Rex Stout - The Red Box

“Go ahead. Come on, Helen.”

She didn’t budge. She said quietly, “Sit down, Lew.”

“What for? Come on! Did you hear what he said about distasteful to a Frost? Don’t you see it’s him that has started the police after us as if we were all a bunch of murderers? And that he started it on account of something that McNair said to him yesterday before — before it happened? Just as Dad said, and Aunt Callie too? Do you wonder they wouldn’t let you come down here unless I came along? I’m not saying McNair told him any lies, I’m just saying—”

“Lew! Stop it!” She wasn’t loud, but determined. She put a hand on his sleeve again. “Listen, Lew. You know very well that all the misunderstandings we’ve ever had have been about Uncle Boyd. Don’t you think we might stop having them, now that he’s dead? I told Mr. Wolfe yesterday... he... he was the finest man I have ever known... I don’t expect you to agree with that... but it’s true. I know he didn’t like you, and I honestly thought that was the only thing he was wrong about.” She stood up and put a hand on each of his arms. “You’re a fine man, too, Lew. You have lots of fine things in you. But I loved Uncle Boyd.” She shut her lips tight and nodded her head up and down several times. Finally she swallowed, and went on, “He was a grand person... he was. He gave me what common sense I’ve got, and it was him that kept me from being just a complete silly fool...” She tightened her lips again, and then again went on, “He always used to say... whenever I... I...”

She turned away abruptly and sat down, lowered her face into her palms, and began to cry.

Llewellyn started at her: “Now, Helen, for God’s sake, I know how you feel—”

I growled at him, “Sit down and shut up. Can it!”

He was going to keep on comforting her. I bounced up and grabbed his shoulder and whirled him. “You’re not a client here any more. Don’t argue. Didn’t I tell you scenes make me nervous?” I left him glaring and went to the cabinet and got a shot of brandy and a glass of cold water, and went and stood alongside Helen Frost’s chair. Pretty soon she got quieter, and then fished a handkerchief out of her bag and began dabbing. I waited until she could see to tell her:

“Brandy. 1890 Guarnier. Shall I put water in it?”

She shook her head and reached for it and gulped it down nicely. I offered her the water and she took a swallow of that. Then she looked at Nero Wolfe and said, “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m not asking for any tenderness, but you’ll have to excuse me.” She looked at her cousin. “I’m not going to talk to you about Uncle Boyd any more. It doesn’t do any good, does it? It’s foolish.” She dabbed at her eyes again, took in a long trembling breath and let it out, and turned back to Wolfe.

She said, “I don’t care what Uncle Boyd told you about us Frosts. It couldn’t have been anything very terrible, because he wouldn’t tell lies. I don’t care if you’re working with the police, either. There couldn’t be anything more... more distasteful to a Frost than what has happened. Anyway, the police never found out anything at all about Molly Lauck, and you did.”

Her tears had dried. She went on, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you... of course I’m sorry. I thought I was keeping a secret for Uncle Boyd, but I’m sorry anyway. I only wish there was anything else I could tell you... but anyway... I can do this. This is the only time I’ve been truly glad I have lots of money. I’ll pay you anything to find out who killed Uncle Boyd. Anything, and... and you won’t have to sue me for it.”

I got her glass and went to the cabinet to get her some more brandy. I grinned at the bottle as I poured, reflecting that this case was turning out to be just one damned client after another.

Llewellyn was expostulating. “But, Helen, it’s a police job. Not that he could be any more offensive than the police are, but it’s a police job and let them do it. Anyway, Dad and Aunt Callie will be sore as the devil, you know they will, you know how they went after me when I... Tuesday.”

Helen said, “I don’t care if they’re sore. It’s not their money, it’s mine. I’m doing this. Of course I won’t be of age until next month — does that matter, Mr. Wolfe? Is that all right?”

“Quite all right.”

“Will you do it?”

“Will I accept your commission? In spite of my experience with another Frost as a client, yes.”

She turned to her ortho-cousin. “You do as you please, Lew. Go on home and tell them if you want to. But I... I’d like to have you...”

He was frowning at her. “Are you set on this?”

“Yes. Good and set.”

“Okay.” He settled back in his chair. “I stick here. I’m for the Frosts, but you’re the first one on the list. You’re... Oh, nothing.” He flushed a little. “Go to it.”

“Thank you, Lew.” She turned to Wolfe. “I suppose you want me to sign something?”

Wolfe shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” He had leaned back and his eyes were half closed. “My charge will be adequate, but not exorbitant. I shan’t attempt to make you pay for your cousin’s volatility. But one thing must be clearly understood. You are engaging me for this job because of your affection and esteem for Mr. McNair and your desire that his murderer should be discovered and punished. You are at present under the spell of powerful emotions. Are you sure that tomorrow or next week you will still want this thing done? Do you want the murderer caught and tried and convicted and executed if it should happen to be, for instance, your cousin, your uncle, your mother — or Mr. Perren Gebert?”

“But that... that’s ridiculous...”

“Maybe, but it remains a question to be answered. Do you want to pay me for catching the murderer, no matter who it is?”

She gazed at him, and said finally, “Yes. Whoever killed Uncle Boyd — yes, I do.”

“You won’t go back on that?”

“No.”

“Good for you. I believe you. I’ll try the job for you. Now I want to ask you some questions, but it is possible that your reply to the first one will make others unnecessary. When did you last see Mr. McNair’s red leather box?”

“His what?” She frowned. “Red leather box?”

“That’s it.”

“Never. I never did see it. I didn’t know he had one.”

“Indeed. — You, sir, are you answering questions?”

Lew Frost said, “I guess I am. Sure. But not about a red leather box. I’ve never seen it.”

Wolfe sighed. “Then I’m afraid we’ll have to go on. I may as well tell you, Miss Frost, that Mr. McNair foresaw — at least, feared — what was waiting for him. While you were here yesterday he was at his lawyer’s executing his will. He left his property to his sister Isabel, who lives in Scotland. He named me executor of his estate, and bequeathed me his red leather box and its contents. He called here to ask me to accept the trust and the legacy.”

“He named you executor?” Llewellyn was gazing at him incredulously. “Why, he didn’t know you. Day before yesterday he didn’t even want to talk to you...”

“Just so. That shows the extent of his desperation. But it is evident that the red box holds the secret of his death. As a matter of fact, Miss Frost, I was glad to see you here today. I hoped for something from you — a description of the box, if nothing more.”

She shook her head. “I never saw it. I didn’t know... but I don’t understand... if he wanted you to have it, why didn’t he tell you yesterday...”

“He intended to. He didn’t get that far. His last words — his last futile struggle against his fate — were an effort to tell me where the red box is. I should inform you: Inspector Cramer has a copy of the will, and at this moment scores of police are searching for the box, so if you or your cousin can give me any hint there is no time to lose. It is desirable for me to get the box first. Not to protect the murderer, but I have my own way of doing things — and the police have no client but the electric chair.”