Рекс Стаут - Gambit

Avery took a couple of uncertain steps toward the group and stopped. Wolfe said, “Move aside, Saul. Don’t block the door — if he wishes to leave.”

Avery turned. “Five of you,” he said. “ Five of you.” He came to the desk. “You said a tape recorder? It’s on a tape?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll give you one hundred thousand dollars for it. In cash. Tomorrow morning. For the tape and that signed by Goodwin. You can’t prove anything, I know that, but I don’t... All right. Tomorrow morning.”

Wolfe nodded. “You see? You tried to dicker with doom. Mr. Goodwin would have declined it, but you didn’t know that, and if you had gone ready to meet his terms it would have been ticklish business getting any admission from you for the record. Now I can decline with unconcern. You’re right, I can’t prove anything, but I can earn my fee, and I can demonstrate to my client that I have earned it — by letting Mr. Blount and his wife and daughter listen to that tape.”

“No,” Avery said. “Never.”

“But yes. Of course.”

Avery’s jaw was working. “How much do you want?”

Wolfe shook his head. “My self-esteem is the hitch. Quite possibly you are of more value to the world, to the society I am a member of, than Matthew Blount. If I held its interest paramount perhaps I should salvage you, but there’s my ego. Like most of my fellow-beings, I like myself too well. I’ll be insufferably smug as I sit and watch the Blount family listen to that tape. You had better go, doctor.”

“I’m not going. How much will you take? How much?”

“Confound it, go.”

“No! No! No!”

Wolfe turned. “Fred. Orrie. Archie and Saul have done a day’s work. You have been merely spectators. Take him out.”

They came, and, as they took his arms, Fred said gruffly, “Come on, what the hell.” I would like to be able to record that he jerked away and marched out, but I’m reporting. He had to be propelled, and, as they hustled him to the door, he squawked, and as soon as they were in the hall Saul shut the door. Wolfe growled at me, “Without dignity a man is not a man. Get Mr. Cramer.”

I thought it would have been more dignified to wait until Fred and Orrie returned to say he was out of the house, since he wouldn’t want Cramer until he came down from the plant rooms at six o’clock, so there was no rush, but I obeyed. And had a time of it. Some character at Homicide wasn’t going to relay me at all, even to Sergeant Stebbins, unless I told him everything about everything, and when he finally passed me on it was to Lieutenant Rowcliff. Of course that was a battle, and I won it only because I reminded him of an occasion a couple of years back when he had hung up on me and we had called the District Attorney, and Wolfe had given him something that Cramer would have liked to get first. So at last I got Cramer and gave Wolfe a nod, and he took his phone. I stayed on.

“This is Nero—”

“I know it is. I’m busy. What do you want?”

“You. Here at your earliest convenience. The man who killed Paul Jerin and Daniel Kalmus just left my house, and I—”

“Left your house?”

“Yes, and I—”

“Why did you let him go?”

You couldn’t beat that for a compliment. Not how do you know he killed them, or this or that, but why did you let him go.

“Because he was repugnant,” Wolfe said. “I put him out. I would like—”

“Who is he?”

“Confound it, stop interrupting. I would like to refer the matter to you. I have something here—”

“I want his name now!”

“No. When may I expect you?”

“You know damn well when you may expect me.” He hung up.

I looked at my watch. Twenty to three. It was hard to believe. Another rule in danger, and this time the strictest of all. For years it had been to the plant rooms at four on the dot, no matter what, every day except Sunday, and he couldn’t leave Cramer in the middle of the showdown. It had certainly got under his skin. As I swiveled to ask Fred and Orrie if any bones had been broken the phone rang, and I swiveled back and got it.

“Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Good—”

“It’s Sally, Archie.”

“Good morning. I mean good afternoon. We miss you. I was going to ring you as soon as I could fit it in. I’ve been kind of busy.”

“Did you... was it...”

“I did and it was. Everything went according to plan. I’m glad to have met you and I want your autograph. If this is the first good thing you ever did you did it good. If you ever want a job as a blackmailer’s moll give me a ring.”

“But was it... did he...”

“He did exactly what he was expected to do. I’ll tell you all about it, words and music, but not now. Everything’s under control. Just sit tight for another twenty-four hours, maybe less. Of course say nothing to your mother — or to anyone.”

“Of course not. But can’t I... I could come...”

“Not now, we’re busy. If you can’t take it easy take it hard, but take it until I call you. Okay?”

“Okay.” She hung up.

Cramer, seated in the red leather chair, said, “Skip the buildup. What have you got?”

It was a family party, with Saul and Fred and Orrie in chairs lined up before Wolfe’s desk, with refreshments. Fred had bourbon and water, and Saul and Orrie and I were sharing a bottle of champagne. Wolfe had beer. Cramer had nothing, though he had been invited.

Wolfe put his glass down and licked his lips. “It’s a preamble, Mr. Cramer, not a buildup. It’s necessary, and it will be brief. You may recollect an event that occurred four years ago in Piotti’s restaurant on Thirteenth Street.”

“I do. Sergeant Stebbins in the kitchen with Goodwin, with earphones.”

“Yes. A similar event took place there today, with variations. Mr. Panzer was in the kitchen, with a tape recorder instead of earphones. Mr. Durkin and Mr. Cather were in the restaurant, at separate tables. At still another table was Mr. Goodwin, alone, and the bowl of hideous artificial flowers on that table contained a microphone. He had an appointment with Dr. Victor Avery. Shortly before one o’clock Dr. Avery entered the restaurant, went to the table where Mr. Goodwin was, and sat, and Mr. Piotti notified Mr. Panzer in the kitchen, and he started the tape recorder. You are now going to hear the playback. Have I described the circumstances sufficiently?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any questions?”

“I’ll hear it first.”

Wolfe turned. “All right, Saul.” Saul got up and left, taking a glass of champagne along. The speaker was already on. In a moment came the crackles and background noises, and then my voice:

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

There was no point in watching Cramer; he would sit with his eyes on Wolfe, his lips tight and his eyes narrowed, no matter what he heard. It was more interesting to watch Fred and Orrie, who hadn’t heard it and knew next to nothing about it. They had turned on their chairs to face the grill. Fred assumed a deadpan, but broke into a broad grin when I told Avery to ring the DA’s office. Orrie cocked his head critically, to judge a colleague’s performance, and he glanced at me off and on to show that he appreciated the fine points. He smiled and nodded approvingly when I pried it out of Avery that he had entered the house, and he pursed his lips when I told Avery that Wolfe had him wrapped up and addressed straight to hell. Just jealous because he knew such a fine line was out of his class — followed by my exit line, “Do you prefer hell or are you coming?” Curtain.

Cramer pulled his feet back, not to get up. “By God,” he said hoarsely. “Did he come? Here?”