Rex Stout - The Red Box

“I understand, Mrs. Frost.” Wolfe glanced at the clock. “You would like to be assured that I shall not inform Inspector Cramer of my misconstruction of your daughter’s remark. I’m sorry, I can’t commit myself on that, unless I am either dismissed from the case now with payment in full, or am assured by Mr. Llewellyn Frost — and, under the circumstances, by you and your brother-in-law also — that I am to continue the investigation for which I was engaged. I may add, you people are quite unreasonably alarmed, which is to be expected with persons of your station in society. It is highly unlikely that your daughter has any guilty connection with the murder of Miss Lauck; and if by chance she possesses an important bit of information which discretion has caused her to conceal, the sooner she discloses it the better, before the police do somehow get wind of it.”

Mrs. Frost was frowning. “My daughter has no information whatever.”

“Without offense — I would need to ask her about that myself.”

“And you... wish to be permitted to continue. If you are not, you intend to tell Inspector Cramer—”

“I have not said what I intend.”

“But you wish to continue.”

Wolfe nodded. “Either that, or my fee now.”

“Listen, Calida. I’ve been sitting here thinking.” It was Dudley Frost. He sat up straight. I saw Wolfe get his hands on the arms of his chair. Frost was going on: “Why don’t we get Helen down here? This man Wolfe is throwing a bluff. If we’re not careful we’ll find ourselves coughing up ten thousand dollars of Helen’s money, and since I’m responsible for it, it’s up to me to prevent it. Lew says he’ll have it next week, but I’ve heard that before. A trustee is under the most sacred obligation to preserve the property under his care, and it couldn’t be paid out of surplus income because you don’t have any surplus. The only way is to call this fellow’s bluff—”

I was about ready to go to the cabinet for some more Irish, since apparently the previous serving had all been assimilated, when I saw it wouldn’t be necessary. Wolfe shoved back his chair and got up, moved around and stopped in front of Llewellyn, and spoke loud enough to penetrate the Dudley Frost noise:

“I must go. Thank God. You can tell Mr. Goodwin your decision.” He started his progress to the door, and didn’t halt when Dudley Frost called at him:

“Now here! You can’t run away like that! All right, all right, sir! All right!” His target gone, he turned to his sister-in-law: “Didn’t I say, Calida, we’d call his bluff? See that? All it needs in a case like this—”

Mrs. Frost hadn’t bothered to turn in her chair to witness Wolfe’s departure. Llewellyn had reached across for another grip on his father’s knee and was expostulating: “Now, Dad, cut it out — now listen a minute—”

I stood up and said, “If you folks want to talk this over, I’ll leave you alone a while.”

Mrs. Frost shook her head. “Thank you, I don’t believe it will be necessary.” She turned to her nephew and sounded crisp: “Lew, you started this. It looks as if you’ll have to continue it.”

Llewellyn answered her, and his father joined in, but I paid no attention as I got at my desk and stuck a sheet of paper in the typewriter. I dated it at the top and tapped it off.

To Nero Wolfe:

Please continue until further notice the investigation into the murder of Molly Lauck for which I engaged you yesterday, Monday, March 30, 1936.

I whirled it out of the machine, laid it on a corner of Wolfe’s desk, and handed Llewellyn my pen. He bent over the paper to read it. His father jumped up and pulled at him.

“Don’t sign that! What is it? Let me see it! Don’t sign anything at all—”

Llewellyn surrendered it to him, and he read it through twice, with a frown. Mrs. Frost stretched out a hand for it, and ran over it at a glance. She looked at me.

“I don’t believe my nephew will have to sign anything...”

“I believe he will.” I was about as fed up as Wolfe had been. “One thing you people don’t seem to realize, if Mr. Wolfe should feel himself relieved of his obligation to his client and tells Inspector Cramer his angle on that break of Miss Frost’s, there won’t be any argument about it. When Cramer has been working on a popular murder case for a week without getting anywhere, he gets so tough he swallows cigars whole. Of course he won’t use a piece of hose on Miss Frost, but he’ll have her brought to headquarters and snarl at her all night. You wouldn’t want—”

“All right.” Dudley Frost had his frown on me. “My son is willing for Wolfe to continue. I’ve thought all along that’s the best way to handle it. But he won’t sign this. He won’t sign anything—”

“Yes, he will.” I took the paper from Calida Frost and put it on the desk again. “What do you think?” I threw up my hands. “Holy heaven! You’re three and I’m one. That’s no good in case of bad memories. What is there to it, anyhow? It says ‘until further notice.’ Mr. Wolfe said you could tell me your decision. Well, I’ve got to have a record of it or so help me, I’ll have a talk with Inspector Cramer myself.”

Lew Frost looked at his aunt and his father, and then at me. “It certainly is one sweet mess.” He grimaced in disgust. “If I had ten thousand dollars this minute, I swear to God...”

I said, “Look out, that pen drips sometimes. Go ahead and sign it.”

While the other two frowned at him, he bent over the paper and scrawled his name.

“I had a notion to call in a notary and make Stebbins swear to an affidavit.” Inspector Cramer chewed on his cigar some more. “Nero Wolfe a mile away from home in broad daylight and in his right mind? Then it must be a raid on the United States Treasury and we’ll have to call out the army and declare martial law.”

It was a quarter past six. Wolfe was back in the office again, fairly placid after two hours with Horstmann among the plants, and was on his second bottle of beer. I was comfortable, with my feet up on the edge of the bottom drawer pulled out, and my notebook on my knees.

Wolfe, leaning back in his chair with his fingers twined at the peak of his middle, nodded grimly. “I don’t wonder, sir. Some day I’ll explain it to you. Just now the memory of it is too vivid; I’d rather not discuss it.”

“Okay. What I thought, maybe you’re not eccentric any more.”

“Certainly I’m eccentric. Who isn’t?”

“God knows I’m not.” Cramer took his cigar from his mouth and looked at it and put it back again. “I’m too damn dumb to be eccentric. Take this Molly Lauck business, for instance. In eight days of intense effort, what do you think I’ve found out? Ask me.” He leaned forward. “I’ve found out Molly Lauck’s dead! No doubt about it! I screwed that out of the Medical Examiner.” He leaned back again and made a face of disgust at both of us. “By God, I’m a whirlwind. Now that I’ve emptied the bag for you, how about you doing the same for me? Then you’ll have your fee, which is what you want, and I’ll have an excuse for keeping my job, which is what I need.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Nothing, Mr. Cramer. I am not even aware Miss Lauck is dead, except by hearsay. I have not seen the Medical Examiner.”

“Oh, come on.” Cramer removed his cigar. “Who hired you?”

“Mr. Llewellyn Frost.”

“That one, eh?” Cramer grunted. “To keep somebody clear?”

“No. To solve the murder.”

“You don’t say. How long did it take you?”

Wolfe got himself forward to pour beer, and drank. Cramer was going on: “What got Lew Frost so worked up about it? I don’t get it. It wasn’t him that the Lauck girl was after, it was that Frenchman, Perren Gebert. Why is Lew Frost so anxious to spend good dough for a hunk of truth and justice?”