Rex Stout - Where There's a Will

He ran down. I grinned at him. “No spik Eenglis.”

“But I tell you—”

“No, brother. If you didn’t kill her, you’d be overpaying me. If you did, you’re a piker. But if it will relieve your mind any to know it, my rule is never to give a cop anything to hold if it’s something I might want back. There are a few pieces of information I intend to keep at least temporarily for my private use — since Nero Wolfe has retired — and the fact that you sneak into bars in private houses is one of them.”

“But — you say temporarily — I’ve got to know—”

“That’s the best I can do for you, and don’t offer me any more pennies. My mother told me not to accept money from strangers.”

He was by no means satisfied. It appeared that what he wanted was an anti-aggression bloc with unilateral action rigidly excluded, and he was pretty stubborn about it. I don’t know how I would have got rid of him if John Charles Dunn hadn’t come down the hall, caught sight of him, and taken him off into a room. For, I calculated, a report of his session with Skinner.

The second approach to my anchorage by the window was just after I had returned from a trip to the library to get an ash tray. This time I wasn’t being sought for; at least it didn’t look like it. Sara and Celia and Andy came up together from the floor below, and saw me, and Sara said something to the other two which seemed to start an argument. They hissed back and forth for a couple of minutes, and then Andy and Celia entered at the open door through which I had seen May and June seated talking, and Sara trotted up to me. As she approached I observed:

“I see they haven’t arrested you yet.”

“Of course not. Why should they?”

“They’re apt to. If you confess to enough crimes and misdemeanors, you’ll hit on one they can’t prove you didn’t do.”

“Don’t be so darned smart.” She sat down on the bench that was there. “This — all this — has gone to my legs. I can’t stand up. It stimulates me like cocktails on an empty stomach. I suppose when I go to bed, if I go to bed at all, I’ll be crushed and I’ll lie and stare at the dark and be miserable, and I may even throw up, but now it just makes my legs weak and excites my brain. I have got a brain.”

“So has a cricket.” I sat beside her. “You remind me of a cricket.”

“That might interest me some day, but it doesn’t now. Andy was disagreeing with me, and of course Celia was on his side. Heavens, are they hooked! Andy says that the family is in danger, in horrible danger, and that we ought to stick together and trust no one.”

“Whereas you’re in favor of trusting? Who, me?”

“Not trust exactly. Trust doesn’t enter into it that I can see. I was merely going to tell you something that happened this afternoon.”

“I must warn you, Miss Dunn, that after that confession of yours I’ll suspect anything you say. I doubt if I’ll even take the trouble to check up on it.”

She made an unladylike noise. “Nobody’s asking you to check up on it. Only it happened, and I’m going to tell you. I told dad, and I don’t think he even heard me. I told Mr. Prescott, and he said, ‘Yes, yes,’ and patted me on the shoulder. I told Andy and Celia, and I swear to heaven they think I made it up. Why the dickens would I make it up that somebody stole my camera?”

“Oh. Is that what happened?”

“Yes, and whoever it was took two rolls of film too. You see, we came down to New York from the country Wednesday morning. Dad had to go back to Washington, but the famous Hawthorne girls decided the rest of us should camp in this house until after the funeral, and Aunt Daisy said all right.” She shivered. “Doesn’t that veil give you the creeps?”

I said it did.

She went on. “It certainly does me. When we got here Wednesday morning, I went to my room on 19th Street and brought a bag of clothes. I had nothing with me in the country because Mr. Prescott took me right up there from the shop. Then after the funeral he read the will to us and all this mess started. So we all stayed here Thursday night and again last night. I’ve been sleeping in that room with Celia.” She pointed to the second door on the left. “And this afternoon I noticed my camera was gone. Somebody stole it.”

“Or maybe borrowed it.”

“No, I’ve asked everyone, including the servants. Besides, they went through my bag too, messed it all up, and took two rolls of film.”

“Maybe a servant did it. She wouldn’t admit it when you asked, you know. Very few people have a confession complex like you. Or maybe Aunt Daisy is a kleptomaniac as well as an eavesdropper.”

“How do you know she’s an eavesdropper?”

“I’ve seen her at work.”

“Have you? I never have. Andy says if my camera was stolen it must have been by a member of the family and the best thing I can do is keep my mouth shut about it.”

“That sounds sensible. If it ever comes to a vote, my ballot goes to Aunt Daisy. Were the two rolls of film — Ah, company’s coming.”

It was a dick I didn’t know, looking stern and important. He came up to us.

“Archie Goodwin? Inspector Cramer wants you downstairs.”

The stage selected for my personal appearance was the music room. Some magazines and books had been cleared off of a large table, and at the far side of it sat District Attorney Skinner, in his shirt sleeves with his hair rumpled up. Inspector Cramer, with his coat and vest, which I had never seen him without, was on the piano bench. At one end of the table was Police Commissioner Hombert, looking tired and frustrated, and at the other end was a detective with a notebook. The chair ready for me was placed properly, so they could all see my face, with the light shining in my eyes.

I sat down and said, “This is quite a compliment, all three of you like this.”

Cramer blurted at me, “That’ll do! This is one time we want no gags! And no hedging! We want answers and that’s all!”

“Sure, I understand that,” I said in a hurt voice, “but I come in here expecting to be questioned by a sergeant or maybe a lieutenant, and when I actually find that the three most brilliant—”

“All right, Goodwin,” Skinner snapped. “You can speak a piece for us some other time. Where’s Nero Wolfe?”

“I don’t know. I’ve told at least a million—”

“I know you have. We’re told at his house that he’s not there. He left here immediately after you found the body. Where did he go?”

“Search me.”

“Where did he say he was going?”

“He didn’t say. If you want facts, I’m out. If you want an opinion, you can have mine.”

“Let’s have it.”

“I think he went home to dinner.”

“Nonsense. He was here on an important case, with important clients, and a murder was committed right under his nose. Do you expect me to believe — not even Nero Wolfe would be eccentric enough—”

“I don’t know about eccentric enough, but he was hungry enough. He had a bum lunch.” I made a gesture. “You say you were told he isn’t home. Naturally. He doesn’t want to be disturbed. You might pry the door open with a search warrant, but what would you write on it? If you’ve asked questions around here, you must have discovered by now that he was upstairs in the library from 10:30 this morning until just before we discovered the body. He didn’t leave it once. So what do you want him for anyway?”

Commissioner Hombert barked, “One thing we want is to ask him where and when he saw Naomi Karn today and what was said.”

“He didn’t see her today.”

“We want to know the terms of the agreement he made with her on behalf of his clients. We want to see the agreement.”