Rex Stout - Bitter End

“You’re too late, Mr. Judd.” It was Nero Wolfe taking a hand. “Either keep still or go home. You’re licked.”

“I have never been licked.”

“Pfui! You are now. And this is my house you’re in. If you try interrupting me, Mr. Goodwin will throw you out with enthusiasm.” Wolfe turned to Philip: “Mr. Tingley, I’m afraid you’re holding the short end of the stick. The police have got the box. Its contents are known, so you have no lever to use on Mr. Judd. And you’re deep in another hole, too. Mr. Judd, who advises you to keep your mouth shut, has himself been talking. We know of your call on him Monday and the demands you made; and of the copies you showed him of the contents of that box; and of your talk with Arthur Tingley yesterday afternoon; and of the arrangement he made for you and Mr. Judd to come to his office last evening—”

Philip snarled at Judd. “You dirty rat—”

Wolfe sailed over it. “Also, we know that you went there. You walked to the building in the rain, wearing a raincoat, entered at twenty minutes to eight, and came out again seven minutes later. What did you see inside? What did you do?”

“Don’t answer him,” Judd commanded sharply. “He’s only—”

“Save it,” Philip told him in harsh contempt. He looked sullenly at Wolfe. “Yes, I went there, and I went in, and I saw him there dead on the floor.”

“What—?” Cramer began blurting, but Wolfe stopped him: “I’ll do this... Mr. Tingley, I beg you to reflect. I may know more than you think I do. You got there at seven-forty — is that right?”

“About that, yes.”

“And Tingley was dead?”

“Yes.”

“What if I have evidence that he was alive at eight o’clock?”

“You couldn’t have. He was dead when I got there.”

“Was Amy Duncan there?”

“Yes. She was on the floor unconscious.”

“Did you see anyone else anywhere in the building?”

“No.”

“Where did you go besides Tingley’s office?”

“Nowhere. I went straight there and straight out.”

“You were there seven minutes. What did you do?”

“I—” Philip halted and shifted in his chair. “I felt Amy’s pulse. I wanted to get her out of there — but I didn’t dare — and she was breathing all right and her pulse was pretty good. Then I—” He stopped.

“Yes? You what?”

“I looked for the box. The safe door was standing open, but it wasn’t in there. I looked a few other places, and then I heard Amy move, or thought I did, and I left. Anyway, I thought Judd had been there and killed him and taken the box, so I didn’t hope to find it. So I left.”

Wolfe was scowling at him. “Are you aware,” he demanded, “of what you’re saying? Are your wits working?”

“You’re damned right they are.”

“Nonsense. You had previously stolen the box from the safe and had it in your possession. How could you have been looking for it in that office last evening?”

“I didn’t have it in my possession.”

“Oh, come. Don’t be ass enough—”

“I say I didn’t have it. I had had it. I didn’t have it then. He went to my place and found it and took it.”

“Who did? When?”

“My half-brother. Arthur Tingley. He went to my flat yesterday afternoon — I don’t know how he got in — and found it.”

So that, I thought, turning a page of my notebook, was the errand that had called Tingley away from his office when I had gone there to interview him about quinine.

Wolfe asked, “How do you know that?”

“Because he told me. He had the box there in the safe yesterday afternoon.”

“Are you telling me that at five o’clock yesterday afternoon that box was in Tingley’s safe in his office?”

“I am.”

“And when you returned two hours later, at seven-forty, it was gone?”

“It was. Judd had been there. Judd had taken it. And if the lousy ape thinks he can—”

“Be quiet, please,” Wolfe said testily. He closed his eyes.

We sat. Wolfe’s lips were moving, pushing out and then drawing in again. Judd started to say something, and Cramer shushed him. The inspector knew the signs as well as I did.

Wolfe’s eyes opened, but they were directed, not at Judd or Philip, but at me. “What time,” he asked, “did it begin raining yesterday?”

“I said, “Seven P.M.”

“Seven precisely?”

“Maybe a little after. Not much.”

“Not even a drizzle before that?”

“No.”

“Good.” He wiggled a finger at Sergeant Foster. “Let me have that box.”

Foster handed him the box.

Wolfe looked at Philip Tingley: “When you stole this from the safe you had no key for it. So you had to pry it open?”

“No,” Philip denied, “I didn’t pry it open.”

“The metal is gouged and twisted—”

“I can’t help that. I didn’t do it. I suppose Judd did. I took it to a locksmith and told him I had lost my key, and had him make one that would open it.”

“Then it was locked yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” Wolfe looked pleased with himself. “That settles it, I think. Let’s see.” Whereupon he grasped the box firmly in both hands and shook it violently from side to side. His attitude suggested that he was listening for something, but the banging of the shoes against the metal sides of the box was all there was to hear. He nodded with satisfaction. “That’s fine,” he declared.

“Nuts,” Cramer said.

“By no means. Some day, Mr. Cramer — but no, I suppose never. I would like a few words with you and Archie. If your men will take these gentlemen to the front room?”

When they were shut off by the sound-proofed door Cramer advanced on Wolfe with his jaw leading the way. “Look here—”

“No,” Wolfe said decisively. “I tolerate your presence here and that’s all. Take a guest from my house with a warrant, will you? I want to know what has been removed from Mr. Tingley’s office.”

“But if Judd—”

“No. Take them if you want to, get them out of here, and I’ll proceed alone.”

“Do you know who killed Tingley?”

“Certainly. I know all about it. But I need something. What has been removed from that office?”

Cramer heaved a sigh. “Damn you, anyway. The corpse. Two bloody towels. The knife and the weight. Five small jars with some stuff in them which we found in a drawer of Tingley’s desk. We had the stuff analyzed and it contained no quinine. We were told they were routine samples.”

“That’s all?”

“Yes.”

“No other sample jars were found?”

“No.”

“Then it’s still there. It ought to be. It must be... Archie, go and get it. Find it and bring it here. Mr. Cramer will telephone his men there to help you.”

“Huh,” Cramer grunted. “I will?”

“Certainly you will.”

“As for me,” I put in, “I’m a wonder at finding things, but I get better results when I know what I’m looking for.”

“Pfui! What was it I spit out yesterday at lunch?”

“Oh, is that it? Okay.” I beat it, then.

It was only a three-minute ride to Tingley’s, and I figured it might take longer than that for Wolfe to get Cramer to make the phone call, so I took a taxi to East 29th Street and picked up the roadster and drove it on from there. The entrance door at the top of the stone steps was locked, but just as I was lifting my fist to beat a tattoo I heard the clatter of feet inside, and in a moment the door opened and a towering specimen looked down at me.

“You Goodwin?” he demanded.

“I am Mr. Goodwin. Old Lady Cramer—”

“Yeah. You sound like what I’ve heard of you. Enter.”

I did so, and preceded him up the stairs. In Tingley’s office an affair with a thin little mouth in a big face was awaiting us, seated at a table littered with newspapers.