Рекс Стаут - Gambit

“That depends.” Wolfe put the pot down. “I trust myself implicitly. Anyone else will do well to make certain of our understanding.”

Hausman nodded. “That’s always essential. But I mean — uh — suppose I hire you to do a job, how far can I depend on you?”

“If I commit myself, to the extent of my abilities. But this is fatuous. Do you hope to determine my quality by asking banal and offensive questions? You must know that a man can have only one invulnerable loyalty, loyalty to his own concept of the obligations of manhood. All other loyalties are merely deputies of that one.”

“Hunh,” Hausman said. “I’d like to play you a game of chess.”

“Very well. I have no board or men. Pawn to Queen Four.”

“Pawn to Queen Four.”

“Pawn to Queen Bishop Four.”

“Pawn to King Three.”

“Knight to King Bishop Three.”

“You mean Queen Bishop Three.”

“No. King Bishop Three.”

“But the Queen’s Knight is a better move! All the books say so.”

“That’s why I didn’t make it. I knew you would expect it and know the best answer to it.”

Hausman’s lips worked a little. “Then I can’t go on. Not without a board.” He picked up his cup, emptied it, and put it down. “You’re sharp, aren’t you?”

“I prefer ‘adroit,’ but yes.”

“I have a job for you.” He showed his teeth. “Who has hired you to work on that — uh — murder at the Gambit Club? Kalmus?”

“Ask him.”

“I’m asking you.”

“Mr. Hausman.” Wolfe was patient. “First you inquired about my furniture and my habits, then about my probity, and now about my private affairs. Can’t you contrive a question which deserves an answer?”

“You won’t tell me who hired you?”

“Of course not.”

“But someone did?”

“Yes.”

“Then it must have been Kalmus. Or Anna — Mrs. Blount...” He took a moment to consider it. “No. Kalmus. He has had no experience with this kind of thing and no talent for it. I am Matthew Blount’s oldest friend. I knew him as a boy. I am his daughter’s godfather. So I am interested, deeply interested, in his — uh — welfare. And with Kalmus handling this there’s no hope for him, no hope at all. Kalmus has hired you, but you’re under his direction and control, and with him in charge there’s no hope. He has paid you a retainer. How much?”

Wolfe’s shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. He looked at me with his brows raised, saying without words, “See what you let in?”

“Then you won’t,” Hausman said. “All right, that can wait. I want to hire you to do something that will get results. There will be no conflict of interest because this is in Matthew Blount’s interest too. I’ll pay you myself. I may get it back from Blount later, but that’s no concern of yours. How much do you already know about what happened that night at the Gambit Club?”

“Enough, perhaps. If I lack needed information you can probably supply it.”

“You know about the chocolate? That the police theory is that Blount poisoned that man by putting arsenic in the chocolate?”

“Yes.”

“Then all we have to do is to prove that somebody else put arsenic in the chocolate. That would free Blount?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s the thing to do. I thought of this last week, but I knew how Kalmus would react if I went to him with it, and I didn’t want to do it myself because there are certain — uh — difficulties. Then today I saw that item in the paper about you. I asked you how far I can count on you because this has to be absolutely confidential. Would you do something that would free Blount without telling Kalmus, before or after?”

“If it were something I had engaged to do, yes.”

“And without telling anyone else?”

“If I had made the engagement with that condition, yes.”

“It will be with that condition.” Hausman looked at me. “What’s your name?”

“Archie Goodwin.”

“Leave the room.”

I put my coffee cup down. I seldom drink three cups, but the situation had got on my nerves hours ago, and that bozo wasn’t helping any. “Anything to oblige a client,” I said, “but you’re not a client yet. If I left, I’d have to stand at the peephole to look and listen, and I’d rather sit.”

He looked at Wolfe. “This is for you only.”

“Then it’s not for me. What’s for me is categorically for Mr. Goodwin.”

I thought for ten seconds Hausman was going to call it off, and so did he. He showed his teeth; and his lips stayed parted for a full ten seconds while his eyes went back and forth to Wolfe and me. Finally they settled on Wolfe, and he spoke. “I act on impulse. I came here on impulse. You said something about a man’s loyalty to his concept of the obligations of manhood, and I owe this to Matthew Blount. I’m a hard man, Wolfe. If you or Goodwin cross me you’ll regret it.”

Wolfe grunted. “Then we must be at pains not to.”

“You had better. No man has ever crossed me without regretting it. I want you to get proof that someone else put the arsenic in the chocolate. I’ll tell you exactly how to do it. All you have to do is follow instructions. I have it planned to the last detail.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe leaned back. “Then it shouldn’t be difficult. You say ‘someone.’ Any particular one?”

“Yes. His name is Bernard Nash. He’s the steward of the Gambit Club. There was arsenic there in the kitchen. Isn’t arsenic used to poison rats?”

“It has been. It can be.”

“There was some there in the kitchen, and by mistake Nash put some in the chocolate. Perhaps instead of sugar. When I said I have it planned to the last detail I meant the basic details. You will arrange the minor details with Nash, of course without any mention of me — the kind of container the arsenic was in, where it was kept, how much he put in the chocolate — all such points. Also, of course, how and when he disposed of the container afterward. When Blount went down to the kitchen with the pot and cup and emptied them — do you know about that?”

“Yes.”

“He told the steward and the cook that Jerin was ill and asked about the chocolate. After he left, with the fresh chocolate, Nash thought about it, and realized what he had done, and disposed of the container with arsenic in it. Isn’t that plausible?”

“It’s credible.”

“Of course that will have to be carefully considered — how and where and when he disposed of the container. I realize that in a matter like this nothing can be overlooked, absolutely nothing. That’s why I came to you. With your experience, you know exactly what the police will do. You will know how to arrange it so there will be no possibility of a slip. But on one point I’m going to insist. Nash will have to retract what he has told the police — undoubtedly he has signed a statement — and he must have a good reason. The reason will be that after Kalmus hired you, you saw Nash and questioned him, and you forced him to admit what he had done. I insist on that. That way there will be no indication that I have had a hand in it. Of course you agree.”

Wolfe was rubbing his nose with a finger tip. “I might, after talking with Mr. Nash. Has he agreed?”

“Certainly not. But he will, with the inducement you’ll offer. That won’t be the difficulty, getting him to do it; the difficulty will be arranging all the little details so the police will be satisfied. That’s up to you.”

“What inducement will I offer?”

“That’s up to you too. I’ll pay you fifty thousand dollars, and you’ll give me a receipt for payment in full for services rendered. I think if you offer Nash half that amount, twenty-five thousand, that will be ample. He has personal difficulties and needs money badly. Only a month ago he appealed to me for help. He wanted me to lend him fifteen thousand dollars, but I would never have got it back. His wife is ill and needs a series of operations and other expensive treatment, he’s in debt on account of her, and he has two sons in college, and two daughters. He has the stupid pride of a man who can’t afford pride. All you’re asking him to do is admit he made a mistake. A mistake isn’t a crime. With twenty-five thousand dollars he could get a good lawyer, and with a good lawyer he would probably get off. Wouldn’t he?”