Rex Stout - Bullet for One

Talbott compressed his lips and loosened them. “Oh, boy! The mounted cop saw Keyes riding in the park near Sixty-sixth Street at ten minutes past seven. Keyes was killed near Ninety-sixth Street. Even if he had galloped all the way he couldn’t have got there, the way that bridle path winds, before seven-twenty. And he didn’t gallop, because if he had the horse would have shown it, and he didn’t.” Talbott twisted around. “You’re the authority on that, Wayne. Casanova hadn’t been in a sweat, had he?”

“You’re telling it,” was all he got from Wayne Safford.

“Well, he hadn’t,” Talbott told Wolfe. “Wayne is on record on that. So Keyes couldn’t have reached the spot where he was killed before seven-twenty-five. There’s the time for that, twenty-five minutes past seven.”

“And you?” Wolfe inquired.

“Me, I was lucky. I often rode in the park with Keyes at that ungodly hour — two or three times a week. He wanted me to make it every day, but I got out of it about half the time. There was nothing social or sociable about it. We would walk our horses side by side, talking business, except when he felt like trotting. I live at the Hotel Churchill. I got in late Monday night, but I left a call for six o’clock anyway, because I hadn’t ridden with Keyes for several days and didn’t want to get him sore. But when the girl rang my phone in the morning I was just too damn sleepy, and I told her to call the riding academy and say I wouldn’t be there, and to call me again at seven-thirty. She did so, and I still didn’t feel like turning out but I had to because I had a breakfast date with an out-of-town customer, so I told her to send up a double orange juice. A few minutes later a waiter brought it up. So was I lucky? Keyes was killed uptown at twenty-five past seven at the earliest, and probably a little later. I was in my room at the Churchill, nearly three miles away, at half-past seven. You can have three guesses how glad I was I left that seven-thirty call!”

Wolfe nodded. “You should give the out-of-town customer a discount. In that armor, why did you take the trouble to join this gathering?”

“A switchboard girl and a waiter, for God’s sake!” Pohl snorted sarcastically.

“Nice honest people, Ferdy,” Talbott told him, and answered Wolfe, “I didn’t.”

“No? You’re not here?”

“Sure I’m here, but not to join any gathering. I came to join Miss Keyes. I don’t regard it as trouble to join Miss Keyes. As for the rest of them, except maybe Broadyke—”

The doorbell rang again, and since additional gatecrashers might or might not be desirable, I upped myself in a hurry, stepped across and into the hall, intercepted Fritz just in time, and went to the front door to take a look through the panel of one-way glass.

Seeing who it was out on the stoop, I fastened the chain bolt, pulled the door open the two inches the chain would permit, and spoke through the crack. “I don’t want to catch cold.”

“Neither do I,” a gruff voice told me. “Take that damn bolt off.”

“Mr. Wolfe is engaged,” I said politely. “Will I do?”

“You will not. You never have and you never will.”

“Then hold it a minute. I’ll see.”

I shut the door, went to the office, and told Wolfe, “The man about the chair,” which was my favorite alias for Inspector Cramer of Homicide.

Wolfe grunted and shook his head. “I’ll be busy for hours and can’t be interrupted.”

I returned to the front, opened to the crack again, and said regretfully, “Sorry, but he’s doing his homework.”

“Yeah,” Cramer said sarcastically, “he certainly is. Now that Talbott’s here too you’ve got a full house. All six of ’em. Open the door.”

“Bah. Who are you trying to impress? You have tails on one or more, possibly all, and I do hope you haven’t abandoned Talbott because we like him. By the way, the phone girl and the waiter at the Churchill — what’re their names?”

“I’m coming in, Goodwin.”

“Come ahead. This chain has never had a real test, and I’ve wondered about it.”

“In the name of the law, open this door!”

I was so astonished that I nearly did open it in order to get a good look at him. Through the crack I could use only one eye. “Well, listen to you,” I said incredulously. “On me you try that? As you know, it’s the law that keeps you out. If you’re ready to make an arrest, tell me who, and I’ll see that he or she doesn’t pull a scoot. After all, you’re not a monopoly. You’ve had them for a full week, day or night, and Wolfe has had them only an hour or so, and you can’t bear it! Incidentally, they’re not refusing to see you, they don’t know you’re here, so don’t chalk that against them. It’s Mr. Wolfe who can’t be disturbed. I’ll give you this much satisfaction: he hasn’t solved it yet, and it may take till midnight. It will save time if you’ll give me the names—”

“Shut up,” Cramer rasped. “I came here perfectly friendly. There’s no law against Wolfe having people in his office. And there’s no law against my being there with them, either.”

“There sure isn’t,” I agreed heartily, “once you’re in, but what about this door? Here’s a legal door, with a man on one side who can’t open it, and a man on the other side who won’t, and according to the statutes—”

“Archie!” It was a bellow from the office, Wolfe’s loudest bellow, seldom heard, and there were other sounds. It came again. “Archie!”

I said hastily, “Excuse me,” slammed the door shut, ran down the hall and turned the knob, and popped in.

It was nothing seriously alarming. Wolfe was still in his chair behind his desk. The chair Talbott had occupied was overturned. Dorothy was on her feet, her back to Wolfe’s desk, with her brows elevated to a record high. Audrey Rooney was standing in the corner by the big globe, with her clenched fists pressed against her cheeks, staring. Pohl and Broadyke were also out of their chairs, also gazing at the center of the room. From the spectators’ frozen attitudes you might have expected to see something really startling, but it was only a couple of guys slinging punches. As I entered Talbott landed a right hook on the side of Safford’s neck, and as I closed the door to the hall behind me Safford countered with a solid stiff left to Talbott’s kidney sector. The only noise besides their fists and feet was a tense mutter from Audrey Rooney in her corner. “Hit him, Wayne; hit him, Wayne.”

“How much did I miss?” I demanded.

“Stop them!” Wolfe ordered me.

Talbott’s right glanced off of Safford’s cheek, and Safford got in another one over the kidney. They were operating properly and in an orderly manner, but Wolfe was the boss and he hated commotion in the office, so I stepped across, grabbed Talbott’s coat collar and yanked him back so hard he fell over a chair, and faced Safford to block him. For a second I thought Safford was going to paste me with one he had waiting, but he let it drop.

“What started it so quick?” I wanted to know.

Audrey was there, clutching my sleeve, protesting fiercely, “You shouldn’t have stopped him! Wayne could have knocked him down! He did before!” She sounded more bloodthirsty than milkthirsty.

“He made a remark about Miss Rooney,” Broadyke permitted himself to say.

“Get him out of here!” Wolfe spluttered.

“Which one?” I asked, watching Safford with one eye and Talbott with the other.

“Mr. Talbott!”

“You did very well, Vic,” Dorothy was saying. “You were fantastically handsome with the gleam of battle in your eye.” She put her palms against Talbott’s cheeks, pulled his head forward, and stretched her neck to kiss him on the lips — a quick one. “There!”