Rex Stout - If Death Ever Slept

WOLFE: You didn’t have to come to me to settle that. Ask Mr. Jarrell. Have you?

NORA: No. I told you why. And then — there are reasons ...

WOLFE: There often are. If none are at hand we contrive some. A moment ago you said, “But now it’s different.” What changed it?

NORA: You know what changed it. Murder. The murder of Jim Eber. Archie Goodwin has told you all about it.

WOLFE: I’m willing to include that in the assumption. I think, madam, you had better tell me why you came here and what you want — still, of course, on our assumption.

(I said Monday afternoon that she didn’t look her age, forty-seven. She did now. Her gray eyes were just as sharp and competent, and she kept her shoulders just as straight, but she seemed to have creases and wrinkles I hadn’t observed before. Of course it could have been the light angle, or possibly it was looking through the waterfall.)

NORA: If we’re assuming that I’m right, that man (indicating Orrie) can’t be Archie Goodwin, and I don’t know who he is. I haven’t got his picture in my scrapbook. I’ll tell you why I came.

WOLFE: That’s reasonable, certainly. Archie, I’m afraid you’ll have to leave us.

(Poor Orrie. As Orrie Cather he had been chased twice, and now he was chased as Archie Goodwin. His only hope now was to be cast as Nero Wolfe. When he was out and the door shut Nora spoke.)

NORA: All right, I’ll tell you. Right after lunch today I went on an errand, and when I got back Mr. Jarrell told me that the bullet that killed Jim Eber was a thirty-eight. That was all he told me, just that. But I knew why he told me, it was because his own gun is a thirty-eight. He has always kept it in a drawer of his desk. I saw it there Wednesday afternoon. But it wasn’t there Thursday morning, yesterday, and it hasn’t been there since. Mr. Jarrell hasn’t asked me about it, he hasn’t mentioned it. I don’t know—

WOLFE: Haven’t you mentioned it?

(Orrie was at my elbow.)

NORA: No. If I mentioned it, and he had taken it himself, he would think I was prying into matters that don’t concern me. I don’t know whether he took it himself or not. But yesterday afternoon a man from Horland’s Protective Agency delivered some pictures that must have been taken by the camera that works automatically when the door of the library is opened. The clock above the door said sixteen minutes past six. The pictures showed the door opening and a rug coming in — just the rug, flat, held up perpendicular, hanging straight down. Of course there was someone behind it. Archie Goodwin looked at the pictures, and of course he has told you all about it.

WOLFE: On our assumption, yes.

NORA: The camera must have taken them the day before, at sixteen minutes past six Wednesday afternoon. At that hour I am always up in my room, washing and changing, getting ready to go to the lounge for cocktails. So is everyone else, nearly always. So there it is, take it altogether. On Monday Archie Goodwin comes as the new secretary under another name. Thursday morning Mr. Jarrell’s gun is gone. Thursday afternoon the pictures come, taken at a time when I was up in my room alone. Friday morning, today, the news comes that Jim Eber has been murdered, shot. Also this morning Archie Goodwin isn’t there, and Mr. Jarrell says he has sent him on a trip. And this afternoon Mr. Jarrell tells me that Jim was shot with a thirty-eight.

(The gray eyes were steady and cold. I had the feeling that if they aimed my way they would see me right through the picture, though I knew they couldn’t.)

NORA: I’m not frightened, Mr. Wolfe. I don’t scare easily. And I know you wouldn’t deliberately conspire to have me accused of murder, and neither would Archie Goodwin. But all those things together, I wasn’t going to just wait and see what happened. It wouldn’t have helped any to say all this to Mr. Jarrell. I know all about his business affairs, but this is his personal life, his family, and I don’t count. I’d rather not have him know I came to you, but I don’t really care. I’ve worked long enough anyhow. Was Archie Goodwin there because Mr. Jarrell hired you, or was it someone else?

WOLFE: Even granting the assumption, I can’t tell you that.

NORA: I suppose not. But he’s not there today, so you may be through. In the twenty-two years I have been with Mr. Jarrell I have had many opportunities, especially the past ten years, and my net worth today, personally, is something over a million dollars. I know you charge high fees, but I could afford it. I said I’m not frightened, and I’m not, but something is going to happen to somebody, I’m sure of that, and I don’t want it to happen to me. I want you to see that it doesn’t. I’ll pay you a retainer, of course, whatever you say. I believe the phrase is “to protect my interests.”

WOLFE: I’m sorry, Miss Kent, but I must decline.

NORA: Why?

WOLFE: I’ve undertaken a job for Mr. Jarrell. He has—

NORA: Then he did hire you! Then he knew it was Archie Goodwin!

WOLFE: No. That remains only an assumption. He has engaged me to conduct a conference for him. On the telephone today. He feels that the situation calls for an experienced investigator, and at six o’clock, three hours from now, he will come here and bring seven people with him — his family, and a man named Brigham, and you. That is, if you care to come. Evidently you are in no mood to trot when he whistles.

NORA: He phoned you today?

WOLFE: Yes.

NORA: You were already working for him. You sent Archie Goodwin up there.

WOLFE: You have a right, madam, to your beliefs, but I beg you not to be tiresome with them. If you join us at six o’clock, and I advise you to, you should know that the Mr. Goodwin who scurried from this room at your behest will be here, at his desk, and Alan Green, Mr. Jarrell’s secretary, will also be present. The others, the members of Mr. Jarrell’s family, unlike you, will probably be satisfied that those two men know who they are. Will you gain anything by raising the question?

NORA: No. I see. No. But I don’t — then Mr. Jarrell doesn’t know either?

WOLFE: Don’t get tangled in your own assumption. If you wish to revise it after the conference by all means do so. And now I ask you to reciprocate. I have an assumption too. We have accepted yours as a basis for discussion; now let us accept mine. Mine is that none of the people who will be present at the conference fired the shot that killed Mr. Eber. What do you think of it?

(The gray eyes narrowed.)

NORA: You can’t expect me to discuss that. I am employed by Mr. Jarrell.

WOLFE: Then we’ll turn it around. We’ll assume the contrary and take them in turn. Start with Mr. Jarrell himself. He took his own gun, with that hocus-pocus, and shot Eber with it. What do you say to that?

NORA: I don’t say anything.

(She stood up.)

NORA: I know you’re a clever man, Mr. Wolfe. That’s why your picture is in my scrapbook. I may not be as clever as you are, but I’m not an utter fool.

(She started off, and, halfway to the door, turned.)

NORA: I’ll be here at six o’clock if Mr. Jarrell tells me to.

She went. I whispered to Orrie, “Go let her out, Archie.” He whispered back, “Let her out yourself, Alan.” The result was that she let herself out. When I heard the front door close I left the wing and made it to the front in time to see her, through the one-way glass panel, going down the stoop. When she had reached the sidewalk safely I went to the office.

Wolfe was forward in his chair, his palms on his desk. Orrie was at my desk, in my chair, at ease. I stood and looked down at Wolfe.

“First,” I said, “Who is whom?”

He grunted. “Confound that woman. When you were introduced to her Monday afternoon I suppose you were looking at her. And you saw no sign that she had recognized you?”