Рекс Стаут: Death of a Doxy

Fritz was giving the carpet a play, and Julie, in pajamas and barefoot, was standing in the doorway, watching him. He had his back to her, pretending he didn’t know she was there. I went and switched the vacuum off with my toe and spoke. “You might have waited until she was up.”

“I am up,” she said. “What time is it? I forgot to wind my watch.”

A bellow came from below. “Archie! Where are you?” I called down where I was, and more bellow came. “Tell Miss Jaquette I want her!”

Ballou had been gone not more than three minutes, and already he had a situation created. Which I handled. I told Julie her breakfast couldn’t be ready for half an hour and asked if she would consider having grapefruit juice and coffee in the office while Wolfe explained something to her. She asked why I couldn’t explain it, and I said because Wolfe knew more words. She went to change, and I went down and thanked Fritz for helping out in a pinch, requested coffee for the guest, and poured a glass of grapefruit juice.

And after that handling, when I went to the office Wolfe said perhaps it would be better for him to discuss it with me, and then I would discuss it with her. I didn’t try to talk him out of it; I just said no. I admit it was still in my gizzard that it was pure luck that she hadn’t been ironed out while I was standing right by her. I’m all for luck, but you shouldn’t crowd it. After what I had told her about lowering the blind and closing the drapes, I should have gone over for a look behind the wall before she got out of the taxi.

When she came down, not in the blue thing, in a dark green woolen dress, the tray was there on the stand by the red leather chair. She sat, picked up the glass and took a sip of juice, and said, “I’m all balled up. This will be the first time since I don’t know when that I don’t have breakfast in bed. It had better be good — I mean what you’re going to explain.”

Wolfe was regarding her, his lips tight. “I apologize. But we should lose no time. I say ‘we’ because I’m going to propose a collaboration. Have you all the money you want, Miss Jaquette?”

She had started the glass for her mouth but stopped it halfway. “Of all the dumb questions,” she said.

“But not pointless. Nor impertinent. I need to know if a chance — a long one, but a chance — of making fifty thousand dollars would interest you. Would it?”

“That’s even dumber.”

“Would it?”

“You’re asking me?”

“I am.”

“Fifty grand in cash?”

“Yes.”

“Less income tax.”

“Not until you paid it. I suggest nothing; I state a fact: it would be in cash, and you would sign no receipt.”

She sipped juice. “Do you know what I would do if I had fifty grand in one wad? I would go to school for four straight years. Or five.” She sipped juice. “I suppose some college; I finished high school. I have a feeling there are a lot of things I ought to know that I don’t know. I always have it. You say you’re being serious?”

“Yes. There is a possibility of earning a hundred thousand dollars, and we would share it equally. It would come from the man who paid Isabel Kerr’s bills — the man you call the lobster. He was here just now, and we—”

“He was here! You know him?”

“Yes. It was his third visit. He was here twice last week. He is a man of wealth and what is called standing. To you his name is X and will remain X. He fears that his name will become public in connection with what he calls his diversion and a sensational murder, and you and Mr. Goodwin and I will try to prevent it. If we succeed, he will pay. For that you have my word, he will pay. His fear is extreme. Shall I go on?”

She had put the glass down, not quite empty. “You are serious,” she said.

“Yes.”

“You mean it.”

“Yes.”

“All right, go on. How do we prevent it?”

“That’s the question. Probably we can’t, but possibly we can. If I go on I must tell you things that must not be repeated, and first you must answer two questions. Are you willing to help?”

“How? I don’t see how I can help.”

“You already have. You have established the identity of the blackmailer indubitably, and the identity of the murderer as a sound conclusion. If you can help with this, are you willing?”

She looked at me. I not only looked back, I nodded. She told Wolfe, “Yes, I’m willing.”

“Do you engage to keep secret what I tell you in confidence?”

“Yes, that’s all right. I can do that.”

“Then you’re a paragon. But there are things you have to know — for instance, that Mr. Goodwin and I learned X’s name from Orrie Cather. Miss Kerr told his name to two people only, Orrie Cather and her sister. That may be safely assumed, because she didn’t even tell you. Mrs. Fleming told her husband, so there are five people who know it. I will answer for three of the five: Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Cather, and me. There would be some question about Mr. Cather if he were going to be tried for murder, but he isn’t. That leaves Mr. and Mrs. Fleming as the only sources for the disclosure of X’s name. I am taking pains to make sure that it’s clear to you.”

“You sure are. Have I told you that I can say the alphabet backward?”

“You have told Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Cramer. So can I. Now for the fact that gives us our one chance in a thousand. There is one person who dreads the publication of X’s association with Miss Kerr even more intensely than X does. Tell her, Archie.”

I took five seconds, not to figure it, but to realize that I had never looked at it from that angle. I told Julie, “Stella. I told you Saturday how she reacted. Remember? She doesn’t want a trial even if they get the right man. Of course, X’s name would come out only in connection with Isabel.” I looked at Wolfe. “Yeah. I’ll be damned. But how?”

“That’s what we need Miss Jaquette for.” His eyes were narrowed at her. “Don’t you want coffee? It’s getting cold.”

She picked up the glass and finished the juice, put it down, poured coffee, picked up the cup, and took a sip. She looked at Wolfe and shook her head. “I don’t get it. What’s so great about that fact?”

“The possibilities it presents. Suppose that Mrs. Fleming knows, or even strongly suspects, that her husband killed her sister, and knows why, and also knows that he may be arrested and charged at any moment, and later brought to trial. What would she do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know her.”

“What would she do, Archie?”

“I don’t know either,” I said, “ what she would do. But I know she would do anything, no holds barred, to keep him or anyone else from telling the world about Isabel and X. She certainly wouldn’t want it to get to a trial. I don’t know how much she cares about him . If she cares enough, in spite of the fact that he killed Isabel, she might blow with him, or if she thinks he can stand the gaff and keep his trap shut, she might stick and fight. If she doesn’t care enough about him, she might ship him off to China, or she might even bump him off. The one certain thing is that she would do whatever she thought she had to, to make sure, for instance, that Orrie wouldn’t go on the stand as a witness for the prosecution and answer questions about Isabel. Or that X wouldn’t testify about the blackmail. Of course she has to be told about the blackmail too. To make sure of that she would blow up the courthouse if she could get her hands on a bomb.” I was looking at Julie. “So there you are. You tell her what you told him in that letter. It made him snipe at you with a gun. She won’t do that, but she’ll certainly do something.”