Rex Stout: Black Orchids

“Why did you notice that?”

“Ah,” I said, “now you’ve got me. I give up. I’m trapped. Why does anybody notice anything?”

“Especially a nervous man like you,” he said sarcastically. “What were you doing there? Why did you come here?”

“I brought Mr. Wolfe.”

“Did he come here on a case?”

“You know damn well he didn’t. He never goes anywhere on a case. He came to look at flowers.”

“Why were you there at that particular exhibit?”

“For the same reason that other people were. To watch Miss Tracy dabble her feet in the pool.”

“Did you know Miss Tracy? Or Gould?”

“No.”

“Did you, Wolfe?”

“No,” Wolfe said.

Cramer resumed with me. “And smelling the cordite and seeing the hole in the moss and feeling the one in his head, how did you figure someone had shot him? By lying hidden in the bushes and aiming through a crack in the rocks?”

“Now have a heart, Inspector.” I grinned at him. “If you’re not careful you’ll trap me again. At the moment I didn’t do much figuring, but that was over an hour ago and you know what my brain is when it gets started. Gould took his nap at the same hour each day, and he put his head in exactly the same spot—”

“How do you know that?”

“Mr. Wolfe has been sending me here to look at orchids. That’s a matter I’d rather not dwell on. The pile of rocks was only eight or nine inches from his head. Place a gun among the rocks at the right height, wedge it in, aimed the right way, and replace the moss. The rocks and the moss would muffle the report so that no one would notice it in that big noisy room — or what if they did notice it? Fasten a string to the trigger — make it green string so it won’t be seen among the foliage. At the proper time, which will be anywhere between four and four thirty, pull the string.”

“Pull the string how? From where?”

“Oh, suit yourself.” I waved a hand. “Hide in the bushes and after you’ve pulled it sneak out the door at the back of the exhibit that leads to the corridor. Or if the string’s long enough, run it through the crack at the bottom of the door and then you can pull it from the corridor, which would be safer. Or if you want to be fancy, tie the string to the doorknob and it will be pulled by whoever opens the door from the corridor side. Or if you want to be still fancier, run the string around the trunk of a bush and have its end a loop dangling into the pool, and take off your shoes and stockings and swish your feet around in the pool, and catch the loop with your toes and give it a jerk, and who would ever suspect—”

“That’s a lie!”

That blurted insult came from Fred Updegraff. He confronted me, and his chin was not only serious, it was bigoted, and anyone might have thought I was a caterpillar eating his best peony.

“Nonsense!” came another blurt, from W. G. Dill, who didn’t leave his chair.

“It seems to me—” Lewis Hewitt began sarcastically.

“Pooh,” I said. “You cavaliers. I wouldn’t harm a hair of her head. Don’t you suppose the Inspector had thought of that? I know how his mind works—”

“Can it,” Cramer growled. “The way your mind works.” His eyes were narrowed at me. “We’ll discuss that a little later, when I’m through with Miss Tracy. The gun was wedged among the rocks and covered with the moss, and the string was tied to the trigger, and the string was green, so you’re quite a guesser—”

“How long was the string?”

“Long enough to reach. What else do you know?”

I shook my head. “If you can’t tell guessing from logic—”

“What else do you know?”

“Nothing at present.”

“We’ll see.” Cramer looked around. “If there’s a room where I can go with Miss Tracy—”

The man who had been writing at a desk stood up. “Certainly, Inspector. That door there—”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Jim Hawley of the house staff. I don’t think there’s anyone in there — I’ll see—”

But there was an interruption. The door to the anteroom opened, and in came a delegation of four. In front was a dick whom I recognized as a member of the squad, next came a lady, next my friend Pete with unmatched eyes, and bringing up the rear a cop in uniform. The lady wore a gray coat with a squirrel collar and had a blue leather bag under her arm, but I didn’t presume on old acquaintance by speaking to her.

Cramer took in the influx with a glance and asked, “What have you got, Murphy?”

“Yes, sir.” The dick stood with his shoulders straight. He was the military type. “At or about half past four o’clock this young woman was seen in the corridor opening the door leading to the Rucker and Dill exhibit.”

“Who saw her?”

“I did,” Pete spoke up.

“Who are you?”

“I am Pete Arango. I work for Updegraff Nurseries. That’s my boss there, Mr. Updegraff. I went through the door at the back of our exhibit, into the corridor, to get some cookies, and I—”

“To get what?”

“Cookies. I eat cookies. In my locker in the corridor.”

“Okay. You eat cookies. And saw what?”

“I saw her opening that door. Rucker and Dill. After all what happened I remembered it and I told a cop—”

“Did she go inside?”

Pete shook his head. “She saw me and she shut the door.”

“Did she say anything?”

“No, she didn’t have anything to say.”

“Did you?”

“No, I went to my locker and got the cookies, and she must have gone away because when I came back she wasn’t there. Then when I got back on the floor and saw—”

Cramer turned to the young woman. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business!” she snapped.

“Yes, sir,” the dick said. “She won’t co-operate.”

“What do you mean, I won’t co-operate?” She was indignant, but I wouldn’t have said she looked scared. “I admit I opened the door and looked in, don’t I? I got into the corridor by mistake and I was looking for a way out. And why should I have to tell you my name and get my name in the papers—”

“Why didn’t you get out the way you got in?”

“Because I got in away around at the other side, and I just thought... hey! Hello there!”

Everyone looked the way she was looking, which resulted in all of us looking at Fred Updegraff. Fred himself turned red and was turning redder, as he met her gaze.

“Well,” he said, and seemed to think he had said something.

“It was you,” she said, “there with the door open, stooping down there peeking in when you heard me.”

“Sure,” Fred acknowledged, “sure it was me.”

“The Rucker and Dill door?” Cramer demanded.

“Yes.”

“Were you looking for a way out too?”

“No.”

“What were you looking for?”

“I was—” Fred swallowed it. He looked red and flustered, and then all of a sudden he looked relieved. There was no telling what sort of idea had popped into his head that relieved him and pleased him so much, but he certainly showed it. He spoke louder as if he didn’t want anyone to miss it: “I was looking at Miss Tracy. I’ve been doing that all week. My name is Fred Updegraff and I’m an exhibitor here. I was looking at Miss Tracy!” It sounded as if he almost thought he was singing it.

Cramer was unimpressed. “I’ll have a talk with you later, Mr. Updegraff.” He turned to the Sergeant. “Purley, you stay here with Mr. Updegraff and Goodwin and this young woman and this man Pete. Murphy, come with me and Miss Tracy. The rest of you can go if you want—”

“Just a minute.” Hewitt, who hadn’t sat down again, moved a step. “I am Lewis Hewitt.”