Рекс Стаут - A Family Affair

Saul got up and went to the desk and picked up the phone.

I wouldn’t want to go through that again. I don’t mean the three hours while we discussed it and decided what to do. The hour after he came, while we did it.

I’m not even sure we would have gone through with it if it hadn’t been for the bomb. We felt silly, at least I did, standing there at the door of the apartment while he was on his way up the three flights, standing so he could only see Saul as he approached — Saul in the doorway to greet the arriving guest.

As I think I mentioned, Orrie was half an inch taller than me and fully as broad, without a flabby ounce on him. As he stepped in, we jumped him, Saul from the back and Fred and I from the sides, and pinned him. His reflex, his muscles acting on their own, lasted only half a second. Saul’s arm was around his neck, locking him. No one said anything. Saul started to go over him from behind, first his right side and then his left. His topcoat wasn’t buttoned. From under his left arm Saul took his gun, which was of course to be expected, and dropped it on the rug. Then from his inside breast pocket Saul’s hand came out with something that was not to be expected because Orrie didn’t smoke: an aluminum cigar tube. Don Pedro.

Fred said, “Jesus Christ.”

As I said, without that I’m not sure we would have gone through with it. Saul made sure the cap was screwed on tight and put it in his own breast pocket and finished the frisking job. Fred and I turned loose and moved back, and Orrie turned and took a step. Going to leave. Actually. Saul was there and kicked the door shut. I said, “Hell, you might have known, Orrie. You should have known. Coming here with that in your pocket? What do you take us for?”

Fred said, “ You said it, Saul. You said we had to jump him. Jesus Christ.”

Saul said, “On in, Orrie. It’s our deal.”

I had never had the idea that Orrie Cather was dumb. He was no Saul Panzer, but he wasn’t dumb. But he was dumb then. “What for?” he said. “All right, you’ve got it.” His voice was almost normal, just squeezed a little. “I’m not going to blow. I’m going home.”

“Oh, no, you’re not,” Fred said. “My god, don’t you know it’s coming and you’ve got to take it?”

Saul had picked up the gun, an old S & W.38 Orrie had had for years, and stuck it in his pocket. “On in, Orrie. Move. We’re going to talk.” I took hold of his left arm. He jerked loose and took a step and kept going, to the arch and on into the big room. Saul got ahead of him and led the way across to the couch. The four of us had played pinochle in that room. We had tagged Paul Rago for murder in that room. Orrie took the chair in the middle, with Saul on his left and Fred on his right, and me on the couch. As Saul sat, he said, “Tell him, Archie.”

“Fred has already told you,” I told Orrie. “You’ve got to take it. We’re not going to turn you in. I don’t have to explain why that wouldn’t—”

“You don’t have to explain anything.”

“Then I won’t. I’ll just tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to make it impossible for you to live. I’m going to see Jill tomorrow, or Saul is. You’re through with her. You’re through with any kind of work, not only in New York. Anywhere in the world. You’re through with any kind of contact with people that means anything. You know us and you know Nero Wolfe. We know what it will cost us, Nero Wolfe in money and us in time and effort, but that’s what we have to pay for not realizing long ago that someday, somehow, we would be sorry we didn’t cross you off. Exactly how—”

“You didn’t have any reason to cross me off.”

“Certainly we did. For instance, Isabel Kerr. Eight years ago. You got yourself in the can on a murder rap, and it was a job to get you out. And—”

“That was just a bad break. You know damn well it was.”

“Skip it. It isn’t just a bad break that you have killed three people. It isn’t just—”

“You can’t prove it. You can’t prove a damned thing.”

Fred said, “Jesus Christ.” I said, “We don’t have to prove it. We don’t want to prove it. I told you, we’re not going to turn you in, we’re going to make it impossible for you to live. You’ve bought it, and we’re going to deliver it. Actually, we could prove it, but you know what it would mean, especially for Nero Wolfe. We could probably prove the first one, Bassett. As you know, they have got the bullet that killed him, a thirty-eight, and the gun that fired it is probably now in Saul’s pocket. And Pierre—”

“That was self-defense, Archie. Bassett was going to ruin me.”

“Pierre wasn’t going to ruin you.”

“Yes, he was. When he learned about Bassett he remembered about me and the slip of paper. I had been damn fool enough to give him a hundred dollars for the slip of paper. He demanded a thousand dollars. A grand. He came that Sunday, two days after Bassett, and asked for a grand. He said that was all he wanted, he wouldn’t come back, but you know how that is. You said once that all blackmailers ought to be shot.”

“You didn’t shoot him. Sunday? The next day or evening you went to that room at Rusterman’s and put that thing in his coat pocket. Then his daughter was going to ruin you, and you shot her, and they’ve got that bullet too. You had another bomb, probably got two for the price of one, but you couldn’t use it on her because she knew what had killed her father. And you brought it with you here tonight. I thought Saul did a good job with his voice on the phone, but I suppose after killing three people your nerves are on edge. And we are going to ruin you.”

Saul got up and left the room. Sometimes a trip to the bathroom can’t be postponed. But it wasn’t the bathroom; his footsteps on the tiled hall floor went on to the kitchen. Fred rose and stretched his legs and sat down again. Orrie glanced up at him and then sent his eyes back to me. No one spoke. Footsteps again, and Saul was back. Instead of returning to his chair, he joined me and on the couch between us he put what he had gone for: a roll of adhesive tape, a pair of pliers, and a couple of paper towels. He got the Don Pedro cigar tube from his pocket, checked the cap again, gripped it in the middle with the pliers, wiped it good with a paper towel, laid it on the edge of the other paper towel, and rolled the towel around it, tucking in the ends. Then about a yard of adhesive tape, all the way with both ends covered. A very neat wrapping job, with an appreciative audience.

“We’ll keep the gun,” he said. “As you said, Archie, we’re not going to turn him in, but we’ll keep it just in case. But he can have this. Right?”

“Sure,” I said. “Now that you’ve gift-wrapped it. Fred?”

“I guess so.” Fred nodded. “Okay.”

Saul got up and offered it, but Orrie didn’t take it. His hands were on his knees, the curled fingers moving in and out a little as if they couldn’t decide whether to make fists. He hadn’t taken his topcoat off. Saul stepped to him, pulled open his topcoat and jacket, put the tube back where he had found it, in the inside breast pocket, and went to his chair. Orrie’s hand went into the pocket and came out again, empty.

“Dora Bassett came to see us this morning,” I told Orrie. “I took her up to my room, and we had a talk. I’ll see Jill tomorrow, if she’s not on a flight.”

“I’ll go along,” Fred said. “I like Jill.”

“I’ll start with Del Bascom,” Saul said. “Then Pete Vawter.”

Orrie stood up and said, “I’m going to see Nero Wolfe.”

We all stared at him. Fred said, “Jesus Christ.” Saul said, “How are you going to get in?” I said, “He won’t. Of course not. He’s cracked.”