Rex Stout - The Red Box

McNair snapped, “Gebert? Why the devil should he be?”

“I don’t know.” Wolfe lifted his shoulders half an inch, and dropped them. “I ask. I understand he was here one week ago yesterday, the day Miss Lauck died, when you were having your show. I believe you call it a show?”

“I had a show, yes. Gebert dropped in. Scores of people were here. About talking with the girls and Mrs. Lamont — if you make it short you can do it here. I have to go down to the floor.”

“I would prefer something less — more humble. If you please.”

“Suit yourself.” McNair got up. “Take them to one of the booths, Lew. I’ll tell Mrs. Lamont. Do you want her first?”

“I’d like to start with Miss Frost and Miss Mitchell. Together.”

“You may be interrupted, if they’re needed.”

“I shall be patient.”

“All right. You tell them, Lew?”

He looked around, grabbed his handkerchief from the desk and stuffed it in his pocket, and bustled out.

Llewellyn Frost, rising, began to protest, “I don’t see why you didn’t—”

Wolfe stopped him. “Mr. Frost. I endure only to my limit. Obviously, Mr. McNair is sick, but you cannot make that claim to tolerance. Don’t forget that you are responsible for this grotesque expedition. Where is this booth?”

“Well, I’m paying for it.”

“Not adequately. You couldn’t. Come, sir!”

Frost led us out and back down the corridor, and opened the door at the end on the left. He switched on lights, said he would be back soon, and disappeared. I moved my eyes. It was a small paneled room with a table, a smoking stand, full-length mirrors, and three dainty silk chairs. Wolfe stood and looked at the mess, and his lips tightened.

He said, “Revolting. I will not — I will not.”

I grinned at him. “I know damn well you won’t, and for once I don’t blame you. I’ll get it.”

I went out and strode down the corridor to McNair’s office, entered, heaved his chair to my shoulder, and proceeded back to the booth with it. Frost and the two goddesses were going in as I got there. Frost went for another chair, and I planked my prize down behind the table and observed to Wolfe, “If you get so you like it we’ll take it home with us.” Frost returned with his contribution, and I told him, “Go and get three bottles of cold light beer and a glass and an opener. We’ve got to keep him alive.”

He lifted his brows at me. “You’re crazy.”

I murmured, “Was I crazy when I suggested that letter from the orchid guys? Get the beer.”

He went. I negotiated myself into a chair with the blonde pippin on one side and the sylph on the other. Wolfe was sniffing the air. He suddenly demanded:

“Are all of these booths perfumed like this?”

“Yes, they are.” The blonde smiled at him. “It’s not us.”

“No. It was here before you came in. Pfui. And you girls work here. They call you models?”

“That’s what they call us. I’m Thelma Mitchell.” The blonde waved an expert graceful hand. “This is Helen Frost.”

Wolfe nodded, and turned to the sylph. “Why do you work here, Miss Frost? You don’t have to. Do you?”

Helen Frost put level eyes on him, with a little crease in her brow between them. She said quietly, “My cousin told us you wished to ask us about — about Molly Lauck.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe leaned back, warily, to see if the chair would take it. There was no creak, and he settled. “Understand this, Miss Frost: I am a detective. Therefore, while I may be accused of incompetence or stupidity, I may not be charged with impertinence. However nonsensical or irrelevant my questions may seem to you, they may be filled with the deepest significance and the most sinister implications. That is the tradition of my profession. As a matter of fact, I was merely making an effort to get acquainted with you.”

Her eyes stayed level. “I am doing this as a favor to my cousin Lew. He didn’t ask me to get acquainted.” She swallowed. “He asked me to answer questions about last Monday.”

Wolfe leaned forward and snapped, “Only as a favor to your cousin? Wasn’t Molly Lauck your friend? Wasn’t she murdered? You aren’t interested in helping with that?”

It didn’t jolt her much. She swallowed again, but stayed steady. “Interested — yes. Of course. But I’ve told the police — I don’t see what Lew — I don’t see why you—” She stopped herself and jerked her head up and demanded, “Haven’t I said I’ll answer your questions? It’s awful — it’s an awful thing—”

“So it is.” Wolfe turned abruptly to the blonde. “Miss Mitchell. I understand that at twenty minutes past four last Monday afternoon, a week ago yesterday, you and Miss Frost took the elevator together, downstairs, and got out at this floor. Right?”

She nodded.

“And there was no one up here; that is, you saw no one. You walked down the corridor to the fifth door on the left, across the corridor from Mr. McNair’s office, and entered that room, which is an apartment used as a rest room for the four models who work here. Molly Lauck was in there. Right?”

She nodded again. Wolfe said, “Tell me what happened.”

The blonde took a breath. “Well, we started to talk about the show and the customers and so on. Nothing special. We did that about three minutes, and then suddenly Molly said she forgot, and she reached under a coat and pulled out a box—”

“Permit me. What were Miss Lauck’s words?”

“She just said she forgot, she had some loot—”

“No. Please. What did she say? Her exact words.”

The blonde stared at him. “Well, if I can. She said, let’s see: ‘Oh, I forgot, girls, I’ve got some loot. Swiped it as clean as a whistle.’ While she was saying that she was pulling the box from under the coat—”

“Where was the coat?”

“It was her coat, lying on the table.”

“Where were you?”

“Me? I was right there, standing there. She was sitting on the table.”

“Where was Miss Frost?”

“She was — she was across by the mirror, fixing her hair. Weren’t you, Helen?”

The sylph merely nodded. Wolfe said:

“And then? Exactly. Exact words.”

“Well, she handed me the box and I took it and opened it, and I said—”

“Had it been opened before?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t have any wrapping or ribbon or anything on it. I opened it and I said, ‘Gee, it’s two pounds and never been touched. Where’d you get it, Molly?’ She said, ‘I told you, I swiped it. Is it any good?’ She asked Helen to have some—”

“Her words.”

Miss Mitchell frowned. “I don’t know. Just ‘Have some, Helen,’ or ‘Join the party, Helen’ — something like that. Anyway, Helen didn’t take any—”

“What did she say?”

“I don’t know. What did you say, Helen?”

Miss Frost spoke without swallowing. “I don’t remember. I just had had cocktails, and I didn’t want any.”

The blonde nodded. “Something like that. Then Molly took a piece and I took a piece—”

“Please.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “You were holding the box?”

“Yes. Molly had handed it to me.”

“Miss Frost didn’t have it in her hands at all?”

“No, I told you, she said she didn’t want any. She didn’t even look at it.”

“And you and Miss Lauck each took a piece—”

“Yes. I took candied pineapple. It was a mixture; chocolates, bonbons, nuts, candied fruits, everything. I ate it. Molly put her piece in her mouth, all of it, and after she bit into it she said — she said it was strong—”

“Words, please.”

“Well, she said, let’s see: ‘My God, it’s 200 proof, but not so bad, I can take it.’ She made a face, but she chewed it and swallowed it. Then... well... you wouldn’t believe how quick it was—”