Рекс Стаут - Kill Now — Pay Later

Wolfe nodded. “You’re assuming that her father believed the lie and killed Ashby and then killed himself.”

“No, I’m not. I only know he might have. I haven’t seen her, I haven’t had a chance to talk with her. I could talk with her about this all right From the way I’m talking to you, you probably think I’m a pretty good talker, that I don’t have any trouble speaking my piece, but I’ve been wanting for more than a year to tell her how I feel, that I know how wonderful she is, that there’s no girl on earth like her, that I have never—”

“Yes. You established that point by asking her to marry you. She has probably grasped it As you will no doubt hear from her when you get a chance, she is certain that her father would not have believed such a lie about her, so he did not kill Ashby, so he did not kill himself. Therefore I need to know as much as possible about people’s movements at the critical times. According to the medical examiner as reported in the paper, Peter Vassos landed at the bottom of that cliff and died between ten o’clock and midnight Monday evening. Since Miss Vassos certainly won’t marry you if you killed her father, let’s eliminate you. Where were you those two hours?”

“I was at home. I went to bed about eleven o’clock.”

“You live alone?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You have no alibi. A man with an alibi is suspect ipso facto. Now for Mr. Ashby. Where were you at ten thirty-five Monday morning?”

“In my room. My office.”

“Alone?”

“Yes. I’ve gone over this with the police. Miss Vassos had been there taking letters, but she left about a quarter past ten. Pete came about a quarter to eleven and gave me a shine. In between those two times I was alone.”

“You didn’t leave your room?”

“No.”

“Was the door open and did you see anyone pass?”

“The door was open, but my room is at the end of the hall. I never see anyone pass.”

“Then you can’t help much. But you do corroborate Mr. Vassos’ account of his movements. If he came to your room at ten forty-five, shined your shoes, and went straight to Mr. Ashby’s room, he entered it about ten fifty-two. He arrived here at three minutes past eleven. Do you know where he had been just before coming to you?”

“Yes, he had been in Mr. Mercer’s room, giving him a shine.”

“And before that?”

“I don’t know. That’s what the police wanted to know. They think he had already been in Ashby’s room, that he went in by the other door and killed him.”

“Did they tell you that?”

“No, but it was obvious from their questions — about him and about that other door.”

“Does your room also have a door into the outer hall?”

“No. Ashby’s is the only one.”

Wolfe turned his head to look up at the wall clock. Half an hour till dinnertime. He looked at Busch. “Now, sir. As I told you at the beginning, I have concluded that Mr. Vassos did not kill Mr. Ashby, and I intend to find out who did and expose him. On this perhaps you can help. Who is safe or satisfied or solvent because Ashby is dead? Cui bono?”

“I don’t get — Oh.” Busch nodded. “Of course. That’s Latin. The police asked me too, but not like that. I told them I didn’t know, and I don’t. I saw very little of Ashby personally, I mean outside of business. I knew his wife when she worked there, her name was Snyder then, Joan Snyder, but I’ve only seen her a couple of times since she married Ashby two years ago. The way you put it, safe or satisfied or solvent because he’s dead — I don’t know.”

“What about people in the office?”

“Nobody liked him. I didn’t. I don’t think even Mr. Mercer did. We all knew he had saved the business, he was responsible for its success, but we didn’t like him. I had complaints from the girls about him. They didn’t like to go to his room. A few months ago one girl quit on account of him. When I took it up with Mr. Mercer he said Ashby had the defects of his qualities, that when he wanted something he never hesitated to go after it, and that was why the corporation’s income was ten times what it had been four years ago. But when I say nobody liked him maybe I ought to say except one.” His eyes went to Elma and back to Wolfe.

“Miss Vassos?”

“Good Lord, no.” He was shocked. “Because I looked at her? I just happened — I just wanted to. Miss Cox, Frances Cox, the receptionist. Ashby wouldn’t have a secretary, and Miss Cox did the things for him that a secretary does, appointments and so on, except stenography. Maybe she liked him; I suppose she must have. There was a lot of office gossip about them, but you can’t go by office gossip. If an office manager took all the gossip seriously he’d go crazy. Only one day last spring Ashby’s wife — I told you she was Joan Snyder when she worked there — she came and asked me to fire her.”

“To fire Miss Cox?”

“Yes. She said she was a bad influence on her husband. I had to laugh, I couldn’t help it — a bad influence on Dennis Ashby. I told her I couldn’t fire her, and I couldn’t. Ashby had had her salary raised twice without consulting me.”

Wolfe grunted. “Another name Miss Vassos has mentioned. Philip Horan. Since he’s a salesman, I presume he worked under Ashby?”

“Yes.”

“He had expected to get the promotion that Ashby had got?”

“Yes.”

“And he resented it?”

“Yes.”

“Then Ashby’s death is no bereavement for him?”

“No.”

“You are suddenly laconic. Have I touched a nerve?”

“Well... I thought Phil Horan deserved to get that job, and I still think so.”

“And he’ll get it now?”

“I suppose he will.”

“I won’t ask if he might have killed Ashby to get it; you’re partial and would of course say no.” Wolfe looked up at the clock. “Have you ever sat at table with Miss Vassos, had a meal with her?”

“I don’t see what bearing that has on—”

“None, but it’s a civil question. Have you?”

“No. I asked her twice, but she declined.”

“Then it was foolhardy to ask her to marry you. You can’t know what a woman is like until you see her at her food. I invite you to dine with us. There will be chicken sorrel soup with egg yolks and sherry, and roast quail with a sauce of white wine, veal stock, and white grapes. You will not be robbing us; there is enough.”

I didn’t catch his response because I was commenting to myself. The rule no business at meals was strictly enforced, but I would have to work right through the soup and quail on to the cheese and coffee, as an expert, taking Busch in. When he left I would be asked if his concern for Miss Vassos was real or phony, yes or no. If I couldn’t say, some good grub would have been wasted.

It was wasted.

The fur started to fly, the first flurry, a little after two Thursday afternoon, when Parker phoned while we were eating lunch — Elma with us — to say that he had just had a talk with an attorney representing John Mercer, Philip Horan, and Frances Cox. He had called before noon to say that all five of them had been served. He had told the attorney that his client, Elma Vassos, had retained him and told him to bring the actions after she had been advised to do so by Nero Wolfe, who was investigating the situation for her; that he was satisfied that his client had a valid complaint but he wouldn’t discuss it with the opposing counselor until the investigation had progressed further; that after careful consideration he felt that it would probably be impossible to arrive at a settlement without a court trial; and that he would of course report the conversation to his client, who was staying at Nero Wolfe’s house. I returned to the dining room and relayed it to Wolfe, who would not interrupt a meal to speak on the phone, and he muttered, “Satisfactory.”