Рекс Стаут - Gambit

At four minutes to one Dr. Victor Avery entered, stopped three steps in, saw my raised hand, and came. I took in a forkload of spaghetti while he removed his coat and hat and hung them on the wall hooks, and I was sipping wine as he sat. He looked more middle-aged than he had last night, more than middle-aged, and not so well-fed.

“The spaghetti here is something special,” I said. “Better have some.”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“The wine is special too.”

“I never drink during the day.”

“Neither do I usually, but this is a special occasion.” My eyes were on my plate, where I was twisting spaghetti onto my fork, and I raised them and aimed them at him. “How much did you bring?”

His hands were open on the table and his finger tips were working. “I came out of curiosity,” he said. “What kind of trick is this?” He was nothing like as good as he had been on the phone, but of course he had had a hard night.

I leaned to him. “Look,” I said, “you’ll just waste your breath dodging. I saw you go in Kalmus’s house Wednesday and I saw you come out. Yesterday I asked—”

“What time did I go in? What time did I come out?”

“Nuts. Don’t think I can’t tell Nero Wolfe, and also the cops, and also a judge and jury when the time comes. If you want to try fixing up an alibi, you know the times as well as I do. This isn’t a quiz show with you asking the questions. Yesterday I asked myself a question, could it have been you who killed Paul Jerin? Of course it could; when you mixed the mustard water you put arsenic in it. But the trouble was, Jerin had got sick before you went in to him, and that stopped me, until yesterday afternoon, when I learned why he got sick before you were called in. Not only that, I also learned that you knew he was going to get sick, so you brought some arsenic along because you knew you would have a chance to use it. So you had killed Jerin, and I knew why, or at least a damned good guess. Tuesday evening Nero Wolfe told you that the man who killed Jerin had no malice for him, he wanted to destroy Matthew Blount, and you said tommyrot, but you knew it wasn’t, because you were the man who did it and that was your motive. Then when you learned that Kalmus had figured it out and was on to you, you went to his place and killed him, and I saw you coming and going. So how much did you bring?”

He had realized that his hands were out of control and had taken them from the table. “That’s all tommyrot,” he said. “Every word of it.”

“Okay, then get up and walk out. Or ring the District Attorney’s office and have them come and take me for attempted blackmail. The phone booth is in the rear. I promise to wait here for them.”

He licked his lips. “That’s what I ought to do,” he said, “report you for attempted blackmail.”

“Go ahead.”

“But that would be — it would start — scandal. It would be very — disagreeable. Even if you saw me entering and leaving that house — you didn’t, but even if you did — that wouldn’t be proof that I killed Kalmus. It was after ten o’clock when you went up to his apartment and found the body. Someone had entered after I left — that is, it would have been after I left if I had been there. So your He that you saw me enter and leave — it’s not a very good lie. But if you—”

“Cut.” I snapped it. “I’ll listen to sense if you’ve got any, but not that crap. We’ll settle that right now, yes or no, and if it’s no I get up and walk out. To Nero Wolfe. Did you enter that house Wednesday, late afternoon or early evening, whichever you want to call it, or didn’t you? Yes or no.”

He licked his lips. “I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of coercing me into—”

I had pushed my chair back and was getting up. He put a hand out. “No,” he said. “Sit down.”

I bent over to him. “No?”

“I mean yes.”

“Did you enter that house at that time Wednesday?”

“Yes. But I didn’t kill Dan Kalmus.”

I sat down and picked up my glass for a sip of wine. “I advise you to watch your step,” I told him. “If I have to keep jumping up to make you talk sense it will attract attention. How much money did you bring?”

His hand went into his breast pocket but came out again empty. “You admit you’re a blackmailer,” he said.

“Sure. Birds of a feather, a murderer and a blackmailer.”

“I am not a murderer. But if I refuse to be victimized and you do what you threaten to do I’ll be involved in a scandal I can never live down. I’ll be under a suspicion that will never be entirely removed. To prevent that I’m willing to — to submit. Under protest.”

His hand went to the pocket again and this time got something, a slip of paper. He unfolded it, glanced at it, said, “Read that,” and handed it to me. It was handwritten in ink:

I hereby affirm, and will swear if necessary, that my statement to Dr. Victor Avery that I saw him enter the house of Daniel Kalmus on Wednesday, February 14, 1962, was untrue. I have never seen Dr. Victor Avery enter that house at any time. I write this and sign it of my own free will, not under duress.

I dropped it on the table and grinned at him. “You could frame it,” I suggested.

“I have ten thousand dollars in cash,” he said. “When you write that and sign it and give it to me, I’ll hand it over.”

“And the other ninety thousand?”

“That’s fantastic. I couldn’t possibly pay such a sum, and even if I had it... it’s absurd. In addition to the ten thousand now, I’ll guarantee to give you another twenty thousand within a week.”

“I’ll be damned. You actually have the gall to haggle.”

“I’m not haggling. To me thirty thousand dollars is a fortune.”

I regarded him. “You know,” I said, “I admire your nerve, I really do. You’re too much for me.” I looked around, caught the eye of Mrs. Piotti, and signed to her, and she came. I asked her how much, and she said a dollar-forty, and I handed her two ones and told her to keep the change. Of course that was just for appearance’s sake; I had given John fifty bucks and would give him more.

I shook my head at Avery. “Positively too much for me. We’ll have to go and put it up to Mr. Wolfe.”

He gawked. “What?”

“I said, put it up to Mr. Wolfe. This isn’t my show, it’s his, I only work for him. That last night, me being fired, that was just dressing. You’ll have to come and do your haggling with him. He certainly won’t settle for a measly thirty grand.”

He was still gawking. “Nero Wolfe is behind this?”

“He sure is, and also in front of it.” I shoved my chair back. “Okay, let’s go.”

“I will not.”

“For God’s sake.” I leaned to him. “Dr. Avery, you are unquestionably the champion beetlebrain. Nero Wolfe has got you wrapped up and addressed straight to hell, and you sit there and babble I will not. Do you prefer hell or are you coming?” I picked up the slip of paper and pocketed it, rose, got my coat from the hook and put it on, got my hat, and headed for the door. As I passed the next table Fred Durkin, crammed with spaghetti and wine to his chin, got up and headed in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen. As I emerged to the sidewalk a gust of winter wind nearly took my hat, and as I clapped my hand on it here came Avery, his coat on his arm. When he tried to put the coat on, the wind tossed it around, so I helped him, and he thanked me. A murderer and a blackmailer, both with good manners.

Second Avenue was downtown, so we walked to Third for a taxi. When we had got one and were in and rolling I rather expected Avery to start a conversation, but he didn’t. Not a word. I didn’t look at him, but out of the corner of my eye I saw that his hand was working inside his overcoat pocket. If he had nerve he also had nerves.