Рекс Стаут - The Final Deduction

Mrs. Vail nodded. “I did exactly what he told me to. Of course Mr. Graham at the bank was suspicious — no, not suspicious, curious — and he wanted me to tell him what the money was for, but I didn’t. It was my money. I got to Fowler’s Inn too early, and sat in the car until ten o’clock, and then went in. I tried not to show how nervous I was, but I suppose I did; I kept looking at my watch, and at twenty after ten I was called to the phone. It was in a booth. The voice sounded like the other one, Mr. Knapp, but he didn’t say. He told me to look in the Manhattan phone book where Z begins, and hung up. I looked in the phone book, and there was a note. I have it.” She extracted another sheet of paper and handed it to me. “Read it, Mr. Goodwin.”

“Wait a minute.” It was Jimmy Vail. He had moved and was standing looking down at his wife. “I think you’d better call a halt, Al. You and I had better have a talk. Telling Goodwin all this, telling Frost — it’s not Friday yet.”

She lifted a hand to touch his arm. “I have to, Jimmy. I have to, now that Dinah — my God, they killed her! Read it, Mr. Goodwin.”

It was the same typing, and on the same cheap paper as the note that had come in the mail. I read it aloud.

Leave immediately. Speak to no one. Go to car. Read the rest of this after you are in the car. Drive to Route 7 and turn right. Beyond Weston leave Route 7 on any byroad and turn off of it in a mile or so onto some other byroad. Do this, taking turns at random, for half an hour, then return to Route 7 and go towards Danbury. A mile beyond Branchville stop at The Fatted Calf, take a table and order a drink. You’ll get a message.

“I’ll take that,” Jimmy Vail said. “And the other one.” His hand was there for them. From his tone, it seemed likely that if I tried to argue that I wanted to show them to Wolfe I would lose the debate, so I got the texts in my notebook in shorthand. That wasn’t really necessary, since after years of practice I can report long conversations verbatim, but with such documents as those it was desirable. Transferring typed text to shorthand was practically automatic, so my ears could take in what Mrs. Vail was saying:

“I did what the note said. I think a car was following me all the time, but I wasn’t sure. I think I didn’t want to know, I didn’t want to be sure. The same thing happened at The Fatted Calf, the same as Fowler’s Inn. At ten minutes after eleven I was called to the phone, and the same voice told me to look in the phone book where U begins, and there was another note.” She handed it to me. “Read it.”

Same typing, same paper. I read:

Leave immediately. Speak to no one. Read the rest of this in the car. Continue on Route 7 to the intersection with Route 35. Turn left on Route 35, and continue on 35 through Ridgefield. Two miles beyond Ridgefield turn left onto Route 123. Go 1.7 miles on Route 123 and turn right onto Iron Mine Road. Go slow. When a car behind blinks its lights three times, stop. The car will stop behind you. Get out and open the trunk. A man will approach and say, “It’s time for a Knapp,” and you will give him the suitcase. He will tell you what to do.

“He did,” Mrs. Vail said. “He told me to drive straight back to New York, here, without stopping. He told me not to tell anyone anything until Jimmy came back or he would never come back. He said he would be back within twenty-four hours. And he was! He is! Thank God!” She put out a hand to touch her Jimmy, but had to stretch because he was sticking with me to get the notes. I was getting the last one in my notebook. The Tedder son and daughter were saying something, and so was Andrew Frost. Finishing with my shorthand, I reached around Jimmy to hand the papers to Mrs. Vail. He had a hand there, but I ignored it, and she took them. She spoke to me.

“You see why I had to tell Nero Wolfe. Or you.”

“I can guess,” I told her. “Mr. Wolfe told you we suspected that Dinah Utley was implicated in the kidnaping. Now I tell you that her body was found on Iron Mine Road, at the spot where you turned over the suitcase, or near there. That complicates your problem when Westchester County comes to ask you about Dinah Utley and why you had her go to see Mr. Wolfe, especially if you and your husband still want to save it until Friday. Haven’t they been here yet?”

“No.”

“They soon will be. As for Mr. Wolfe and me, we’ll stand pat until eleven o’clock Friday morning. He made it eleven o’clock because that’s when he comes down from the plant rooms. As for you and your husband, and now also your son and daughter and brother and lawyer, you’ll have to decide for yourselves. It’s risky to withhold information material to a murder, but if it’s for self-protection from a real danger, if you think Mr. Knapp meant business when he told your husband he’d regret it if he or you spilled it before Friday, I doubt if you’ll have any serious trouble. Is that what you want from Mr. Wolfe or me?”

“No.” She had the papers back in the envelope and was clutching it. “Only partly that. I want to know why you thought Dinah was implicated.”

“Naturally.” I put the notebook back in my pocket. “You didn’t see her there? At Iron Mine Road?”

“No, of course not.”

“Not of course not, since she was there. Was the man alone in the car behind you?”

“I didn’t see anyone else. It was dark. I wasn’t — I wasn’t caring if there was anyone else.”

“What did the man look like?”

“I don’t know. He had a coat and a hat pulled down, and his face was covered with something, all but his eyes.”

“Who left first, him or you?”

“I did. He told me to. I had to go on up the road to find a place to turn around.”

“Was his car still there when you came back past the spot?”

“Yes. He had it up against the bank so I could get by.”

“Did you see any other car anywhere on that road?”

“No.” She gestured impatiently. “What has this to do with Dinah?”

“Nothing,” Noel Tedder said. “He’s a detective. It’s his nature. He’s putting you through the wringer.”

“I insist,” Andrew Frost said emphatically, “that this is ill-advised. Very ill-advised. You’re making a mistake, Althea. Don’t you agree, Jimmy?”

Jimmy was back at the fireplace. “Yes,” he said. “I agree.”

“But Jimmy, you must see,” she protested. “She was there! And they killed her! You must see I want to know why Nero Wolfe suspected her!” To me: “Why did he?”

I shook my head. “I only run errands. But you’re welcome to a hint.” I stood up. “That phone talk you had with Mr. Knapp Monday afternoon, that Dinah listened to and took down. May I see the machine she typed it on?”

The three men spoke at once. Jimmy Vail and Andrew Frost both said, “No!” and Noel Tedder said, “Didn’t I tell you?” Mrs. Vail ignored them and asked, “Why?”

“I’ll probably tell you after I see it. And I may have a suggestion to make. Is it here?”

“It’s in my study.” She arose. “Will you tell me why you suspected Dinah?”

“I’ll either tell you or you’ll have a healthy idea.”

“All right, come with me.” She moved, paying no attention to protests from the men. I followed her out and along the hall to a door frame where she pressed a button. The door of a do-it-yourself elevator slid open, and we entered. That elevator was a much newer and neater job than the one in Wolfe’s house that took him up to his room or the roof. No noise or jiggle. When it stopped and the door opened, she stepped out and led the way down the hall, some narrower than the one below. The room we entered was much smaller than the Harold F. Tedder library. Inside, I stopped for a glance around — that’s habit. Two desks, one large and one small, shelves with books and magazines, filing cabinet, a large wall mirror, a television set on a table, framed photographs. Mrs. Vail had crossed to the small desk. She turned and said, “It’s not here! The typewriter.”