Рекс Стаут - Gambit

“Like hell it’s all.” Cramer was trying not to explode. “We can’t keep Blount, I give you that, and you’re damn right I’ll take the tape, and you heard me tell Stebbins to get Avery, but when I get him what have I got? As you said yourself, not a scrap of evidence. You got information that identified a murderer, and what did you do with it?”

“Nonsense.” Wolfe was curt. “Just now you contemned that information as coming from a man in jail for murder and my client. Am I obliged to disclose information entrusted to me by a client for investigation in his interest?”

“It’s not a—”

“I want an answer. Am I?”

“No. But you are now. You trap a murderer, and you let him listen to that tape, and you let him go, before you call me. Now you’re obliged to give me the information, and I want it. What made Jerin sick? Was it in the chocolate? Who put it in? How did Avery know he would get sick? What did Kalmus know? Exactly what did Blount tell Goodwin? Well?”

Wolfe turned. “Archie. What was your commitment to Mr. Blount?”

I admit I was slightly keyed. I seldom drink champagne when on duty, to prevent dereliction. “Everything he told me,” I said, “was in absolute confidence. There was no Bible handy, so I crossed my heart. If you pass it on to a cop, even an inspector, I’m sunk. Possibly Saul and Fred and Orrie combined can fill my shoes.”

Wolfe turned to Cramer. “Mr. Goodwin is tipsy. But his commitment extends to me. I suggest that before you release Mr. Blount you ask him to give you the information he gave Mr. Goodwin, in confidence of course, and probably he will oblige you. You know very well—”

The phone rang, and I swiveled and got it. After the first two words of my phone formula a deep gritty voice interrupted, “I want Inspector Cramer,” and I turned and told him, “For you. Stebbins.”

In writing these reports I try not to give the impression that I think I can see through solid doors or around corners. If I had a hunch at a certain point, as I do now and then, I usually omit it because I can’t expect you to take my word for it. But if Wolfe can break his rules I can break mine, and here goes one. When I handed Cramer the receiver I knew what he was going to hear. I didn’t suspect, I knew. I suppose Purley’s interrupting me, his tone of voice, his not asking if Cramer was there but just saying he wanted him — anyway, I knew, and I was even surer when Cramer said practically nothing, just listened, with only a couple of growls and a couple of questions. So it was no surprise when he cradled the phone and wheeled to Wolfe and croaked, “Damn you and your lousy tricks! Goddam you!”

“Mr. Cramer, if you—”

“Don’t Mister me! You think you’re a — I don’t know what you think you are, but I know what I know you are! Avery stuck a gun in his mouth and blew the top of his head off. Go ahead and collect your fee. That will satisfy you, won’t it? Are you satisfied?” He hit the desk with his fist. “Are you?”

Wolfe turned his head to look at the wall clock. Quarter past four. He would be late for his date with the orchids.

“Yes,” he said politely, “I’m satisfied. You will be too when you cool off. You have been delivered from the ignominy of convicting an innocent man, and from the embarrassment of arresting a guilty man who couldn’t be convicted.”