Rex Stout: The Red Box

She said, “You’re being smart.”

“I’m begging your indulgence. It won’t hurt you, with nerves like yours. Do you eat much candy?”

She drew her shoulders together, and released them. “Once in a while. I have to be careful. I’m a model, and I watch myself.”

“What is your favorite kind?”

“Candied fruits. I like nuts too.”

“You removed the lid from that box last Monday. What color was it?”

“Brown. A kind of gold-brown.”

“What kind was it? What did it say on the lid?”

“It said... it said Medley . Some kind of a medley.”

Wolfe snapped, “ ‘Some kind?’ Do you mean to say you don’t remember what name was on the lid?”

She frowned at him. “No... I don’t. That’s funny. I would have thought—”

“So would I. You looked at it and took the lid off, and later replaced the lid and held onto the box, knowing there was deadly poison in it, and you weren’t even curious enough—”

“Now wait a minute. You’re not so smart. Molly was dead on the floor, and everybody was crowding into the room, and I was looking for Mr. McNair to give him the box, I didn’t want the damn thing, and certainly I wasn’t trying to think of things to be curious about.” She frowned again. “At that, it is funny I didn’t really see the name.”

Wolfe nodded. He turned abruptly to Lew Frost. “You see, sir, how it is done. What is to be deduced from Miss Mitchell’s performance? Is she cleverly pretending that she does not know what was on that lid, or is it credible that she really failed to notice it? I am merely demonstrating. For another example, take your cousin.” He switched his eyes and shot at her, “You, Miss Frost. Do you eat candy?”

She looked at her cousin. “Is this necessary, Lew?”

Frost flushed. He opened his mouth, but Wolfe was in ahead:

“Miss Mitchell didn’t beg off. Of course, she has good nerves.”

The sylph leveled her eyes at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my nerves. But this cheap — oh, well. I eat candy. I much prefer caramels, and since I work as a model and have to be careful too, I confine myself to them.”

“Chocolate caramels? Nut caramels?”

“Any kind. Caramels. I like to chew them.”

“How often do you eat them?”

“Maybe once a week.”

“Do you buy them yourself?”

“No. I don’t get a chance to. My cousin knows my preference, and he sends me boxes of Carlatti’s. Too often. I have to give most of them away.”

“You are very fond of them?”

She nodded. “Very.”

“You find it hard to resist them when offered?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Monday afternoon you had been working hard? You were tired? You had had a short and unsatisfactory lunch?”

She was tolerating it. “Yes.”

“Then, when Miss Lauck offered you caramels, why didn’t you take one?”

“She didn’t offer me caramels. There weren’t any in that—” She stopped. She glanced aside, at her cousin, and then put her eyes at Wolfe again. “That is, I didn’t suppose—”

“Suppose?” Wolfe’s voice suddenly softened. “Miss Mitchell couldn’t remember what was on the lid of that box. Can you, Miss Frost?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Miss Mitchell has said that you didn’t handle the box. You were at the mirror, fixing your hair; you didn’t even look at it. Is that correct?”

She was staring at him. “Yes.”

“Miss Mitchell has also said that she replaced the lid on the box and kept it under her arm until she handed it to Mr. McNair. Is that correct?”

“I don’t know. I... I didn’t notice.”

“No. Naturally, under the circumstances. But after the box was given to Mr. McNair, from that time until he turned it over to the police, did you see it at all? Did you have an opportunity to inspect it?”

“I didn’t see it. No.”

“Just one more, Miss Frost — this finishes the demonstration: you are sure you don’t know what was on that lid? It was not a brand you were familiar with?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Wolfe leaned back and sighed. He picked up the third bottle and filled his glass and watched the foam work. No one spoke; we just looked at him, while he drank. He put the glass down and wiped his lips, and opened his eyes on his client.

“There you are, Mr. Frost,” he said quietly. “Even in a brief demonstration, where no results were expected, something is upturned. By her own testimony, your cousin never saw the contents of that box after Miss Lauck swiped it. She doesn’t know what brand it was, so she could not have been familiar with its contents. And yet, she knew, quite positively, that there were no caramels in it. Therefore: she saw the contents of the box, somewhere, sometime, before Miss Lauck swiped it. That, sir, is deduction. That is what I meant when I spoke of interviews with all of the persons who were at this place last Monday.”

Lew Frost, glaring at him, blurted, “You call this — what the hell do you call this? My cousin—”

“I told you, deduction.”

The sylph sat, pale, and stared at him. She opened her mouth a couple of times, but closed it without speaking. Thelma Mitchell horned in:

“She didn’t say she knew positively there were no caramels in it. She only said—”

Wolfe put up a palm at her. “You being loyal, Miss Mitchell? For shame. The first loyalty here is to the dead. Mr. Frost dragged me here because Molly Lauck died. He hired me to find out how and why. — Well, sir? Didn’t you?”

Frost sputtered, “I didn’t hire you to play damn fool tricks with a couple of nervous girls. You damn fat imbecile — listen! I already know more about this business than you’d ever find out in a hundred years! If you think I’m paying you — now what? Where you going? What’s the game now? You get back in that chair I say—”

Wolfe had arisen, without haste, and moved around the table, going sideways past Thelma Mitchell’s feet, and Frost had jumped up and started the motions of a stiff arm at him.

I got upright and stepped across. “Don’t shove, mister.” I would just as soon have plugged him, but he would have had to drop on a lady. “Subside, please. Come on, back up.”

He gave me a bad eye, but let that do. Wolfe had sidled by, towards the door, and at that moment there was a knock on it and it opened, and the handsome woman in the black dress with white buttons appeared. She moved in.

“Excuse me, please.” She glanced around, composed, and settled on me. “Can you spare Miss Frost? She is needed downstairs. And Mr. McNair says you wish to speak with me. I can give you a few minutes now.”

I looked at Wolfe. He bowed to the woman, his head moving two inches. “Thank you, Mrs. Lamont. It won’t be necessary. We have made excellent progress; more than could reasonably have been expected — Archie. Did you pay for the beer? Give Mr. Frost a dollar. That should cover it.”

I took out my wallet and extracted a buck and laid it on the table. A swift glance showed me that Helen Frost looked pale, Thelma Mitchell looked interested, and Llewellyn looked set for murder. Wolfe had left. I did likewise, and joined him outside where he was pushing the button for the elevator.

I said, “That beer couldn’t have been more than two bits a throw, seventy-five cents for three.”

He nodded. “Put the difference on his bill.”

Downstairs we marched through the activity without halting. McNair was over at one side talking with a dark medium-sized woman with a straight back and a proud mouth, and I let my head turn for a second look, surmising it was Helen Frost’s mother. A goddess I hadn’t seen before was parading in a brown topcoat in front of a horsey jane with a dog, and three or four other people were scattered around. Just before we got to the street door it opened and a man entered, a big broad guy with a scar on his cheek. I knew all about that scar. I tossed him a nod.