have been more than 20 pounds left of her for tissue and internal parts all together. Straggling ends of white hair made a latticework for her piercing black eyes to see through, and there was no question about her being able to see. As I headed for her she snapped at me before I got there.

“What do you want?”

I produced a smile. “I would like to see—”

She chopped me off. “She sent you! I know she did! I thought it was her. She plays that trick sometimes. Goes out and rings the bell, thinking I won’t suspect it’s her. She wants to tell me she thinks I killed her mother. I know what she wants! If she ever says that to me once, just once, I’ll have her arrested! You tell her that! Go up and tell her that now!”

She was drawing back and shutting the door. I got a foot on the sill. “Just a minute, lady. I’ll go up and tell her anything you want me to. You mean Miss Amory? Ann Amory?”

“Ann? My granddaughter?” The black eyes darted at me through the white latticework. “Certainly not! You’re not fooling me—”

“I know I’m not, Mrs. Chack, but you’ve got me wrong. I want to see your granddaughter, that’s all. I came to see Ann. Is she—”

“I don’t believe it!” she snapped, and banged the door shut. I could have stopped it with my foot, but it seemed doubtful if that was the proper course under the circumstances, and besides, I had heard noises upstairs. Immediately after the door banged there were footsteps coming down, and by the time I had moved to the foot of the stairs a young man was there at my level. Evidently he had intended to say something, but at sight of the uniform changed to something else.

“Oh,” he said in surprise, “the Army? I expected—”

He stopped, looking at me. As to clothes he was careless and maybe not even too clean in a bright light, but otherwise you might have expected to find his picture as a back on a football team. Except he was a little light for it.

“Not at present on duty,” I said. “Why, what did you expect, the Navy?”

He laughed. “I just meant I didn’t expect to see an Army officer. Not here. And I heard you asking to see Miss Amory, and I didn’t know she knew any Army officers.”

“Do you know Miss Amory?”

“Sure I know her. I live here. Two flights up.” He extended a hand. “My name’s Leon Furey.”

“Mine’s Archie Goodwin.” We shook hands. “Do you happen to know if Miss Amory is at home?”

“She’s up on the roof.” He was taking me in. “Not the Archie Goodwin that works for Nero Wolfe?”

“That used to. Before I changed clothes. What is Miss Amory doing—”

A voice cut in from up above:

“Who is it, Leon? Bring him up!”

It was a borderline husky voice, the kind that requires further evidence before deciding the question, man or woman. The young man’s head pivoted for a quick look up the stairs and then turned back to me, and his face broke into a grin. It seemed likely that he regarded it as an engaging grin, or maybe even charming. The vote for him in the Larchmont Women’s Club would have stood about 92 to 11. He came closer to me and lowered his voice.

“I suppose you know you’re in a bughouse? My advice is to beat it. I’ll take a message for Miss Amory—”

“Leon!” the voice came down. “Bring him up here!”

“I’d like to see Miss Amory now,” I said, and started to by-pass Leon, but he shrugged his shoulders with masculine charm and started back upstairs, with me following. In the hall one flight up, standing in an open door, was the owner of the voice. The clothes, a brown woolen dress that might have been worn at the inauguration of McKinley, apparently settled the man or woman question, but aside from that she was built to play end or tackle on the same team with Leon. Also she stood more like a soldier than I did or was likely to.

“What’s this?” she demanded as we approached. “I don’t know you. Come in here.”

Leon called her “Miss Leeds,” and informed her that I was Archie Goodwin, formerly Nero Wolfe’s assistant, now Major Goodwin of the United States Army, but there was no knowing whether she got it, because she had her back turned, marching inside the apartment, taking it for granted we would follow, which we did. The furniture of the big room she led us into must have dated from McKinley’s childhood, and there was plenty of it. I sat down because she told me to as if she meant it, taking in the museum with a glance. To finish it off, there was a marble-topped table in the center of the room, with nothing on it but a dead hawk with its wings stretched out. Not a stuffed hawk, just a dead one, just lying there. I guess I stared at it, because she said, “He kills them for me.”

I asked politely, “Are you a taxidermist, Miss Leeds?”

“Oh, no, she likes pigeons,” Leon said in an informative tone. He was sitting on a piano stool with a plush top. “There are seventy thousand pigeons in Manhattan, and about ninety hawks, and they kill the pigeons. The hawks keep coming. They live on the ledges of buildings, and I kill them for Miss Leeds. I got that one—”

“That’s none of your business,” Miss Leeds told me brusquely. “I heard you talking to Mrs. Chack and asking for Ann Amory. I want you to understand that I do not wish any investigation into the death of my mother. It is not necessary. Mrs. Chack is crazy. Both crazy and malicious. She tells people that I think she killed my mother, but I don’t. I don’t think anyone killed my mother. She died of old age. I have explained thoroughly that no investigation is necessary, and I want it understood—”

“He’s not a policeman,” Leon put in. “He’s an Army officer, Miss Leeds.”

“What’s the difference?” she demanded. “Army or police, it’s all the same.” She was regarding me sternly. “Do you understand me, young man? You tell the mayor I want this stopped. I own this house and I own nine houses on this block and I pay my taxes, and I don’t intend to be annoyed. My mother wrote the mayor and she wrote the papers a thousand times what they ought to do. They ought to keep the hawks out of the city. I want to ask you what is being done about that. Well?”

I should have smiled at her, but she just wasn’t anything to smile at. So I looked her in the eye and said, “Miss Leeds, you want facts. Okay, here’s three facts. One. This is the first I ever heard of hawks. Two. This is the first I ever heard of your mother. Three. I came here to see Ann Amory, and Leon tells me she’s up on the roof.” I stood up. “If I see any hawks up there, I’ll catch ’em alive and wring their necks. And I’ll tell the mayor what you said.”

I walked out to the hall and along that to the next flight of stairs.

Chapter 5

The hall above and the one above that were each lit by a single unshaded bulb in a wall socket, but when I opened the door at the stairs to the roof, and passed through and closed it behind me, I was in darkness. I felt my way up with my feet on the wooden treads, found a latch at the top and opened a door, and was on the roof. Blinking at flakes of snow the wind was tossing around, and seeing nothing anywhere that might have been called Ann Amory, I headed for what looked like a penthouse to my left. Light was showing at the edges of a shaded window, and when I got to the door I could make out a sign painted on it:

RACING PIGEON LOFT

ROY DOUGLAS

KEEP OUT!

Since it said keep out, naturally my impulse was to go on in, but I restrained it and knocked. A man’s voice came asking who it was, and I called that it was company for Miss Amory, and the door swung open.

That house seemed to be inhabited exclusively by conclusion-jumpers. Without giving me a chance to introduce myself the young man who had opened the door, and closed it again after I entered, began telling me that he couldn’t possibly spare any more for at least four months, that he was willing and eager to do anything he could to help win the war but he had already sent me 40 birds and had to keep his stock for breeding, and he didn’t see why the Army didn’t understand.

Meanwhile I was surveying. Boxes and bags were stacked around, and shelves were cluttered with various kinds of items that I had never seen before. A door in the far wall had a sign on it: Do Not Open. A wire cage, more like a coop, with a pigeon in it, was on a table, and on a chair by the table was a girl. She was looking up at me with wide-open brown eyes. As for the young man, he wasn’t in Leon Furey’s class as a physical specimen, and they had short-changed him a little on his chin, but he would pass. I stopped him in the middle of his speech.

“You’re wasting it, brother. I’m not a pigeon collector. My name is Archie Goodwin and I came to see Miss Amory.” I put out a hand. “You’re Roy Douglas?” We shook. “Nice chilly place you’ve got here. Miss Amory?”

“I don’t know you,” the girl said in the kind of voice I like, “do I?”

“You do now,” I assured her. “Anyhow, you don’t need to, because I’m only a messenger boy. Lily Rowan wants you to come and have dinner with her, and sent me to get you.”

“Lily Rowan?” The brown eyes looked puzzled. “But why — she sent you for me?”

“Right.” I made it casual. “Since you know Lily, you may be surprised she didn’t send a brigadier general, but there was nothing around but majors.”

Ann laughed, and it was the kind of laugh I like. Then she looked at the pigeon in the coop, and at Roy, and back at me. “I don’t know,” she said uncertainly. “I’ve already had dinner. You mean she wants to see me?” She got up. “I suppose I’d better—” She made up her mind. “But I can go — You don’t need to bother—”

I got her out of there. Evidently Roy did not regard the proceeding with enthusiasm, and neither did the pigeon, but she came, after a little more discussion. Roy lighted us down to the top floor with a flashlight and then returned to his loft. On the ground floor I waited in the hall while Ann went in to speak to her grandmother and get a coat, and when she required less than five minutes for it I liked that too. On the street she didn’t take my arm and she didn’t try to keep step. So far she was batting a thousand. We got a taxi at the corner.

The next test was a little stiffer. As we turned uptown on Fifth Avenue I said, “Now it can be told. Here was the situation. I wanted a private talk with you. I couldn’t talk with you in the presence of Roy and the pigeon. I knew we couldn’t have a talk in your apartment because I had met your grandmother. If I had asked you to go somewhere with me, you would have refused. So I invented an invitation from Lily Rowan. Now what are we going to do?”

Her eyes were wide open at me. “Do you mean — But how did you know—”

“Just a minute. The question was rhetorical. I suppose you’ve heard of Nero Wolfe, the detective. I worked for him up to two months ago, when I joined the Army. Today Lily Rowan told me that you asked her to send you to a lawyer, and she has been trying to arrange for you to see Nero Wolfe, but Mr. Wolfe has been occupied. I think I can fix it. He is a very busy man, if you’ll just tell me what it’s about—”

“Oh,” she said. She gazed at me. Finally she shook her head. “I don’t — I couldn’t tell you.”

“Why not? You’re in trouble, aren’t you?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Didn’t you intend to tell the lawyer you asked Lily to send you to?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Nero Wolfe is worth ten lawyers. Any ten.”

“But you’re not Nero Wolfe. You’re just a handsome young man in a uniform.” She shook her head again. “Really I couldn’t.”

“You’re wrong, sister. I’m handsome, but I’m not just handsome. However, we’ve got all night. Say we try this. We’ve both had dinner. Say we go somewhere and dance. Between dances I’ll explain to you how bright I am, and try to win your confidence, and get you to drink as much as possible to loosen your tongue. That might get us somewhere.”

She laughed. “Where would we go to dance?”

“Anywhere. The Flamingo Club.”

I told the driver.

She turned out to be a pretty fair dancer, but not much at bending the elbow. The dinner mob already had the place nearly filled, but I declared a priority on a table in a corner that was being held for some deb’s delight, and when he turned up with his Abigail Spriggs alumna I just stared him out of it into the jungle. Ann and I got along fine. Socially the evening was absolutely okay, but fundamentally I was there on business and from that angle it was close to a washout.

Not that I didn’t gather information. I learned that the pigeon I had seen in the coop was a Sion-Stassart pigeon named Dusky Diana, the holder of nine diplomas and the mother of four 500-mile winners, and Roy Douglas had paid $90 for her, and she had hit a chimney three days ago in a gust of wind while out exercising, and was being nursed. Also that there had been a feud between Miss Leed’s mother and Mrs. Chack, Ann’s grandmother, dating from the 19th century, which Mrs. Chack and Miss Leeds were carrying on. The cause of the feud was that Chack fed squirrels and Leeds fed pigeons, both using Washington Square as a base of operations. They were both there every morning soon after dawn, staying a couple of hours, and again in the late afternoon. Mrs. Chack could stay later than Mrs. Leeds, often until after dark, because pigeons went to bed earlier than squirrels, and it was Mrs. Chack’s daily triumph when the enemy had to give up and go home. The bitterest and deepest aspect of the feud was that Mrs. Chack had accused Miss Leed’s mother of poisoning squirrels on December 9, 1905, and tried to have her arrested. That date had not been forgotten and never would be.

Also I learned that Miss Leed’s mother had died on December 9, three months ago. Mrs. Chack had announced to the neighborhood that it had been a visitation of God’s slow anger at an ancient crime, and whisperings that got to the ears of the police had resulted in a discreet investigation, but nothing had come of it. Here I thought I had something up a tree, in fact I was sure I had, from the way Ann acted, but that was as far as I got. Nor was she discussing her fiancé, even to the extent of admitting she had one. Evidently she was sticking to it that I was just handsome.

All of a sudden, around midnight, I realized something. What brought it to my attention was the fact that I was noticing the smell of her hair while we were dancing. I was even sniffing it. It had startled me so I bumped into a couple on the right and nearly toppled them over. There I was — presumably on duty, working, and sore at her for being too damn stubborn to open up — and there I was deliberately smelling hair! That was a hell of a note. I steered her around to an edge, off the floor and back to the table, and sat her down and called for the check.

“Oh,” she said, “must we go?”

“Look here,” I told her, looking in her wide-open eyes, “you’re giving me a run-around. Maybe you did the same to Lily Rowan, or she did to me. Are you in trouble, or aren’t you?”

“Why, yes. Yes, Archie, I am.”

“What kind of trouble? A run in your stocking?”

“No, really. It’s — real trouble. Honestly.”

“But you’re not telling me about it?”

She shook her head. “I can’t. Honestly I can’t. I mean — I don’t want to. You see, you are young and handsome. It’s something terrible — I don’t mean it’s terrible about me — it’s something terrible about someone.”

“Is it about the death of Miss Leed’s mother?”

“It—” She stopped. Then she went on. “Yes, it is. But that’s all I’ll tell you. If you’re going to be like this—”

The waiter brought the change, and I took my share. Then I said, “Okay. The reason I’m like this, I caught myself smelling your hair. Not only that, for the last half-hour I’ve had a different attitude toward our dancing. You may have noticed it.”

“Yes, I — did.”

“Very well. I didn’t. Until just now. I admit it’s possible there is romance ahead of us. Or you may break my heart and ruin my life. Anything can happen. But not yet. What I want to know now is, what time do you quit work?”

She was smiling at me. “I leave the office at five o’clock.”

“And what, go home?”

She nodded. “I usually get home a little before five-thirty. And take a bath, and start cooking dinner. This time of year, grandmother gets home from the Square around seven, and I have dinner ready for her. Sometimes Roy or Leon eats with us.”

“Could you eat early tomorrow and come to Nero Wolfe’s house at seven o’clock? And tell him about the trouble you’re in? Tell him all about it?”

She frowned at me, hesitating. I covered her hand, on the tablecloth, with mine. “Look, sister,” I said, “it’s possible that you’re headed for something terrible yourself. I’m not trying to pretend—”

I stopped because I felt a presence, and I felt eyes. I glanced up, and there were the eyes looking down at me, one on each side of Lily Rowan’s pretty little nose.

I tried to grin at her. “Why — hello there—”

“You,” Lily said, in a tone to cut my throat. “On duty, huh? You louse!”

I think she was going to smack me. Anyhow, it was obvious that she wasn’t going to care what she did, and intended to proceed without delay, so it was merely a question of who moved first and fastest. I was out of my chair, on my feet across the table from her, in half a second flat, with a gesture to Ann, and Ann passed that test too, a fairly tough one, with flying colors. As fast as I moved she was with me, and before even Lily Rowan could get any commotion started we had my cap from the hat-check girl and were out on the sidewalk.

As the taxi rolled away with us I patted Ann’s hand and said, “Good girl. Apparently she was upset about something.”

“She was jealous,” Ann chuckled. “My lord, she was jealous. Lily Rowan jealous of me!”

When I left her at 316 Barnum Street, it was agreed that she would be at Nero Wolfe’s place at 7:00 the next day. Even so, as the taxi took me back to 35th Street, I was not in a satisfactory frame of mind, and it wasn’t improved by finding pinned to my pillowcase a note which said:

Dear Archie, Miss Rowan telephoned four times, and when I told her you were not here she said I was a liar. I am sorry there is no bacon or ham or pancake flour or anything like that in the house.

Fritz

Chapter 6

I slept because I always sleep, but my nerves must have been in bad shape, because when my eyes opened and read the clock at 6:50 I was immediately wide awake. I would have given my next two promotions for the satisfaction of planting myself in the downstairs hall and glaring at Wolfe and Fritz as they left on their way to the training field, but knowing that would be a bad blunder in strategy I restrained myself. All I did was open my door so I could hear noises, and when, promptly at 7:00 I heard the street door open and close, I went to a window and leaned out for a look. And there they went, off toward the river, Wolfe in the blue serge pants and my maroon sweater and heavy shoes, no hat, at a gait he probably thought was a stride, swinging his arms. It was simply too damn pathetic.

On that heavy gray March morning my Ann Amory operation looked pretty hopeless, but it was all I had, so I prepared to give it the works. After orange juice and ham and eggs and pancakes and two cups of coffee at Sam’s Place, I went back to the house and spent an hour at the typewriter and telephone cleaning up a few personal matters that had collected in my absence, and was just finishing up when, a little after 9:00, here came the Commandos back. My plan was to ignore them entirely, so I didn’t turn around when footsteps in the hall stopped at the open office door, but Wolfe’s voice sounded:

“Good morning, Archie. I spend the day upstairs. Did you sleep well?”

It was his regular morning question that he had asked me 4,000 times, and it made me homesick. I admit it. It softened me up. I swiveled my chair to face him, but that hardened me again, just one look at him.

“Fine, thanks,” I said coldly. “You messed my drawers up, I suppose looking for that sweater. I have something to say to you. I am speaking for the United States Army. There is one thing you are better qualified to do than anyone else, in connection with undercover enemy activities in this country. It is a situation requiring brains, which you used to have and sometimes used. The Commander in Chief, the Secretary of War, and the General Staff, also Sergeant York, respectfully request you to cut the comedy and begin using them. You are wrong if you think your sudden appearance in the front lines will make the Germans laugh themselves to death. They have no sense of humor.”

I thought that might make him mad enough to forget himself and enter the office, and if I once got him in there it would be a point gained, but he merely stood and scowled at me.

“You said,” he growled, “that you’re on furlough.”

“I did not. You ought to be ashamed of yourself. That shows the condition you’re in. A thousand times, right in this room, I’ve heard you give people hell for inexact statements. What I said was that my furlough is two weeks. I did not say that I’m on it now. Nor did I mention—”

“Pfui!” he sputtered scornfully, and turned and started up the stairs. Which was another phenomenon I had never seen before, him mounting those stairs. It had cost him $7,000 to install the elevator.

I got my cap and left the house and started to work.

I tried to inject some enthusiasm into the day’s operations, and I did do my best, but at no point did any probability appear that I was going to turn up anything that could be used for a lever to pry Wolfe loose. It was a different problem from any that had ever confronted me before, because, since he was hell-bent for heroism, no appeal to his cupidity would work. In the condition he had got himself into, the only weak spot where I might break through was his vanity.

I learned from friends at Centre Street that the investigation of Mrs. Leeds’s death had never gone beyond the precinct, so I went there and made inquiries. The sergeant didn’t bother to look up the record. Nothing to it. The doctor had certified coronary thrombosis at the age of 87, and the neighborhood gossip about Mrs. Chack pinch-hitting for the vengeance of God because she got impatient with Him for waiting so long was the bunk.

Around noon I dropped in at 316 Barnum Street, and found Leon Furey still in bed, or anyhow still in pajamas. He said he had to sleep late because he did his hawk hunting mostly at night. I learned that killing hawks was his only visible means of support, that the Army had turned him down on account of a leaky valve, that Roy Douglas lived on the floor above him, the one next to the roof, and a few other items, but nothing that seemed likely to help me any. I found Roy up on the roof, in his loft. He wouldn’t let me in and wasn’t inclined for conversation. He said he was busy working on the widower system, and all I got out of him was that the widower system was a method of keeping a male pigeon away from his mate for a certain period, and letting him in with her for a couple of minutes just before shipping him to the liberation point for a race, the result being that he flew to get back as he had never flown before. I disapproved of it on moral grounds, but that didn’t seem to interest Roy either, so I left him to his widower system, descended again to the street, and began exploring the community.

For over three hours I collected neighborhood gossip, and it wasn’t worth a dime a bushel. I didn’t even get any significant dirt, let alone useful information. On the question of the death of old Mrs. Leeds, fourteen of them divided as follows:

4 Mrs. Chack killed her.

1 Miss Leeds killed her.

6 She died of old age.

3 She died of meanness.

No majority for anybody or anything. No nothing. I went home, arriving a little before 5:00, to think it over and decide whether it was worth while springing Ann on Wolfe at all and as I stood in the office frowning at the dust on Wolfe’s desk, the doorbell rang. I went and pulled the curtain aside for a look through the glass panel, and there was Roy Douglas on the stoop. My heart skipped a beat. Was something going to break? I pulled the door open and invited him in.

He acted embarrassed, as if he had something he wanted to say but wasn’t quite sure what it was. I took him to the office and dusted off a chair for him, and he sat down and opened his mouth for air a couple of times and then said:

“I guess I wasn’t very courteous down there at the loft today. I never am very polite when I’m working with the birds. You see, it makes them nervous to have strangers around.”

I nodded sympathetically. “Me too. By the way, I forgot to ask, how’s Dusky Diana coming along?”

“Oh, she’s much better. She’ll be all right.” He squinted at me. “I suppose Miss Amory told you about her?”

“Yeah, she told me a lot of interesting things.”

He shifted in his chair. Then he cleared his throat. “You were with her all evening, weren’t you?”

“Sure, I stuck around.”

“I saw you when you came back. When you brought her home. From my window.”

“Did you? It was pretty late.”

“I know it was. But I — You see, I was worried about her. I am worried about her. I think she’s in some kind of trouble or something, and I wondered if that was why she went to see that Lily Rowan.”

“You might ask her.”

He shook his head. “She won’t tell me. But I’m sure she’s in some kind of trouble, the way she acts. I don’t know Miss Rowan, so I can’t go and ask her, but I know you, that is I’ve met you, and if you were with them last evening — and then your coming to see me today — I thought you might tell me. You see, I’ve got a right to know about it, a kind of a right, because we’re engaged to be married.”

My brows went up. “You are? You and Miss Amory?”

“Yes.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you.” He squinted at me. “So I wondered why you came to see me, and I thought maybe it was to tell me something about her, or ask me something, and that made me wonder — Anyhow, if you know whether she’s in trouble I wish you’d tell me.”

Except for the fact that I had solved the mystery of Ann’s fiancé, or rather it had solved itself, that certainly didn’t sound as if Roy’s visit was going to break anything. However, since I had him there, I thought I might as well see what he had concealed on his person, so I proceeded to treat him as a friend. I told him I was sorry I couldn’t help him out any on the nature of Ann’s difficulty, if any, and casually guided the conversation in the direction of the inhabitants of 316 Barnum Street. That proved to be a boomerang. The minute we arrived at that address he got started on pigeons, and then did he talk!

I learned things. He had been in the fancy, as he put it, since boyhood. Mrs. Leeds had built the loft for him and kept him going, and now Miss Leeds was carrying on. His birds had won a total of 116 diplomas in young bird races and 63 diplomas in old bird races. One year his Village Susie, a Blue Check Grooter, had returned first in the Dayton Great National, with 3,864 birds, 512 lofts competing. He had lost fourteen birds in the big smash in the Trenton 300-mile special last year. The best racing pigeons in the world, in his opinion, were the Dickinson strain of Sion-Stassarts — Dusky Diana was one.

I couldn’t get him off it. As the clock on the wall crept along toward 6:00 I began to think I’d have to pick him up and carry him outdoors, since Wolfe would come in from training soon after 6:00 and I didn’t want him there. But that problem was solved for me. At 5:55 the doorbell rang, and Roy got up and said he would be going, and followed me out to the front. I pulled the curtain aside for a look, and what did I see on the stoop but Lily Rowan, and she had seen me.

I slipped the chain in the socket so the door would only open four inches, let it come that far, and announced through the crack:

“Air raid alarm. Go home and get under the bed. I’m on—”

Her hand came in through the crack, her arm nearly up to the elbow.

“Shut it on that,” she said savagely. “Let me in.”

“No, girlie, I—”

“Let me in! Do you want me to yell it for the whole neighborhood—”

“Yell what?”

“There’s been a murder!”

“You mean there will be a murder. Some day—”

“Archie! You damned idiot! I tell you Ann Amory has been murdered! If you don’t—”

There was a noise from Roy at my elbow. I pushed him aside, slipped the chain off, let Lily through, shut the door, and got her by the shoulders, gripping her good.

“Spill it,” I told her. “If you think you’re putting on a charade—”

“Quit hurting me!” she spat. Then she was quiet. “All right, keep on hurting me. Go on. Harder.”

“Spill it, my love.”

“I am spilling it. I went there to see Ann. When I rang the bell the latch didn’t click, so I rang another bell and got in. The door of her apartment was standing a little open, so I knocked once and then went in. I thought she must be there because I had phoned her office and she said she would get home before five-thirty, and it was a quarter to six. She was there all right. She was there on the floor propped up against a chair with a scarf tied around her throat and her tongue hanging out and her eyes popping. She was dead. I saw she was dead and I—”

Roy Douglas went. He did it so quick, pulled the door open and scooted, that I didn’t even get a chance to make a grab for him.

“Goddamn it,” I said. I turned Lily loose and glanced at my wrist — 6:02. If I beat it with her it would be just my luck for Wolfe to be approaching and see me. Lily was sputtering:

“I tell you, Archie, it was the most awful—”

“Shut up.” I opened the door to the front room, steered her inside, and closed the door. “You do what I tell you, girlie, or I swear to God I’ll scalp you. Sit down and don’t breathe. Nero Wolfe will be coming in and I don’t want him to know you’re here. No, sit there, away from the window. I want to know one thing. Did you kill her?”

“No.”

“Look at me. You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

“Archie—”

“Shut up.”

I sat on the edge of a chair and put my fists on my knees and stared at the wall. I can’t think with my eyes closed the way Wolfe does. In maybe three minutes I thought I had it, at least a sketch of it, if only it hadn’t been for that damn Douglas kid. It all depended on him.

I looked at Lily. “Keep your voice low so we can hear the door open. You’d better whisper. How often have you been to the apartment?”

“Only once. A long time ago. I love you like this, Arch—”

“Save it for Christmas. Whose bell did you ring?”

“I don’t know. One of the upper—”

“Did anybody see you going in or coming out?”

“I don’t know about going in. I think not. I’m sure they didn’t coming out because I looked around and glanced up the stairs.”

“Does anybody there know you? Besides Ann?”

“Mrs. Chack does, that’s all. Ann’s grandmother.”

“Was anybody — hold it.”

The street door was opening. It closed again, and I heard Wolfe’s voice, and a murmur of Fritz’s. Footsteps went down the hall and the door to the kitchen opened and closed.

I went noiselessly to the door to the hall and eased it open. The one to the kitchen was shut, and sounds came from beyond it. I beckoned to Lily and when she joined me whispered in her ear, “Fast and silent. Understand?” and tiptoed to the front door and got it open without a sound. Lily slipped through and me after her, I shut the door with only a faint click, and we went down the steps to the sidewalk and turned east. She had to trot to keep up. When we reached the avenue and turned the corner I got her into a doorway.

“Now. Was anyone standing around the entrance when you went in?”

“Standing around? No. But what—”

“Don’t talk. I’m busy. You’re noticeable. Did anyone notice you going in or coming out?”

“I don’t think so. If they did I didn’t notice them.”

“Okay. I’m leaving you. Here’s your program. Go some place out of town, not far, Long Island or Westchester. Leave a note for me at the Ritz telling me where, but don’t tell anyone else. I—”

“You mean go now?”

“Right now. Pack a bag and go. Within an hour.”

“You go to hell.” She had my arm in both hands. “You darned nut, didn’t I run to you in my hour of need? I’m going to have a drink, several drinks, and you’re going to have some with me. What do you think I—”

I tried to bull it through, but nothing doing. She balked good, and time was precious. So I said, “Listen, angel. I’ve got a job to do and you’ve got to help. I haven’t time to explain it. Do as I say, and I’ll get a week-end leave Saturday and you can write your ticket, anything short of rowing on the lake in Central Park.”

“This coming Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“An absolutely unqualified promise?”

“Yes, damn it.”

“Gentlemen prefer blondes. Kiss me good-by.”

I made it a quick one, dashed across the sidewalk to a taxi, and told the driver corner of Barnum and Christopher, and step on it. My watch said 6:15. Roy had 13 minutes start on me.

Chapter 7

On account of Roy Douglas, there was a mighty slim hope of being able to fill in my sketch, but when I jumped from the cab at the corner and hotfooted it for Number 316 and saw there was no sign of anything unusual, the chances looked slightly better. The odds against me were still about 20 to 1. If anyone else, including Roy, had beat me to it and called the cops or a doctor or even the neighbors, or if grandma had come home early, or if 17 other things, my plan was a washout.

It would have been a swell break if the door had been unlatched, but it wasn’t, so I pushed the Chack-Amory button, not daring to risk one of the others, and in about five seconds the click sounded. That might have been either good or bad, and there was no time to speculate. I entered and went down the hall, and there was Roy standing in the open door of the Chack apartment, his face pasty and twitching, trembling all over. Before he could say anything I shoved him inside and closed the door, touching it only with a knuckle. He looked as if he might start screaming. I steered him out of the little hall into a room and to a chair, and pushed him into it.

“She’s dead,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t — look at her.”

“Keep quiet,” I commanded him. “Understand? Keep quiet. I know things about this you don’t know.”

I made a survey. There was no disorder, no sign of a scrap. I didn’t blame Roy for not being able to look at Ann, because it wasn’t actually Ann. It was only what was left, and it didn’t resemble Ann at all. Lily had mentioned the two main aspects, the tongue and the eyes. The upper part of the body was sort of propped up against the front of an upholstered chair, and the blue woolen scarf around the throat had a knot under the left ear. Approaching and kneeling down, it took me ten seconds to make sure that it was a body and not a girl. It was still as warm as life.

I returned to Roy. He was slumped in the chair with his head hanging, and I doubted if there was enough stiffness in his spine to lift his head to look at me, so I lowered myself to one knee to look at him.

“Listen, Roy,” I said, “we’ve got to do some things. How long ago did you get here?”

He stared at me. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know. I came straight here.”

“How did you get in?”

“In where? Oh — my key—”

“No, in here. This apartment.”

“The door was open.”

“Wide open?”

“I don’t know — no, not wide open. Just open a little.”

“Did you see anybody? Did anybody see you?”

“No, I didn’t see anybody.”

“You didn’t call anyone, phone anyone? A doctor? The police?”

“A doctor?” He squinted at me. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she’s dead. You didn’t call the police?”

He shook his head vaguely. “I didn’t — I wasn’t—”

“Okay. Hold it. Stay where you are.” I got erect and glanced around, and through an open door saw a corner of a bed. I crossed over and into the bedroom, sat down on a stool at a dressing-table, got my notebook and pencil from my inside breast pocket, and wrote on a sheet of the book:

Dear Ann—

Sorry, I’ll have to change the arrangement. Don’t come to Nero Wolfe’s place at seven. Instead, I’ll come for you around 5:80.

Archie

I tore out the sheet and folded it and crinkled it a little, then leaned closer to the mirror to see better, separated a lock of my hair from the mop I wore, maybe eight or ten hairs, twisted them around my finger, and yanked them out. Returning to the living-room, I squatted in front of the body, shoved the folded paper down the front of the dress, next to the skin, and tucked the lock of hair behind the scarf around the throat, under the right jaw. The scarf was so tight it took force to do it. I patted her on the shoulder and murmured at her, “All right, Ann, we’ll get the bastard. Or bitch, as the case may be.” Then I straightened up and proceeded to make fingerprints. Three sets would be enough, I thought, one on the arm of a chair, one on the edge of the table, and one on the cover of a magazine on the table. My watch said 6:37. If Mrs. Chack happened to return early from squirrel-feeding, she might come any minute, and it would be a crime to spoil it now.

I went over to Roy. “How are you? Can you walk?”

“Walk?” He had quit trembling. “Where is there to walk to? We’ve got to get—”

“Look here,” I said. “Ann’s dead. Somebody killed her. We want to find out who did it. Don’t we?”

“Yes.” He showed his teeth. It was like a dog snarling in its sleep. “I do.”

“Then come along.” I took hold of his arm. “We’re going somewhere.”

“But we can’t — just leave her—”

“We can’t help her any. We’ll notify the police, but not from here. I tell you I know something about this. Come on, let’s get going.”

I hefted his arm, and he got to his feet, and I headed him for the door. I had decided against fingerprints there, so I used my hankerchief for wiping the knob and turning it, and the same on the outside. The hall was deserted and there was no sound of life. I hustled Roy along, got him out to the street, and turned toward Christopher, taking a normal pedestrian gait. My heart was pumping. I admit it. It looked as if I was going to put it over, with only one item left, to dispose of Roy for 24 hours.

I took him into a bar on Seventh Avenue, got him onto a chair at a table, ordered two double Scotches, told him I’d be back in a minute, and went to the phone booth and dialed a number.

“Lily? Me. Are you packing?”

“Yes, damn you. What—”

“Me talking. No time for explanations. All for now is, don’t leave till I phone you again. Okay?”

“Did you go—”

“Sorry. Busy. Stay there till I phone you.”

Back at the table, Roy was fingering his glass and beginning to tremble again. I saw that he got the drink down, all of it, and then leaned forward to him:

“Now listen, Roy. Get this. You can trust me. You know who I am, and you know who Nero Wolfe is. That ought to be enough. We’re going to find out who killed Ann, and you’ve got to help us. You want to, don’t you?”

He was frowning. The kick of the drink was putting color in his face. “But the police—” he began.

“Sure, the police will be on it any minute, as soon as Mrs. Chack gets home. And I’ll phone them myself, and I’ll be working with them. But I’ve got a line on this that I don’t dare tell them about. Do you know Lily Rowan? By sight?”

“No, I’ve never seen her.”

“Well, I think she’s going to skip. I’m sure of it. She lives at the Ritz. We’ll go there now, and if she comes out with luggage I’ll point her out to you, and you follow her. Hang onto her no matter where she goes. Will you do that?”

His cheeks were flushed. Apparently he was no soak. He said, “I’ve never followed anybody. I don’t know how.”

“All it takes is intelligence, and you’ve got that.” I got out my wallet, extracted five twenties, and handed them to him. “I would do it myself, only I must do something else. And this is important, remember this: don’t try to report to me until Thursday morning at nine o’clock, and then report by telephone, no matter where you are, and then either to Nero Wolfe or to me. Nobody else.” I finished my drink. “You’ve got to do this, Roy. I’ll make a phone call and then we’ll go. Well? Have you got it in you?”

He nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“Good for you. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I went to the phone booth and dialed the number again.

“Lily, my angel? Me. Get this. In twenty minutes, maybe less, I’ll be on the sidewalk at the Madison Avenue entrance of the Ritz, and Roy Douglas will be with me. He’s the guy that was there when you arrived at Wolfe’s house. I’ll point you out to him and he’ll follow you, tail you. I want him out of town for a day or so, and this is the only way I can work it. When you take a taxi to the railroad station—”

“I’m not going to a railroad station. I’m going to the Worthington at Greenwich, and I’m going to drive—”

“No. Take a train. This is part of the deal, or the deal’s off. Be sure he doesn’t loose you. When you buy your ticket at Grand Central, be sure he’s close enough to hear where to, and be sure he makes the train. Take a day coach, no parlor car. He’ll stay at the Worthington too. Keep an eye on him, but don’t let him know you know he’s tailing you. Don’t do any horseback riding or anything to frustrate him. We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Make it as soon after as you can, because I’m busy—”

“Wait a minute! Archie! You’re batty. Have you been there? To Ann’s apartment?”

“Certainly not. No time—”

“Then where did you get that Roy Douglas?”

“Caught up with him before he got there. No time for explanations. See you Saturday, if not before.”

When I got back to the table, the darned fool was having another drink. I called the waiter and paid for it.

Then Roy said, “I can’t do it. I can’t go. I forgot about my birds. I have to take care of my birds.”

Another complication, as if I didn’t already have enough to contend with. I got him out of there and into a taxi, and on the way uptown I managed to sell him the idea that I would get in touch with Miss Leeds before 8:00 in the morning and arrange with her to tend the pigeons. The chief trouble now was that he was more than half lit, and what with that and the shock he had had it was a question how much comprehension he had left, so I carefully repeated all the instructions and made sure he knew which pocket the hundred bucks were in.

At that, he seemed to have things fairly under control when we got out at the Ritz. It worked like a charm. We hadn’t been waiting more than ten minutes when Lily came out, with only three pieces of luggage, which for her was practically a paper bag. As she waited for the taxi door to be opened I saw her get me out of the corner of her eye, and I handed Roy into another taxi, shook his hand and told him I trusted him, and instructed the driver to hang onto the taxi in front at any cost. I stood and watched them roll off.

My watch said 7:45. I entered the Ritz and sent a telegram to Miss Leeds, signing it Roy Douglas, asking her to take care of my pigeons. I wanted to get back to 35th Street as soon as possible, because it was an open question whether the note I had written to Ann would be discovered by the first squad man that got there, or hours later when the medicals started on the p.m., and I simply had to be home when the phone rang or a visitor arrived. But one little errand had first call, because it was urgent. After all, Roy Douglas was Ann’s fiancé, and although it seemed incredible that he could have been coolheaded enough to sit and chin with me about pigeons just after strangling his sweetheart, I had to make sure if I didn’t want to make a double-breasted boob of myself. So I went for a phone book and a phone.

It took nearly three-quarters of an hour. First I dialed the number of the National Bird League on the chance that someone might be working late, but there was no answer. Then I went to it. I tried the Times and Gazette, and finally found someone on the Herald Tribune who gave me the name and address of the president of the National Bird League. He lived in Mount Kisco. I phoned there, and he was in Cincinnati, but his wife gave me the name and address of the secretary of the League. I got her, a Brooklyn number, and by gum she had been away from the office that afternoon, attending a meeting, and I had to put all I had on the ball to coax out of her the name and phone number of another woman who worked in the office. At last I had a break; the woman was at home, and apparently bored, for I didn’t have to coax her to talk. She worked at the desk next to Ann Amory, and they had left the office together that afternoon at a couple of minutes after five. So it was worth all the trouble, since that was settled. Roy had got to Wolfe’s house at 4:55, before Ann had even left the office. It was gratifying to know I hadn’t slipped the murderer a hundred bucks to take a trip to the country.

I took a taxi down to 35th Street, stopping on the way to pick up a couple of sandwiches and a bottle of milk, and found that luck was with me there too. All was serene. They had gone to bed. The house was dark. I would have liked to enjoy the sandwiches in the kitchen, but didn’t want the doorbell to ring, so I sneaked in and got a glass, turning on no light, and went back to the stoop, closing the door, and sat there on the top step to eat my dinner. Everything was going smooth as silk.

They were pretty good sandwiches. As time wore on I began to get chilly. I didn’t want to stamp around on the stoop or pace the sidewalk, since Fritz slept in the basement and I didn’t know how soundly he slept during training, so I stood and flapped my arms to work up a circulation. Then I sat on the step again. I looked at my watch and it was 10:40. An hour later I looked again and it was 10:55. Having been afraid before I got there that some squad man might discover the note first thing, now I began to wonder if the damn laboratory was going to wait till morning to start the p.m. and keep me out all night. I stood up and flapped my arms some more.

It was nearly midnight when a police car came zipping down the street and rolled to a stop right in front, and a man got out. I knew him before he hit the sidewalk. It was Sergeant Stebbins of the Homicide Squad. He crossed the sidewalk and started up the steps, and saw me, and stopped.

I said cheerfully, “Hello, Purley. Up so late?”

“Who are you?” he demanded. He peered. “Well, I’ll be damned. Didn’t recognize you in uniform. When did you get to town?”

“Yesterday afternoon. How’s crime?”

“Just fine. What do you say we go in and sit down and have a little conversation?”

“Sorry, can’t. Don’t talk loud. They’re all asleep. I just stepped out for a breath of air. Gee, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Yeah. I want to ask you a few questions.”

“Shoot.”

“Well — for instance. When did you last see Ann Amory?”

“Aw, hell,” I said regretfully. “You would do that. Ask me the one question I’m not answering tonight. This is my night for not answering any questions whatever about anybody named Ann.”

“Nuts,” he growled, his bass growl that I had been hearing off and on for ten years. “And I don’t mean peanuts. Is it news to you that she’s dead? Murdered?”

“Nothing doing, Purley.”

“There’s got to be something doing. She’s been murdered. You know damn well you’ve got to talk.”

I grinned at him. “What kind of got?”

“Well, to start with, material witness. You talk, or I take you down, and maybe I do anyway.”

“You mean arrest me as a material witness?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“Go ahead. It will be the first time I’ve ever been arrested in the city of New York. And by you! Go ahead.”

He growled. He was getting mad. “Goddamn it, Archie, don’t be a sap! In that uniform? You’re an officer, ain’t you?”

“I am. Major Goodwin. You didn’t salute.”

“Well, for God’s sake—”

“No good. Final. Regarding Ann Amory, anything about Ann Amory, I don’t open my trap.”

“All right,” he said. “I’ve always thought you were cuckoo. You’re under arrest. Get in that car.”

I did so.

There was one little chore left before I could sit back and let nature take its course. Arriving at Centre Street, and asserting my right to make one phone call, I got a lawyer I knew out of bed and gave him some facts to relay to Bill Pratt of the Courier. At 3:45 in the morning, after spending three hours in the company of Inspector Cramer, two lieutenants, and some assorted sergeants and other riffraff, and still refusing to utter a syllable connected in any way with the life or death of Ann Amory, I was locked into a cell in the beautiful new city prison, which is not as beautiful inside as outside.

Chapter 8

It had cost me two bucks to get it smuggled in to me, but it was worth it. Wednesday noon I sat on the edge of my cot in my cell gazing admiringly at it, a front page headline in the early edition of the Courier:

ARMY MAJOR HELD IN

MURDER CASE

NERO WOLFE’S FORMER

ASSISTANT LOCKED UP

As the schoolboy said to the teacher, good — hell, it’s perfect. The “Army Major” was plenty disgraceful, and the “Nero Wolfe’s Former Assistant” was superb. Absolutely degrading. As added attractions, there were pictures of both Wolfe and me on the second page. The article was good too. Bill Pratt hadn’t failed me. It gave me a good appetite, so I relinquished another two bucks to send out for a meal that would fit the occasion. After that was disposed of, I stretched out on the cot for a nap, having got behind on my sleep the last two nights.

The opening of the cell door woke me up. I blinked at a guard as he gave me a sign to emerge, rubbed my eyes, stood up, shook myself, enjoyed a yawn, and followed the guard. He led me to an elevator, and, when we got downstairs, through the barrier out of the prison section, then along corridors and into an anteroom, and through that into an office. I had been there before. Except for one object it was familiar: Inspector Cramer at the big desk, Sergeant Stebbins standing near by ready for anything that didn’t require mental activity, and a guy with a notebook at a little table at one side. The unfamiliar object, in those surroundings, was Nero Wolfe. He was in a chair by a corner of Cramer’s desk, and I had to compress my lips to keep from grinning with satisfaction when I saw that he was no longer dressed for training. He was wearing the dark blue cheviot with a pin stripe, with a yellow shirt and a dark blue tie. Really snappy. The suit didn’t fit him any more, but that didn’t bother me now.

He looked at me and didn’t say a word. But he looked.

Cramer said, “Sit down.”

I sat, crossed my legs, and looked surly.

Wolfe took his eyes from me and snapped, “Repeat briefly what you’ve told me, Mr. Cramer.”

“He knows it all,” Cramer growled. He had fists on his desk. “At 7:10 last evening Mrs. Chack returned to her apartment at 316 Barnum Street and found her granddaughter, Ann Amory, there on the floor dead, strangled, with a scarf around her neck. A radio car arrived at 7:21, the squad at 7:27, the medical examiner at 7:42. The girl had been dead from one to three hours. The body was removed—”

Wolfe wiggled a finger. “Please. The main points. About Mr. Goodwin.”

“He knows them too. Found on the body, underneath the dress, was the note I have shown you, in Goodwin’s handwriting, signed ARCHIE. The paper had been torn from a notebook which was found on his person, now in my possession. Three sets of Goodwin’s fingerprints, fresh and recent, were on objects in the apartment. A strand of hair, eleven hairs, found behind the scarf which was around the body’s throat, with which she was strangled, has been compared with Goodwin’s hair and they match precisely. Goodwin was at that address Monday evening and had an altercation with Mrs. Chack, and took Ann Amory to the Flamingo Club, and left with her hastily on account of a scene with a woman whose name is — not an element in the case. He went to 316 Barnum Street again yesterday and made inquiries of a man named Furey, Leon Furey, and apparently he spent most of the afternoon snooping around the neighborhood. We’re still checking that. So the neighborhood is acquainted with him, and two people saw him walking east on Barnum Street, not far from Number 316, between six-thirty and seven o’clock, in company with a man named Roy Douglas, who lives at—”

“That will do,” Wolfe snapped. His eyes moved. “Archie. Explain this at once.”

“Confronted with this evidence,” Cramer rumbled, “Goodwin refuses to talk. He submitted to a search without protest, with that notebook in his pocket. He permitted us to make a microscopic comparison of the strand of hair with his. But he won’t talk. And by God,” he hit the desk with one of the fists, “you have the gall to come down here, the first time you have ever honored us with a visit, and threaten to have the police department abolished!”

“I merely—” Wolfe began.

“Just a minute!” Cramer roared. “I’ve been taking your guff for fifteen years, and Goodwin has been riding for a fall for at least ten. Here it is. He is not now charged with murder. He is detained as a material witness. But it’s going to take a lot of comedy to laugh off that strand of hair. It’s exactly the kind of thing that could have happened without him knowing it, the girl grabbing at him and seizing his hair, and then when he got the scarf around her, trying to get her fingers behind it to pull it away and leaving the hair there. You’re smart, Wolfe, as smart a man as I ever knew. All right, try to figure out any other conceivable way how Goodwin’s hair got behind that scarf. That’s why we’re prepared to oppose any application for release on bail.”

Cramer pulled a cigar from his pocket, conveyed it to his mouth, and sank his teeth in it.

“It’s all right, boss,” I told Wolfe, trying to smile as if I were trying to smile bravely. “I don’t think they’ll ever convict me. I’m pretty sure they can’t. I’ve got a lawyer coming to see me. You go on home and forget about it. I don’t want you to break training.”

Wolfe’s lips moved faintly but no sound came out. He was speechless with rage.

He took a deep breath.

“Archie,” he said, “you have the advantage over me. There is nothing I can do to you. I can’t dismiss you, since you are no longer in my employ.” His eyes moved. “Mr. Cramer, you are an ass. Leave Mr. Goodwin alone with me for an hour, and I’ll get you all the information you want.”

“Alone with you?” Cramer grunted derisively. “Not that big an ass I’m not.”

Wolfe grimaced. He was having all he could do to control himself.

I said in a manly tone, “It’s like this, boss. I’m in a bad hole. I admit it. I am innocent, but my honor is involved. A good lawyer may pull me through. I had to grit my teeth last night to keep from waking you up to tell you about it. I knew you didn’t want—”

“Apparently, Archie,” he said grimly, “you forget how well I know you. Enough of this flummery. What are your terms?”

He had me flustered for a second. I stammered, “My what? Terms?”

“Yes. For the information I’ll have to have to clean up this mess. First to get you out of here. Do you realize, when Fritz brought me that paper and I saw that headline—”

“Yes, sir, I realize. As for terms, it’s not me, it’s the Army. I’m in it, and I’m on duty. We ask your assistance—”

“You’re going to get it. I am preparing for it—”

“Sure you are. You’re preparing to dry up and die. We respectfully request an appointment for Colonel Ryder to call on you at the earliest opportunity. We request you to remove your brain from the cedar chest and give me back my sweater, which is stretched out of shape, and go to work.”

“Confound you—”

“What the hell,” Cramer barked, “is all this?”

“Please be quiet,” Wolfe snapped. He folded his arms and shut his eyes, and his lips pushed out and then in again, and out and in. Cramer and I had both seen that before, on various occasions. This time it went on for quite a while. Finally Wolfe heaved a deep sigh and his eyes opened.

“Very well,” he muttered at me. “Talk.”

I grinned at him. “May I phone Colonel Ryder to come tomorrow at eleven?”

“How do I know? I’ve got a job to do.”

“As soon as it’s finished?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” I turned to Cramer. “Tell Stebbins to phone Fritz to dust and air the office and to get things in and have dinner at eight, as before — let’s see — pan-broiled young turkey and what goes with it. And beer. Three cases of beer.”

Purley uttered a grunt of indignation, but Cramer made it an order by nodding at him, and he left the room.

“Also,” I told Cramer cheerfully, “before I pull the zipper I want a passport from you. I’ve got—”

“Save it,” he rasped. “It’s your turn now. If I like it well enough—”

“Nothing doing.” I shook my head firmly. “You’re not going to like it at all. Short of murder there’s practically nothing you couldn’t wrap around me if you felt like it. So I’ve got terms for you too. You can have the satisfaction of salting me away for ten years — five anyhow. Or you can have the facts. But you’re not going to get both satisfaction and facts. Now say you lock me up and Mr. Wolfe totters home without me. How long do you think it would take you to find out how a lock of my hair got under that scarf? And so forth. If you want the facts, give me a passport. In advance. And get set to restrain yourself, because I freely admit that in my enthusiasm I—”

“In your what?”

“Enthusiasm. Zeal.”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, sir. I admit that I acted somewhat arbitrarily and when I tell you about it you will be inclined to take offense. In fact—”

“Don’t talk so damn much. What do you want?”

“Fresh air. Short of murder, I’m clear. Not a signed statement, just verbal will do.”

“Go to hell.”

“Suit yourself.” I shrugged. “You can’t possibly tag me for murder. I know the facts and you don’t. It would take you three thousand years to find out about that lock of hair, let alone—”

“Shut up!”

I did so. Cramer glowered at me, and I gazed at him composedly but inflexibly. Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed.

“Okay,” he said. “Short of murder you’re clear. Shoot.”

I stood up. “May I use your phone, please?”

Cramer shoved the phone across and I put in a person-to-person call to Lily Rowan at the Worthington at Greenwich. Evidently she wasn’t out leading Roy a chase, for I got her right away. She was inclined to be cantankerous, but I told her all conversation would have to be postponed until I saw her, which would be that very afternoon if she would take the next train to New York and go straight from the station to Wolfe’s office. Then I asked her to return me to the hotel switchboard and when I got it asked to speak to Roy Douglas. In a couple of minutes I had him. His voice sounded as if he had the jitters, and he began sputtering about the papers saying he had run away and was being searched for, but I calmed him clown and told him the same thing I had told Lily, to return to New York and go to Wolfe’s office. When I put the receiver back on the cradle Cramer was regarding me with a mean eye. He reached for the phone and got somebody and growled into it:

“Send four men to Nero Wolfe’s place on 35th Street. Lily Rowan and Roy Douglas will be showing up there in a couple of hours, maybe sooner. Let ’em go in Wolfe’s house if that’s what they do, and keep it covered. If they do anything else, follow them.” He hung up and turned to me. “So you had ’em on ice, did you? Both of ’em, huh?” He pointed the cigar at me. “You’re wrong about one thing, bud. You won’t be seeing any Lily Rowan at Wolfe’s office this afternoon, because you’re not going to be there. Now let’s hear you.”

Wolfe muttered, “Talk, Archie.”

Chapter 9

I talked. One thing I know how to do is to report current events which I have witnessed, and they both knew it, so there were no interruptions. It didn’t present any great difficulties, since all I had to do was open the bag and dump it, as I would have done if I had been alone with Wolfe. I saw no reason to try to hide any cards from Cramer. I gave them the crop, with only one exception. My modesty wouldn’t permit me to suggest that reading aloud to me was an essential ingredient in Lily Rowan’s life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness, so I skipped any hint of that. I merely said we met by accident on the plane to New York, and she told me about Ann Amory being in trouble, and I decided to try to use that in my effort to bring Nero Wolfe back to his senses. Of course I had to tell about the object of my trip to New York, since otherwise there would have been no way to explain my planting the note and the hair and my fingerprints, and various other details, and anyhow Wolfe already knew it, as he had shown when he asked me what were my terms.

“So,” I ended, looking straight at Wolfe, “here I am. I have disgraced the uniform. A million people are at this moment reading the headline, Nero Wolfe’s Former Assistant Locked Up, and snickering. Even if Cramer believes my story, he still has a lock of my hair. If he doesn’t believe it, he may get me electrocuted. And it’s all on account of you! If you—”

Cramer was regarding me sourly, mangling his third cigar, and massaging the back of his neck. “I had a headache,” he said cutting me off, “and now it’s worse. My son’s in Australia with the Air Corps. He’s a bombardier.”

“I was aware of it,” I said politely. “Have you heard from him recently?”

“Go to hell. As you know damn well, Goodwin, I’ve been wanting to teach you a lesson for years. Here’s my chance. Five years would be about right. But short of murder you’re clear. I said so, and what I say sticks. If it wasn’t for that I’d hang it on you, don’t think I wouldn’t. Anyway you’re wearing the same uniform my son’s wearing, and I have more respect for it than you seem to have. And I guess you’ll be court-martialed. There was a Colonel Ryder here to see you about an hour ago and I wouldn’t let him.”

“That’ll be all right,” I said reassuringly. “As soon as Mr. Wolfe finds the murderer everything will be rosy.”

“You don’t say. Wolfe’s going to find the murderer, is he? That’s damn kind of him.”

“Archie.” Wolfe had found his tongue. “You admit that the sole purpose of this grotesque performance was to bring pressure on me? To coerce me?”

“To stimulate you, yes, sir.”

Wolfe nodded grimly. “We’ll discuss it at the proper time. I prefer not to do so in the presence of others. First there is this murder. How much of what you told Mr. Cramer was true?”

“All of it.”

“You’re talking to me now.”

“I know I am.”

“How much did you withhold?”

“Nothing. That was the works.”

“I don’t believe it. You hesitated twice.”

I shook my head, grinning at him. “You’re a little rusty, that’s all. You’re out of practice. But there is one thing I didn’t say. I did want you to get back to work because the Army needs you, but when I saw Ann Amory there on the floor there was another reason. She was a good kid. She was all right. I danced with her and I liked her. If you had seen her as she was Monday evening, and then as she was there on the floor — anyway, I saw her. So I was in favor of making sure that the guy who did it wouldn’t live any longer than was necessary, and that was another reason for getting you back to work. Because it may have been partly my fault. I went down there and stirred it up. Otherwise it might not have happened.”

“Nonsense,” Wolfe said testily. “A murderer doesn’t sprout overnight like a mushroom. What about it, Mr. Cramer? What have you got? Do you need anything?”

Cramer grunted. “I didn’t need what Goodwin gave me. If I believe him. Say I believe him. I didn’t need him to scratch the favorite.”

My brows went up. “Roy Douglas? Were you liking him?”

“I was.” Cramer tossed the worn-out unlit cigar in the wastebasket. “For one thing, because he beat it. But if I’m believing you, he’s good and out. According to three people, the girl left her office a couple of minutes after five. She couldn’t have got home before 5:20, probably not before 5:25. Miss Rowan saw her there dead at 5:45, close to that. So she was killed in that twenty minutes. Or even if you want to get fancy and say she was killed somewhere else, as soon as she left the office, and then taken and dumped in the apartment, still Douglas is out. According to you, he got to Wolfe’s house before five o’clock and was with you constantly until Miss Rowan arrived.”

I nodded. “I told you I checked on her leaving the office. If I had slipped the murderer a hundred bucks for a train ride, that would have been overdoing it. What have you got left? How about Leon Furey?”

“Playing pool at Martin’s from four o’clock on. Ate sandwiches there and went on playing. Didn’t return to Barnum Street until nearly midnight.”

“Sewed up?”

“We thought it was. Now we’ll have to go over it. We were after Douglas. We’ll have to go back over all of it. I suppose even the grandmother. Two people saw her entering at 7:10, but she could have been there earlier and gone out again. And Miss Leeds. Her agent was with her up to some time between 6:30 and 7:00, going over leases and accounts, and now we’ll have to pin that down. We had crossed off four other people who were in the building at the time because they seemed to have no connection with Ann Amory, but we’ll have to go back to that too.” Cramer glared at me. “Nuts. I don’t remember any single time I ever saw you or spoke to you that you didn’t ball something up.”

He picked up the phone and began giving orders. In ten minutes or less he issued instructions that started a couple of dozen men either going or coming. But I wasn’t paying very close attention. In spite of Wolfe’s agreeing to see Colonel Ryder and permitting the order to be relayed to Fritz for pan-broiled young turkey, I wasn’t sure whether I had him or not. He was as unpredictable as Lily Rowan, and I was trying to figure out some way of getting him really involved. I didn’t like the way he looked. He was keeping his eyes open and his head straight up; and there was no way of telling what it meant because it was new to me. Of course the thing to do was to get him home, get him seated back of his desk again, with beer in front of him and smells coming from the kitchen, as soon as possible.

I was considering ways of selling that idea to Cramer, when Cramer saved me the trouble. He pushed the phone aside and said abruptly to Wolfe, “You asked if I need anything. Well, I do. I suppose you’ve noticed the way things seem to be heading.”

“I perceive,” Wolfe said dryly, “a general tendency in the direction of Miss Rowan.”

Cramer nodded without enthusiasm. “That don’t require much perceiving. We’ve got to go back over everybody, but that’s the way it looks now. And Lily Rowan’s father was one of my best friends. He got me on the force, and he got me out of a couple of tight holes in the old days when he was on the inside at the Hall. I knew Lily before she could walk. I’m not the man to do any cleaning job on her, and I don’t want to turn her over to any of these wolves. I want you to handle her up at your place. And I want to be there in the front room where she can’t see me.”

Wolfe frowned. “I know her myself. I have given her orchids. She has been pestering me lately. It will not be pleasant.” He shot me a glance that was supposed to wither me. Then he regarded Cramer with an expression of repugnance, and heaved a sigh. “Very well. Provided Archie goes with us, and stays. This idiotic farce—”

A dick I didn’t know entered the room, advanced at a nod from Cramer and reported: “Mrs. Chack is here and wants to talk. Miss Leeds is with her. Give her to Lieutenant Rowcliff?”

“No,” Cramer said, after a glance at the clock, “bring them in here.”

Chapter 10

Those two females had been something out of the ordinary when I saw them separately on my first trip to Barnum Street, but marching in that office together they were really something. As far as size and weight went, Miss Leeds could easily have tucked Mrs. Chack under her arm and carried her off, but the expression in Mrs. Chack’s black eyes made it seem likely that such things as size and weight would be minor considerations, and age too, if anybody tried to start anything. She had to take two steps to Miss Leeds’s one, but she was in front. They were both dressed to sit in a buggy and watch a parade of soldiers returning from the Spanish-American war. When Purley had got them into chairs, Cramer asked, “You ladies have something to say?”

“I have,” Mrs. Chack snapped. “I want to know when you are going to get Roy Douglas. I want to see him face to face. He killed my granddaughter.”

“You are crazy,” Miss Leeds declared huskily but firmly. “You have been crazy for fifty years. I have permitted you to live in my house—”

“I will not tolerate—”

They were both talking at once.

“Ladies!” Cramer boomed. They both stopped talking as if he had turned a valve. “Perhaps,” he suggested, “you had better wait outside, Miss Leeds, until I hear what Mrs. Chack has to say—”

“No,” Miss Leeds said immovably. “I intend to hear it.”

“Then please don’t interrupt. You’ll get a chance—”

“She has been afraid of me,” Mrs. Chack asserted, “since I discovered that her mother poisoned squirrels in Washington Square on December ninth, 1905. That’s a prison offense. But now my own granddaughter is dead because I committed a sin myself and have no right to expect the mercy of God and I am willing to be punished. I am old enough to die and I ought to die. When Cora Leeds died on the ninth of December last year I said to myself, in my wretched vanity, it was the Hand of God, because it pleased me. Then when I learned that Roy Douglas had killed Cora Leeds, murdered her, I said I didn’t believe it. In my vanity I would not relinquish the Hand of God—”

“Who was Cora Leeds?” Cramer demanded.

“Her mother.” Mrs. Chack pointed a bony little finger, straight as an arrow, at Miss Leeds. “I refused—”

“How did you learn that Roy Douglas killed her?”

“Ann told me. My granddaughter. She told me how she knew, but I can’t remember. I have been trying to remember since last night. It will come back to me. My mind isn’t too old for a thing like that to come back. Cora Leeds was in bed, she had been in bed since she hurt her leg in September, and he put a pillow over her face and held her down, and when she struggled it was too much for her old heart and she died. I think Ann saw him putting the pillow — no, I’m just guessing. You see, I didn’t want to remember it because then it wouldn’t have been the Hand of God on December ninth, so I forgot it. That’s the way an old mind works. Since last night I’ve been trying to remember so I could come and tell you as soon as I did, but I decided I’d better not wait.”

“She’s crazy,” Miss Leeds stated in her voice like a man. “She has been crazy for—”

Cramer gestured her into silence without taking his gaze away from Mrs. Chack. “But,” he rumbled, “you said that Roy Douglas killed your granddaughter. Do you remember how you know that?”

“Certainly I do,” she snapped. “He killed her because she knew he had killed Cora Leeds, and he was afraid of her. He was afraid she would tell someone. Isn’t that a good reason?”

“Yeah, it’s all right for a reason. Have you got any proof? Any evidence? Did you see him around there?”

“See him? How could I? I wasn’t there. When I got home she was dead.” Her voice got shrill. “I am eighty-nine years old! I went home and found my granddaughter dead! Could I sit right down and think it out? After I was in bed I knew he had killed her! I want you to get him! I want to see him face to face!”

“You will,” Cramer assured her. “Take it easy, Mrs. Chack. Do you remember why he killed Cora Leeds?”

“Certainly I do. Because he didn’t want to give up his pigeon loft. She was going to have it torn down.”

“I thought she had built it for him,” I put in.

“She had. She spent thousands of dollars on it. But after she hurt her leg and couldn’t go to the Square any more, she hated him and she hated everybody. She sent word to me that I had to move out, had to leave that house where I had lived for over forty years. And she told Leon he had to get out and she wouldn’t pay him any more for killing hawks. She had paid him twenty dollars for every hawk he killed. And she told Roy Douglas she owned the pigeons, he didn’t, and she was going to tear the loft down and he had to go. And she told her own daughter she had to stop going to the Square, and when she found out her daughter was secretly giving money to Leon for killing hawks she wouldn’t let her have any money for anything. That’s the way she acted after she hurt her leg and couldn’t go to the Square. It was no wonder I thought it was the Hand of God, especially when it happened on December ninth. But God forgive me, it wasn’t. And I knew it wasn’t, I knew it was Roy Douglas, because Ann told me — God forgive me.”

Cramer cleared his throat and asked, “From what you said, Miss Leeds, I understand you don’t agree with Mrs. Chack?”

“I do not,” Miss Leeds declared emphatically. “She’s crazy. She did it herself.”

“Did what herself? Made that up?”

“No, she did it. She killed my mother and she killed her granddaughter. I doubt if she even knows she did it. Nobody in their right mind would have hurt Ann. She was a nice child and everybody liked her.”

“Excuse me,” I put in. “You told me Monday that nobody killed your mother. You said she died of old age. Now you say—”

“And you said,” she retorted crushingly, “that you came there just to see Ann, and here you are. Didn’t I tell you, Army or police, it’s all the same? Here you are together, and what do you do about anything? In sixty years you haven’t moved a finger to stop the hawks entering the city. What was the sense of my telling you that that crazy old woman killed my mother? What would you have done about it? How did I know she was going to kill Ann too? I only came with her because—”

“Madam!” Wolfe said in a tone that stopped her. “If you yourself are sane, you can answer a question. Did your mother tell Mrs. Chack to leave the house?”

“Yes. It was her house—”

“Did she stop paying Leon Furey for killing hawks and tell him to leave also?”

“Yes. After she got hurt—”

“Did she tell Roy Douglas she was going to tear down his pigeon loft?”

“Yes. She couldn’t bear—”

“Did she quit giving you money and forbid you to go to the Square?”

“Yes. But I didn’t—”

“Then, madam, your diagnosis is faulty. Mrs. Chack’s mind retains all those details with accuracy, which is a creditable performance at her age. I wouldn’t advise you—”

The phone buzzed and Cramer took it. He listened briefly, said to wait, and spoke to Wolfe, “I’m through if you are.” Wolfe nodded, and Cramer told the phone, “Come and escort the ladies out and then bring him in.”

Escorting the ladies out wasn’t so simple. They weren’t through, whether Wolfe and Cramer were or not. Finally Cramer had to leave his desk to get them herded through the door, and by the time he got back to his chair in came a city employee with another visitor.

Chapter 11

Leon Furey wasn’t liking himself as well as he had been the last time I saw him. As he walked in, looked around at us, and dropped into a chair by invitation, he was not jaunty. It was doubtful if he had been in his pajamas until noon that day, because his clothes looked as if he had not taken them off at all. Sizing him up as he sat there, with lumps under his bloodshot eyes and a two-day growth of beard, I saw nothing inconsistent with the theory that he had tied that scarf around Ann Amory’s throat, except the alibi, and that didn’t show.

“You want to say something?” Cramer asked.

“Yes, I do.” Leon spoke too loud for a man out in the clear and really satisfied with the surroundings. “I want to know why you’ve got men following me. I’ve been absolutely straight on this and I’ve accounted for every minute of my time, and you’ve verified it. What right have you got to treat me like a criminal? Having me followed, checking up on my draft registration, investigating everywhere I’ve been and everything I’ve done for God knows how long. What’s the big idea?”

“Routine in a murder case,” Cramer said shortly. “We waste a lot of time that way. If you’re claiming injury, get a lawyer. Is it pinching you somewhere?”

“That’s not the question.” Leon’s voice stayed loud. “I’ve proved that I had nothing to do with any murder, you know damn well I have, and you’ve got no right to go on investigating me as if I might have had. And I’ve got a right to make a living the same as anybody. Doing it by killing hawks may or may not meet with your approval, but if Miss Leeds wants to pay me for it what business is it of yours or anybody else’s?”

Cramer grunted. “Oh, that’s it.”

“Yes, that’s it. Wasting the taxpayer’s money telephoning all over the state of New York. All right, so you find out that farmers have been shipping me hawks they shot and I’ve been paying them five dollars per hawk. So what? Is that a crime? If Miss Leeds is willing to cough up twenty dollars for a dead hawk, and that gives me a little profit for my trouble, does that make it a crime? It made her happy, didn’t it? Hawks are destructive. They kill chickens. My plan benefits the state, it benefits the farmers, it benefits Miss Leeds, it benefits me, and it hurts nobody.”

“Then what are you beefing about?”

“I’m beefing because I think you’re going to tell Miss Leeds about it, and that would put me out of business. If it so happens that she has got the impression that the hawks are killed right here in New York City, and that gives her pleasure, what’s that to you? Or to me either? What it amounts to, in its simplest terms, I’m doing her a favor. And I’m not hogging it. I keep it down to an average of three or four a week. I could make it twice or three times that if I—”

“Beat it.” Cramer growled in disgust. “Get the hell out of here. I don’t— Wait a minute. You organized this dead hawk business quite a while ago, didn’t you?”

“Why — no, I wouldn’t say—”

“How long ago?”

Leon hesitated. “I don’t remember exactly.”

“Say a year ago?”

“Why, yes, sure, at least a year ago.”

“What did old Mrs. Leeds pay you? Same as her daughter does? Twenty dollars per hawk?”

“That’s right. She set the figure, I didn’t.”

“And after she hurt her leg and had to stay in bed she refused to pay you any more? And wouldn’t let her daughter pay you? And ordered you to move out?”

“Oh, that.” Leon waved it away contemptuously.

“Was that because she found out that you weren’t killing the hawks, as you said you were, but were collecting them from farmers?”

“It was not. It was because she couldn’t enjoy life any more and didn’t want anyone else to. How could she have found out about the hawks? She was laid up in bed.”

“I’m asking you.”

“And I’ve answered you.” Leon leaned forward. “What I want to know is, are you going to ruin my business or not? You’ve got no right—”

“Take him away,” Cramer said wearily. “Stebbins! Take him away!”

Sergeant Stebbins performed.

With the company gone, the three of us looked at one another. I yawned. Wolfe was letting his shoulders sag. He was already forgetting to keep them straight. Cramer got out a cigar, scowled at it, and stuck it back in his pocket.

“Thoughtful of them,” Wolfe said conversationally. “To come and tell you things like that.”

“Yeah.” Cramer was massaging the back of his neck. “That was a big help. There’s a precinct report on the death of old Mrs. Leeds and all it’s good for is scrap paper. Say they did all have a motive to get rid of her. Then what? Where does that get me on the murder of Ann Amory? With the alibis they’ve got. And Mrs. Chack’s story about what she can’t remember that her granddaughter told her about Roy Douglas. That’s just fine. With Goodwin here claiming that Douglas was with him at the only time it could have happened.” He glared at me. “Look, son, I’ve known you to put over some fast ones; you know I have. By God, if you’re covering up on Douglas I don’t care if you’re a brigadier general—”

“I’m not,” I told him firmly. “I’m not covering up on anyone or anything. You’re not going to pass the buck to me. Here you are, the head of the New York Homicide Squad and the great and only Nero Wolfe, and apparently the best you can do with a murder case is to sit and wonder whether I’m a liar or not. Well, I’m not. Cross that off and go to work. Douglas is out. I did that much for you last night on the telephone. Forget him. You say Leon Furey’s alibi stands up. Then forget him too. In my opinion, if you want it, Miss Leeds and Mrs. Chack are also out. I knew that girl, and I don’t believe either of those women strangled her. So all you’ve got left is the population of the city of New York, between seven and eight million—”

“Including,” Cramer growled, “Lily Rowan.”

“By all means,” I agreed, “include her. I don’t pretend I would open a bottle of milk to celebrate her going to the electric chair, but whoever did that to Ann Amory isn’t getting any discount from me. If it was Lily Rowan, you don’t have to worry about means and opportunity. She admits she was there, and so was the scarf; I suppose you know it was Ann’s. So dig up a motive for her, and you’re set.”

“A motive would help.” Cramer was eyeing me. “Up at the Flamingo Club Monday night. It’s hard to get anything definite from that bunch, but the impression seems to be that she was getting ready to throw the furniture at you when you ran. Taking the Amory girl with you. Was she sore because she was jealous? Was she jealous of Ann Amory? Was she jealous enough to go down there the next day and lose her temper? I’m asking.”

I shook my head. “You’re flattering me, Inspector. I don’t arouse passions like that. It’s my intellect women like. I inspire them to read good books, but I doubt if I could inspire even Lizzie Borden to murder. You can forget the Flamingo Club. It wasn’t even a tiff. You say you know Lily Rowan. She had given me the tip on Ann Amory being in trouble, as I’ve told you, and she was sore because I was following it up without letting her in on it. You’ll have to do better on motive than that. I’m not saying—”

The phone rang. Cramer answered it, listened a minute, grunted instructions, pushed the phone back, and stood up.

“They’re there,” he announced. “Both of them. Let’s go.” He didn’t look happy. “You handle her, Wolfe. I don’t want to see her until I have to.”

Chapter 12

The trouble was, I couldn’t enjoy it.

It was okay again, and it was my doing. The office was dusted and tidied up. Wolfe was in his made-to-order chair back of his desk. There was a bottle of beer in front of him. Faint sounds could be heard of Fritz busy in the kitchen. I had done it in less than 48 hours. But I couldn’t enjoy it. First, on account of Ann Amory. I had gone to see her with the big idea of getting Wolfe to get her out of trouble, and what had happened — well, I had got her out of trouble, all right. She wasn’t ever going to have any more trouble.

Second, Lily Rowan. Without trying to analyze all my feelings about her, it was a cinch there was nothing attractive in the notion of helping to send her up the river, to be taken down the corridor on a summer night to sit in the chair that nobody ever sits in more than once. On the other hand, if she had gone completely haywire, or maybe had some reason I didn’t know about, and had pulled that scarf around Ann’s neck, I couldn’t say I didn’t want that to happen. I did want it to happen. But the net result of things was that I wasn’t enjoying any triumph at seeing the office back in commission again.

I had supposed that Wolfe would take them separately, but he didn’t. I was at my desk with my notebook. Roy Douglas was seated off to my right, facing Wolfe, and Lily was in the red leather chair near the other end of Wolfe’s desk. The door to the front room was open, and around the corner, out of sight, Cramer and Stebbins were planted. Lily and Roy didn’t know they were there. Another thing that was eating me was the expression on Lily’s face and the way she was acting. The way she had spoken to Wolfe and me. There was that little twist to a corner of her mouth, so slight that it had taken me a year to get onto it, that was there when she was betting the stack on four spades with nothing but a six of clubs in the hole. It made her look cocky and made you feel that she was so sure of herself that you might as well quit. Even when you knew about it, you had to be careful not to let it take you in.

Wolfe was as exasperating as I had ever heard him — I mean exasperating to me. But I understood it, or thought I did; it was a war of nerves with Lily, who had to sit there and listen to it. He asked Roy about the loft, the pigeons, how he had first met Miss Leeds and her mother, Mrs. Chack, Ann, Leon Furey, how often had he been in the Chack-Amory apartment, how long had he lived at 316 Barnum Street, where did he live before that, how well did he know Lily Rowan, and on around the mulberry bush. As time dragged on he got my notebook filled with sixteen bushels of useless facts. Neither Leon nor Roy paid any rent for their rooms, Roy had been up on the roof exercising pigeons the afternoon old Mrs. Leeds had died, and had learned about it from Leon when he came down at dark. The upkeep of the loft amounted to around $4,000 a year, including purchase of new birds. About half of it came from prize money and the rest from Miss Leeds, formerly from her mother. Mrs. Leeds had threatened to tear the loft down, Roy admitted that, but then she was threatening everybody with everything, including her own daughter, and no one took it seriously. Roy had not known Lily Rowan. He had heard Ann mention her, that was about all. He couldn’t remember that Ann had ever said anything special about her.

No, he said, Ann had not told him what kind of trouble she was in, or who or what it was about, but from the way she acted he knew something was worrying her. My coming to take Ann to see Lily Rowan on Monday, and my coming back the next day to see him, had made him curious, and since he and Ann were engaged to be married he felt he had a right to know what was going on, so he came to ask me about it. He insisted that was the only reason he came to see me. He had no idea at all that Ann was in danger, and certainly no urgent danger like someone wanting to kill her, and he had no notion who had done it or why. He was sure it couldn’t have been anybody at 316 Barnum Street, because they all liked her, even Leon Furey, who was cynical about everything.

At 5:20 Lily Rowan said, “Don’t talk so loud, Roy. You’d better whisper. You might wake him up.”

I was inclined to agree with her. Wolfe was leaning back comfortably in his chair, his arms folded, with his eyes closed, and I had a suspicion that he was about two-thirds asleep. He had finished two bottles of beer, after going without for over a month, and he was back in the only chair in the world he liked, and his insane project of going outdoors and walking fast twice a clay was only a hideous memory.

He heaved a deep sigh and half opened his eyes, with their focus on Lily.

“It is no occasion for drollery, Miss Rowan,” he muttered at her. “Especially for you. You are suspected of murder. At a minimum that is nothing to be jocund about.”

“Ha,” she said. She didn’t laugh; she merely said, “Ha.”

Wolfe shook his head. “I assure you, madam, it is not a time to ha. The police suspect you. They will annoy you and irritate you. They will ask questions of your friends and enemies. They will dig into your past. They will do it poorly, without any discrimination, and that will make it worse. They will go back as far as they can, for they know that Miss Amory’s father worked for your father a long while ago, and they will surmise — probably they already have — that the reason for your killing Miss Amory is buried in that old association.” Wolfe’s shoulders went up a quarter of an inch and settled back again. “It will be extremely disagreeable. So I suggest that we clear it away now, all that we can of it,”

The twist was at the corner of Lily’s mouth. “I think,” she said, “that you and Archie ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I thought you were friends of mine, and here you are trying to prove I committed murder. When I didn’t.” She switched to me, “Archie, look at me. Look in my eyes. Really I didn’t, Archie.”

Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “You went to that apartment yesterday afternoon to see Miss Amory, arrived about 5:40 or 5:45, found the door open, walked in, and saw her there on the floor, dead. Is that it?”

Lily studied him, with her forehead wrinkled. “I don’t believe,” she said slowly, “that I’m going to talk about it. Of course I’d be willing to discuss it with you as a friend, but this is different.”

“I am merely repeating what you told Mr. Goodwin.”

“Then there’s no use going over it again, is there?”

Wolfe’s eyes opened the rest of the way. He was beginning to get riled. “I am going on the assumption,” he said testily, “that you either killed Miss Amory or you didn’t, which seems reasonable. If you did, the way you conduct yourself here is strictly your own affair. If you didn’t you are foolish to act in a way that enforces suspicion of you. It would be a good plan for you to give the impression that you are willing to help us find out who killed Miss Amory, in either case.”

“I am perfectly willing. More than willing. I’m anxious. But this is a fine way to go about it. Keeping me sitting here for hours while you pump this Roy Douglas.” Lily was indignant. “Cops in front of the house. That room probably full of cops. Starting out by telling me I’m suspected of murder. Archie taking down what I say.” She turned on me. “You bum, this is a swell way to repay me for obeying orders the way I did! I never took orders from anyone else in my life and you know it!”

She went back to Wolfe. “As far as Ann Amory is concerned, if Archie has told you what I told him, you know all I know. I hadn’t seen her or thought of her for years until she came to see me a few weeks ago and said she was in trouble and wanted me to send her to a lawyer. All I can do is repeat what I told Archie.”

“Do so,” Wolfe muttered.

“I will not! Let him do it!” She was warming up. She turned on me again:

“Look at you, you damn stenographer! Telling me to come here and talk it over, and this is what I run into! I used to have some sense until I met you! Now what do I do? Chase off down to Washington just to find out where you are because you won’t answer my telegrams! Use enough pull to get my picture on the cover of Life just to find you’re taking an airplane and get a seat on it! Not only that, blab it all out to you because it might soften your heart! And you were too busy to make any social engagements, and I phone here fifty times, and finally I go out for a drink, and there you are dancing! If I ever do go in for murder, I know exactly where I’ll start! And on top of all that I’m enough of a sap to pack up and take a train—”

“Please!” Wolfe said peremptorily. “Miss Rowan!”

She sat back. “There,” she said in a tone of satisfaction, “I feel better. I wanted to get that off my chest in the presence of witnesses. Now if you’ll instruct him to take me somewhere and buy me a drink—”

“Please,” Wolfe said curtly, “don’t get started again. I sympathize with your resentment at the presence of the police, but it’s not my fault. None of this is my fault. I abandon any attempt to question you about Miss Amory, but I would like to ask you one or two things about Mr. Goodwin. Apparently you find him as vexatious as I do. Did I understand you to say that you went to Washington in search of him, and went to some trouble to get a seat on the airplane he was taking, and informed him of that fact?”

“Yes.”

“On Monday? Day before yesterday?”

“Yes.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe pursed his lips. “He said that meeting was accidental. I didn’t know he had a streak of modesty in him.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Lily said sarcastically. “He hasn’t. He wouldn’t think it was worth bragging about unless it was the three Soong sisters.”

Wolfe nodded. “It’s only that it gives me an idea. You say he hadn’t answered your telegrams. Possibly your pestering — that is, your recent efforts to communicate with me came from your desire, not so much to help Miss Amory as to learn the whereabouts of Mr. Goodwin. If you would care to answer that—”

“They did.”

“I see. And the phone ringing here Monday evening, that was you. And Tuesday? Yesterday? Was that also you?”

“Yes. You might as well—”

“Please. I can guess what all that frustration might have done to a woman of your temperament. It is only a guess, but it deserves a little investigation.” Wolfe raised his voice. “Mr. Cramer! Come here, please!”

By the time we got our heads turned Cramer was in the doorway.

“I knew it,” Lily said. “I knew darned well there were cops in there. But I didn’t know it was you. What do you think Dad would think of that?”

“I believe you know Miss Rowan,” Wolfe said. “I’ve got a little job for Sergeant Stebbins and those men out in front.” He paused. “No, the Sergeant had better stay here. Are those men any good?”

“Medium,” Cramer rumbled. “What—”

“They ought to do for this. Send them up to the Ritz. To interview Miss Rowan’s maid, elevator men, bellboys, the doormen, telephone girls, everybody. We want to know, to the minute if possible, what time Miss Rowan left there Tuesday afternoon. Especially if it was late in the afternoon, say approaching six o’clock — Did you wish to say something, Miss Rowan?”

“No,” Lily said. She was gawking at him incredulously.

“Very well. Of course you may have left the Ritz at any time during the afternoon, I realize that. But other inquiries can be made. Whether, for instance, Miss Amory received a phone call at her office that afternoon. Whether the bell of any of the tenants at 316 Barnum Street rang between 5:30 and 5:45. Whether—”

“My God,” Lily said. “You actually did guess it!”

“Indeed,” Wolfe said quietly. His eyes had a glint in them. “Then you might as well save us the trouble. What time did you leave the Ritz on Tuesday?”

“A little before six. About a quarter to. You know, if I was as smart as you are—”

“Thank you. And came straight here?”

“Yes.”

Wolfe grunted and turned his head. “Sergeant? Over here. There’s your man. Roy Douglas. You can arrest him for the murder of Ann Amory.”

We all moved, to stare at Roy, but he didn’t because he was frozen. He sat stiff, rigid, gaping at Wolfe.

“Hold it, Stebbins,” Cramer growled. He moved alongside Roy and kept his eyes on him, but spoke to Wolfe. “We don’t charge men with murder just on your say-so, Wolfe. Suppose you fill it in.”

“My dear sir,” Wolfe said petulantly. “Isn’t it obvious? Miss Rowan just said she left the Ritz at 5:45 Tuesday and came straight here. Therefore she didn’t go to Barnum Street at all. She invented that tale about finding Miss Amory dead in her apartment, with a scarf around her neck, because she was determined to see Archie, and, being a female, is utterly irresponsible—”

“You go to the devil,” Lily told him. “I only said that to get him to let me in, I didn’t know anyone else was there, I wanted him to come and have a drink, and then the way he took it, it went over so big—”

“She must have gone to Barnum Street,” Cramer insisted doggedly. “She described it to Goodwin, the body there on the floor propped against a chair with a scarf around her neck—”

“I didn’t do it!” Roy whined. He was trying to stand up, but Cramer had a hand on his shoulder. “I tell you I didn’t do it! I tell you I didn’t—”

“I’m not going to tolerate much of that,” Wolfe said grimly.

Cramer held Roy down in the chair. Roy was starting to tremble. Cramer was going on, “How the hell could she describe it if she hadn’t seen it—” He chopped it off. “Oh, I’ll be damned!”

“Certainly,” Wolfe said impatiently. “That’s the point. She described it, and he heard her. It was good news for him, the best possible news, since it ended his fear that Miss Amory would disclose her knowledge that he had murdered Mrs. Leeds, but naturally he was startled, and had no idea who had done the job for him.”

“I didn’t!” Roy was whining. “I didn’t do it—”

“Shut up!” Cramer barked at him.

“So,” Wolfe went on, “he dashed down there as fast as he could, and was disconcerted to find that Miss Amory was not quite dead enough. Not, of course, dead at all. Alive and well. His mortification turned him into an imbecile. He conceived the silliest idea in the history of crime. He strangled her with a scarf and propped her up against a chair, the idea being that since Miss Rowan had already described the scene as he arranged it, he had an alibi that could not be broken. I don’t know when he realized how idiotic that was; anyway, when it was done it was done, and Archie arrived so promptly that he had no time to realize anything.”

“I didn’t—” Roy was trembling all over, and trying to squirm out of Cramer’s grasp, but Stebbins had his other shoulder and was getting out handcuffs for him.

Wolfe grimaced and went on. “Of course, instead of saving him, his gambit condemns him. Since it can be proven that Miss Amory left her office after five o’clock, and that Miss Rowan left the Ritz at 5:45 and arrived here ten minutes later, Miss Rowan couldn’t possibly have seen what she said she did at Miss Amory’s apartment, and therefore her description of that scene was an invention. Also Miss Rowan will herself testify to that; she’ll have to. But since the scene actually was as she described it, the inexorable conclusion is that it was staged by someone who heard her describe it. That alone will convict him.”

I started to say something, but found I had no voice. I cleared my throat and got it out, “I heard her describe it too, you know.”

“Pfui.” Wolfe was scornful. “With all your defects, Archie, you are neither a strangler nor a nincompoop.” He wiggled a finger at Cramer. “Get that wretch out of here.”

Chapter 13

An hour later, around half past seven, Wolfe and I were alone in the office. He was behind his desk, with the atlas opened at the map of Australia, and every now and then he lifted his head to sniff. The turkey was broiling in the kitchen.

I reached for the phone and tried again, the third time, for Colonel Ryder at Governor’s Island. He wasn’t there but was expected back any minute.

“I would like to say,” I told Wolfe, “that you are wrong about Ann Amory being a sentimental imbecile for not telling the police as soon as she learned that Roy had killed Mrs. Leeds. I knew her and you didn’t. I doubt if she really knew Roy had done it, I mean actually saw it. My guess is she saw something that gave her a strong suspicion. She told Mrs. Chack about it, but Mrs. Chack talked her out of it.”

Wolfe muttered, “Imbecile.”

“No,” I said with conviction. “She was a damn good kid. I tell you I knew her. Mrs. Chack nearly talked her out of it, but not quite, and it kept worrying her. After all, she was engaged to marry the guy. I’m betting she put it up to him straight, that would have been like her, and of course he denied it, but that didn’t convince her either, and then he was afraid she might spill it to someone any minute, and he probably acted queer — he would — and that made her suspicion stronger. Of course she knew he had had plenty of motive. The only thing he cared about in the world was that loft and the damn pigeons, and Mrs. Leeds was going to take them away from him and kick him out. But she wasn’t absolutely sure he had done it. Nice situation. She couldn’t just let it ride, but she didn’t want to denounce him to the police. So she tried to get expert advice by asking Lily Rowan to send her to a lawyer. She was trying to do it right. She wouldn’t even tell me about it. But when I bounced in down there he got scared good and proper. And she would have told you. That is, she would if you had been approachable.”

“Imbecile,” Wolfe muttered.

There was no question about his being back to normal. Me too. He gave me a pain in the neck. But being in uniform and on duty, I had to suppress my personal emotions. I reached for the phone and dialed the number again, and this time got him. As soon as he heard my name he began to sputter, but I ignored it.

“Colonel Ryder,” I said stiffly, “an appointment has been arranged for you with Mr. Nero Wolfe at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, if you will kindly be at his office at that hour. If you will arrive at ten-thirty, I shall be glad to furnish you with an explanation of the unfortunate publicity I received today, which I feel sure will be satisfactory. At that time I shall also explain why it will be necessary for me to have a week-end leave beginning Saturday noon. My word of honor as an officer is involved.”

As I hung up Wolfe raised his head for another sniff of the aroma from the kitchen. My own mind was concentrated on something else. I was permitted some latitude in my expense account, but to make an entry, Sending murderer on trip to country, $100, seemed inadvisable. My solution of the problem is a military secret.

Content

Rex Stout
Not Quite Dead Enough

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13