Рекс Стаут - The Final Deduction

“We don’t need Goodwin,” Cramer said. “You’ll have him out on bail in the morning.”

“Bring them,” Wolfe snapped.

I returned to the front, removed the chain, pulled the door open, invited them in, and was surprised to see that there were three of them. Presumably the third one had stayed at the foot of the steps as a reserve in case I started shooting. You’ve got to use tactics when you go for a gorilla. I soon discovered how wrong I was when they followed me to the office and the third one darted by me to Wolfe’s desk, whipped a paper from a pocket, and shoved it at Wolfe. “For you,” he said and wheeled and was going, but Ben Dykes caught his arm and demanded, “Who are you?”

“Jack Duffy, process server,” he said and jerked loose and trotted out.

“A goddam paper boy,” Dykes said disgustedly. I stepped to the hall, saw that he shut the door as he went, and stepped back in. Wolfe had picked up the document and was scowling at it. He read it through, let it fall to the desk, leaned back, closed his eyes, and pushed his lips out. In a moment he pulled them in, then out, in, out...

Dykes said, “All right, Goodwin, let’s go.” The New York dick had suddenly recognized Inspector Cramer and was trying to catch his eye so he could salute, but Cramer was staring at Wolfe. In a minute Wolfe opened his eyes, straightened up, and asked his expert on women, me, “Is she a lunatic?” He tapped the document. “This is a summons. She is suing me, not only for the money in the suitcase, but also to recover the fee she paid me.”

“ That hurts you,” Cramer growled.

Wolfe regarded him. “Mr. Cramer, I have a proposal. I would prefer not to describe it for other ears, and I think you share that preference. It is within the discretion of the police to postpone service of a warrant of arrest if it is thought desirable. I suggest that you advise Mr. Dykes, who is accompanied by a member of your force, to wait until tomorrow noon to take Mr. Goodwin into custody, After they leave I’ll make my proposal.”

Cramer cocked his head and screwed his lips. He had to pretend to give it a hard look, but actually there was nothing to it. By now he knew darned well that Wolfe wasn’t grandstanding. He spoke. “Dykes is from Westchester. He has a New York man with him for courtesy, but the arrest is up to him.” His head turned. “What about it, Dykes? Would you have to phone White Plains?”

Dykes shook his head. “That wouldn’t be necessary, Inspector. I’m supposed to use my head.”

“All right, use it. You heard what Wolfe said. If it’s just a stall, you can take Goodwin tomorrow.”

Dykes hesitated. “If you don’t mind, Inspector, I’d like to be able to say that you made it a request.”

“Then say it. It’s a request.”

Dykes went to Wolfe’s desk and picked up the warrant, then turned to me. “You won’t leave the state, Goodwin.”

I told him I wouldn’t dream of it, and he headed out, followed by the dick, who never had got to salute Cramer. I got in front of them, wanting to be polite to a man who had postponed tossing me in the can, and let them out. When I returned to the office Wolfe was speaking.

“... but I must first satisfy myself. As I told you, I have no evidence. Mr. Goodwin has already been served with a warrant, and I have been served with a summons, and I prefer not to expose myself to an action for libel.”

“Nuts. Telling me privately, libel?”

“It’s conceivable. But in candor, that’s not the main point. I intend to take a certain step, and it’s highly likely that if I told you what I have deduced and assumed you would make it extremely difficult for me to take it, if not impossible. You wouldn’t dare to take it yourself because, like me, you would have no evidence. You’ll hear from me, probably tonight, and by tomorrow noon at the latest.”

Cramer was anything but pleased. “This is a hell of a proposal.”

“It’s the best I can do.” Wolfe looked at the clock. “I would like to proceed.”

“Sure you would.” Cramer reached for his hat and put it on. “I should have let Dykes take Goodwin. I’d sleep better if I knew he was in a cell.” He rose. “You’d have had to take your certain step anyway.” He moved and, halfway to the door, turned. “If you call me tomorrow and say you’ve decided that your deductions and assumptions were wrong, God help you.” He went. That time my going to see that the hall was empty when the door closed wasn’t just routine; he might really have stayed inside to get a line on the certain step. As I stepped back in Wolfe snapped, “Get Mrs. Vail.”

That wasn’t so simple. First I got a female, and after some insisting I got Ralph Purcell. After more insisting he told me to hold the wire, and after a wait I had him again, saying that his sister wouldn’t speak with Nero Wolfe or me either. I asked if he would give her a message, and he said yes, and I told him to tell her that Wolfe wanted to tell her how he had known the money was in the house. That did it. After another wait her voice came.

“This is Althea Vail. Nero Wolfe?”

He was at his phone. “Yes. I am prepared to tell you how I knew where the money was, but it’s possible that your telephone is tapped. I am also—”

“Why on earth would it be tapped?”

“The pervasive curiosity of the police. I am also prepared to tell you various other things. Examples: the name of the man to whom you gave the suitcase on Iron Mine Road; how I know that there was no Mr. Knapp; the reason why Mr. Vail had to be killed. I shall expect you at my office at nine o’clock this evening.”

Silence. She hadn’t hung up, but the silence lasted so long that I thought she had left the phone. So long that Wolfe finally asked, “Are you there, madam?”

“Yes.” More silence, but after half a minute: “I’ll come now.”

“No. It will take some time and would run into the dinner hour. Nine o’clock.”

“I’ll be there.” The connection went.

We hung up, and I turned to Wolfe. “What’s all the hurry? You haven’t got a single solitary scrap.”

He was glaring at the phone and switched it to me. “I will not have you carted off to jail on a complaint by that silly wretch. It should be worth keeping. Is that thing in order?”

“I suppose so. It was the last time we used it.”

“Test it.”

I got up, slipped my hand in between my desk and the wall, and flipped a switch. Then I went and sat in the red leather chair and said in a fairly low voice, “Nero Wolfe is going to put on a charade, and let us hope he doesn’t break a leg.” I went to my desk and turned it off, then went to the kitchen, opened a cupboard door, did some manipulating, and flipped a switch, and in a few seconds my voice came out: “Nero Wolfe is going to put on a charade, and let us hope he doesn’t break a leg.” I reached in and turned it off, returned to the office, and reported, “It’s okay. Anything else?”

“Yes. That idiot may have a gun or a bomb or heaven knows what. Stay near her.”

“Or she may have a lawyer.”

“No. No indeed. She’s not that big an idiot.” He picked up the summons and scowled at it.

She came at 8:50, ten minutes ahead of time. I was getting Wolfe’s okay on a change in the program when the doorbell rang. In order to stay near her I would have had to sit in one of the yellow chairs near the red leather chair, and I prefer to be at my desk, or I would have had to put her in one of the yellow chairs near me, and Wolfe prefers to have a caller in the red leather chair because the window is then at his back.

It was a pleasant May Day evening, and she had no wrap over her tailored suit, so the only problem was her handbag — a big black leather one with a trick clasp. I learned about the clasp when I tried to open it, after I had got it from her lap and taken it to my desk. Her reaction to my snatching it, which I did as soon as she was seated and had no hand on it, showed the condition of her nerves. She made no sound and no movement, but merely stared at me as I took it to my desk, and she said nothing while I fiddled with it, finding the trick clasp and opening it, and inspected the contents. Nothing in it seemed to be menacing, and when I went and put it back on her lap she had transferred the stare to Wolfe. I might have felt a little sorry for her if it hadn’t been for the warrant that Ben Dykes would be back with at noon tomorrow. When you grab a woman’s bag and open it and go through it, and all she does is sit and stare, she could certainly use a little sympathy.