Рекс Стаут - The Silent Speaker

“Not a close personal friend, no. In the past six months, since I’ve been doing confidential research directly under Mr. Boone, I’ve seen her frequently in connection with the work.”

“Yet she was staying in your apartment.”

Kates looked at Cramer. “You people have gone over this with me a dozen times.”

Cramer nodded. “That’s the way it goes, son. This’ll make thirteen.”

Kates returned to Wolfe. “The present housing shortage makes it extremely difficult, and often impossible, to get a room in a hotel. Miss Gunther could have used her position and connections to get a room, but that is against BPR policy, and also she didn’t do things like that. A bed in a friend’s apartment was available to me, and my wife was away. I offered the use of my apartment to Miss Gunther coming up on the plane from Washington, and she accepted.”

“Had she ever stayed there before?”

“No.”

“You had seen her frequently for six months. What did you think of her?”

“I thought well of her.”

“Did you admire her?”

“Yes. As a colleague.”

“Did she dress well?”

“I never noticed particularly — no, that isn’t true.” Kates’s voice zoomed for a squeak again and he used the controls. “If you think these questions are important and you want full and truthful answers. Considering Miss Gunther’s striking appearance and her voluptuous figure, I thought she dressed extremely well for one in her position.”

If Phoebe was here, I thought, she’d tell him he talks like an old-fashioned novel.

“Then,” Wolfe said, “you did notice what she wore. In that case, when did you last see her wearing this scarf?” He used a thumb to indicate it.

Kates leaned forward to look at it. “I don’t remember ever seeing her wear that. I never did.” He settled back.

“That’s strange.” Wolfe was frowning. “This is important, Mr. Kates. Are you sure?”

Kates leaned forward again, saying, “Let me see it,” and reached a hand for it.

Wolfe’s hand was there before his, closing on it. “No,” Wolfe said, “this will be an exhibit in a murder trial and therefore should not be handled indiscriminately.” He stretched an arm to give Kates a closer look. Kates peered at it a moment, then leaned back and shook his head.

“I’ve never seen it before,” he declared. “On Miss Gunther or anybody else.”

“That’s a disappointment,” Wolfe said regretfully. “However, it doesn’t exhaust the possibilities. You might have seen it before and now not recognize it because your previous view of it was in a dim light, for instance on the stoop of this house at night. I suggest that for your consideration, because clinging to this scarf are many tiny particles which came from the piece of pipe, showing that the scarf was used as a protection in clutching the pipe, and also because the scarf was found in the pocket of your overcoat.”

Kates blinked at him. “Whose overcoat?”

“Yours. Get it, Archie.” I went for it, and stood beside Kates, holding it by the collar, hanging full length. Wolfe asked, “That’s your coat, isn’t it?”

Kates sat and stared at the coat. Then he arose, turned his back on Wolfe, and called at the top of his voice, “Mr. Dexter! Mr. Dexter! Come in here! ”

“Cut it out.” Cramer was up and had him by the arm on the other side. “Cut out the yelling! What do you want Dexter for?”

“Then get him in here. If you want me to stop yelling, get him in here.” Kates’s voice was trembling. “I told him something like this would happen! I told Phoebe to have nothing to do with Nero Wolfe! I told her not to come here tonight! I—”

Cramer pounced. “When did you tell her not to come here tonight? When?”

Kates didn’t answer. He realized his arm was being gripped, looked down at Cramer’s hand gripping it, and said, “Let go of me. Let go!” Cramer did so. Kates walked across to a chair against the wall, sat on it, and clamped his jaw. He was breaking off relations.

I said to Cramer, “If you want it, I was there when Rowcliffe was questioning him. He said he was at his friend’s apartment on Eleventh Street, where he’s staying, and Miss Gunther phoned to say she had just been told to come here and wanted to know if he had been told too, and he said yes but he wasn’t coming and he tried to persuade her not to come, and when she said she was going to he decided to come too. I know you’re busy, but if you don’t read reports you throw wild punches.”

I turned to include them all. “And if you want my opinion, with no fee, that’s not Miss Gunther’s scarf because it’s not her style. She wouldn’t have worn that thing. And it doesn’t belong to Kates. Look at him. Gray suit, gray topcoat. Also a gray hat. I’ve never seen him in anything but gray, and if he was still speaking to us you could ask him.”

Cramer strode to the door which connected with the front room, opened it a crack, and commanded, “Stebbins! Come in here.”

Purley came at once. Cramer told him, “Take Kates to the dining room. Bring the others in here one at a time, and as we finish with them take them to the dining room.”

Purley went with Kates, who didn’t seem reluctant to go. In a moment another dick entered with Mrs. Boone. She wasn’t invited to sit down. Cramer met her in the middle of the room, displayed the scarf, told her to take a good look at it but not to touch it, and then asked if she had ever seen it before. She said she hadn’t, and that was all. She was led out and Frank Thomas Erskine was led in, and the performance was repeated. There were four more negatives, and then it was Winterhoff’s turn.

With Winterhoff, Cramer didn’t have to finish his speech. He showed the scarf and started, “Mr. Winterhoff, please look—”

“Where did you get that?” Winterhoff demanded, reaching for it. “That’s my scarf!”

“Oh.” Cramer backed up a step with it. “That’s what we’ve been trying to find out. Did you wear it here tonight, or have it in your pocket?”

“Neither one. I didn’t have it. That’s the one that was stolen from me last week.”

“Where and when last week?”

“Right here. When I was here Friday evening.”

“Here at Wolfe’s house?”

“Yes.”

“You wore it here?”

“Yes.”

“When you found it was gone, who helped you look for it? Who did you complain to?”

“I didn’t — what’s this all about? Who had it? Where did you get it?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. I’m asking now, who did you complain to?”

“I didn’t complain to anybody. I didn’t notice it was gone until I got home. If—”

“You mentioned it to no one at all?”

“I didn’t mention it here. I didn’t know it was gone. I must have mentioned it to my wife — of course I did, I remember. But I have—”

“Did you phone here the next day to ask about it?”

“No, I didn’t!” Winterhoff had been forcing himself to submit to the pressure. Now he was through. “Why would I? I’ve got two dozen scarves! And I insist that—”

“Okay, insist.” Cramer was calm but bitter. “Since it’s your scarf and you’ve been questioned about it, it is proper to tell you that there is evidence, good evidence, that it was wrapped around the pipe that Miss Gunther was killed with. Have you any comment?”

Winterhoff’s face was moist with sweat, but it had already been that way up in my room when they were examining his hands. It was interesting that the sweat didn’t seem to make him look any less distinguished, but it did detract some when he goggled, as he now did at Cramer. It occurred to me that his best friend ought to warn him not to goggle.