Rex Stout - Plot It Yourself

“What time was that?”

“Right after dinner. Half past eight — a little later.”

“Was anyone with her?”

“No.”

“Did she always sleep here?”

“Not always. Frequently. She has her room in the house.”

“Were there guests at dinner?”

“No. Just my husband and I, and her.”

“Was she expecting someone to call?”

“Not that I knew of, but I wouldn’t. I seldom did.”

“You know nothing of any letter or phone call she got yesterday?”

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Did anyone come to see her after she left the house last evening, or call her on the phone?”

“No. Not at the house. Someone might have come here.”

“Someone did. How? By the lane in back?”

“Yes. It’s a public road. Dipper Lane. I’ve forgotten your name. What is it?”

“Goodwin. Archie Goodwin. Did you hear a car on the lane last evening, stopping here or starting here?”

“No.” Abruptly she left the chair. “I’m going to phone my husband. He should be here when the police come. How soon will they come?”

“Ten minutes, maybe less. Have you any idea who killed your daughter? Any idea at all?”

“No.” She turned and marched out, still a sergeant.

I went to the phone, used my handkerchief to lift the receiver, and dialed.

I ate lunch that day, two hamburgers and a glass of milk, at the office of the Bronx District Attorney, in the room of an assistant DA named Halloran whom I had never seen before. I ate dinner, if two corned-beef sandwiches and lukewarm coffee in a paper cup can be called dinner, in the office of the District Attorney of the County of New York, in the room of an assistant DA named Mandelbaum whom I knew quite well from various contacts on other occasions. When I finally got back to the old brownstone on West 35th Street it was going on ten o’clock. Fritz offered to warm up the lamb loaf and said it would be edible, but I told him I was too tired to eat and might nibble a snack later.

It was nearly eleven when I finished reporting to Wolfe. Actually I knew very little more than I had when Mrs. Ogilvy had left the cloister and I had dialed SP 7–3100, but Wolfe was now trying to find a straw to grab at. He wanted everything I had, every sight and sound of my twelve-hour day, even including the session at the Bronx DA’s office, though Halloran had known nothing of the background. He had me repeat my conversation with Mrs. Ogilvy three times. He almost never asks me to repeat anything even once, but of course he was desperate. When there was nothing left to ask me he still had a question; he wanted to know what conclusions I had drawn.

I shook my head. “You draw the conclusions. I only make guesses. I guess we might as well quit. I guess this bird is too fast and too slick. I guess he hasn’t left one little crumb for the cops, either with Simon Jacobs or Jane Ogilvy, and as for us, I guess he’s a step ahead and intends to stay ahead. I guess we had better consider how to approach Alice Porter so we can get to her a little sooner than we have the others — say when she’s been dead only an hour or two.”

Wolfe grunted. “I have already considered her.”

“Good. Then she may still be warm.”

“I have also acted. Saul and Fred and Orrie have her under surveillance. Also Miss Bonner and that operative in Miss Bonner’s employ. Miss Corbett.”

My brows went up. “You don’t say. Since when?”

“Shortly after you called this morning. Orrie is there now. Since four o’clock he has been there in concealment with the house in view. His car is nearby, also in concealment. Miss Corbett, with a rented car, is posted near the junction of the dirt road and the surfaced road. Saul will relieve Orrie at midnight, and Miss Corbett will leave. Fred and Miss Bonner will take over at eight in the morning. Miss Corbett phoned at seven-thirty that Alice Porter was at home and had had no visitors.”

My brows were still up. “I must say that when you consider, you consider. At that rate Oshin’s ten grand won’t last long. I don’t say it’s being wasted, but you may remember that when he asked me which one of the four we should go for I said that Alice Porter has just made her claim on Amy Wynn and is expecting to collect, so she probably wouldn’t be open for a deal. Also you know how she reacted to my approach.”

Wolfe nodded. “But that was before her manuscript had been found and we learned that it had been written by her, not by the person who wrote the others. He may or may not know about that; probably he does. In any case, even if it is likely that she would scorn any inducement we can offer her, he may not think so. He is bold and ruthless, and he is now close to panic. If he thinks her as great a menace as Jane Ogilvy he won’t hesitate. Saul and Fred and Orrie, and Miss Bonner and Miss Corbett, have full instructions. Anyone who approaches Alice Porter is to be suspected. If possible he is to be stopped before he strikes, but of course he can’t be challenged until it is apparent that he intends to strike.”

“Yeah.” I was looking at it. “It’s a problem. Fred or Orrie is there, in broad daylight, and someone drives up to the house and goes in. There’s no decent cover within a hundred yards of the house. He can’t possibly get close enough to see if it’s just a lightning-rod salesman or a friend, without being seen. All he can do is wait until the company goes and then wait for Alice Porter to show, or go to a phone and dial her number and see if she answers. If it’s X, she’s a goner. I admit we’ll have him.”

He grunted. “Can you do better?”

“No, sir. I’m not complaining. What about Kenneth Rennert? If X is in a panic he might do him next.”

“That’s possible, but I doubt it. Rennert may not even know who X is; he may merely have imitated him. He wrote not a story but a play outline, and we haven’t seen it.”

“Okay.” I glanced at the clock: 11:23. “I suppose Saul will call when he goes on at midnight, and Orrie will call after he is relieved?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll expect them. What else for me? Have I a program?”

“No.”

“Then I have a suggestion. I don’t like it, but I have it. Across the street from Rennert’s address is a tailor shop with a nice clean window. For five bucks a day the owner would let me use it to look through, with a chair to sit on. After dark I could move across the street, to be closer. I am almost as good as Paul Panzer at remembering faces. When Rennert’s body is discovered and they decide when he was killed, I would know who had been there. If it was someone I recognized, for instance a member of the Joint Committee on Plagiarism, I could even name him. I can start right now. I hate that kind of a job, who doesn’t, but I’ve been sent twice now to see people who were already dead, and that’s enough.”

He shook his head. “Two objections. One, you need sleep. Two, Mr. Rennert is not at home. As I said, his operation may have been solely on his own and he may have had no connection with X, but I haven’t ignored him. I rang his number twice this morning and twice this afternoon, and got no answer. At three o’clock Saul went there, and, getting no response to his ring, saw the building superintendent and asked when he had last seen Mr. Rennert. Early last evening Mr. Rennert told the building superintendent that he would leave today to spend the Memorial Day weekend in the country and would return on Monday. He didn’t say where in the country.”

“If we knew where we could ring him and warn him to keep away from poison ivy. It would be nice to hear his voice.”

“I agree. But we don’t.”

“I could scout around in the morning and probably find out. We have a lot of names of people he has borrowed money from.”