Rex Stout: The Rodeo Murder

That question would have to wait for an answer. Knowing that Harvey Greve liked a drink when one was handy, I crossed the lobby and entered the bar. The crowd there was smaller but noisier. No Harvey, but there were booths along the wall, and I strolled back for a look, and found him. He was in a booth, deep in conversation with a man. Neither of them saw me, and I went on by, circled and backtracked, returned to the lobby, and on out to the street.

The man with Harvey was Saul Panzer. Saul is not only the first-best of the three men Wolfe uses for errands, he is the best operative south of the North Pole. That settled it. Fred could have been a coincidence, but not both of them. Wolfe had got busy on the phone the minute I was out of the house, or darned soon after. What had stung him? No answer. At Ninth Avenue I flagged a taxi. When I gave the hackie the number on West 35th Street, he said, “What a honor. Archie Goodwin in person. Your name in the paper again but no picture this time. Stranglin’ a guy with a lasso right on Park Avenue, can you beat that? Whodunit?”

I’m all for fame, but I was too busy guessing to smirk.

The hackie had another honor coming. When the cab rolled to a stop in front of the old brownstone and I climbed out, a man appeared from behind a parked car and spoke to him. It was Sergeant Purley Stebbins. He said to the hackie, “Hold it, driver. Police.” He said to me, “You’re under arrest. I’ve got a warrant.” He took a paper from a pocket and offered it.

He was enjoying it. He would have enjoyed even more to see me squirm, so I didn’t. I didn’t bother to look at the paper. “Information received?” I asked politely. “Or just on general principles?”

“The inspector will tell you. We’ll use this cab. Get in.”

I obeyed. He climbed in beside me and told the driver, “Two-thirty West Twentieth,” and we rolled.

I chose to snub him. He was of course expecting me to try some appropriate cracks, so of course I didn’t. I didn’t open my trap from the time I climbed in the cab until he ushered me into the office of Inspector Cramer, which is on the third floor of the dingy old building that houses the precinct. I didn’t open it even then. I waited until I was in a chair at the end of Cramer’s desk, and he said, “I’ve been going over your statement, Goodwin, and I want to know more about your movements yesterday afternoon. The District Attorney does too, but I’ll have a go at it first. You left with Wolfe, to drive him home, at twelve minutes after three. Right?”

I spoke. “It’s all in my statement, and I answered a thousand questions, some of them a dozen times. That’s enough. I am now clamming, unless and until you tell me why I am suddenly grabbed. If you think you dug up something, what?”

“That will develop as we go along. You left with Wolfe at three-twelve?”

I leaned back and yawned.

He regarded me. He looked up at Stebbins, who was standing. Stebbins said, “You know him. He hasn’t said a word since I took him.”

Cramer looked at me. “A woman phoned headquarters this afternoon and said she saw you there yesterday at half past three on the terrace in the rear of the penthouse. She was sure about the time. She didn’t give her name. I don’t have to tell you that if Wolfe came home in a taxi we’ll find the driver. You left with him at three-twelve?”

“Thanks for the warning. What time did the woman phone?”

“Three-thirty-nine.”

I looked at it. Laura and I had got to the hotel about twenty-five to four. The first thing on my program when I got loose would be to wring her neck and toss her in the river. “Okay,” I said, “naturally you’re curious. You say the DA is too, so it will be a long discussion. I’ll talk after I make a phone call. May I use your phone?”

“In my hearing.”

“Certainly, it’s your phone.”

He moved it across and I got it and dialed. Fritz answered and I asked him to buzz the plant rooms. After a wait Wolfe’s voice came, cranky, as it always is when he is interrupted up there.

“Yes?”

“Me. I’m with Cramer in his office. When I got home Stebbins was waiting for me out front with a warrant. A woman, name unknown, phoned the police that she saw me at half past three yesterday afternoon on Miss Rowan’s terrace. If you think you’ll need me tomorrow you’d better get Parker. Of the two contradictory statements you sent me to check, the first one is true. Tell Fritz to save some of the veal knuckle for me. He can warm it over tomorrow.”

“At half past three yesterday afternoon you were with me in the car.”

“I know it, but they don’t. Cramer would give a month’s pay to prove I wasn’t.”

I hung up and sat back. “Where were we? Oh yes. I left with Mr. Wolfe at three-twelve. Next question?”

At 10:39 Wednesday morning, standing at the curb on Leonard Street waiting for an empty taxi, I said to Nathaniel Parker, the lawyer, “It’s a dirty insult. Did you say five hundred? ”

He nodded. “It is rather a slap, isn’t it? As your attorney, I could hardly suggest a higher figure. And of course the cost will be much — here comes one.” He stepped off the curb and raised an arm to stop an approaching cab.

The insult, having my bail set at a measly five C’s, one-sixtieth of Cal Barrow’s, was merely an insult. The injuries were what I would some day, preferably that one, get even for. I had spent fourteen hours in a detention room with too much heat and not enough air; I had asked for corned-beef sandwiches and got ham and rubbery cheese; I had been asked the same question over and over by four different county and city employees, none of whom had a sense of humor; I had been served lukewarm coffee in a paper thing that leaked; I had not been allowed to use the phone; I had been told three times to take a nap on a bumpy couch and had been roused for more questions just as I was fading out; and I had been asked to sign a statement that had four mistakes in content, three misspelled words, and five typographical errors. And at the end of it all, which must have cost the taxpayers at least a thousand bucks, counting overhead, they were exactly where they had been when they started.

After climbing out of the taxi in front of the old brownstone and thanking Parker for the lift, I mounted the stoop, let myself in, and headed for the office to tell Wolfe that I would be available as soon as I had showered, shaved, brushed my teeth, cleaned my nails, brushed my hair, dressed, and had breakfast. It was five minutes past eleven, so he would be down from the plant rooms.

But he wasn’t. The overgrown chair behind his desk was empty. Four of the yellow chairs were grouped in front of his desk, facing it, and Fritz was emerging from the front room carrying two more of them. On the couch at the far side at right angles to my desk two people sat holding hands — Cal Barrow and Laura Jay. As I entered Cal jerked his hand away and stood up.

“We came a little early,” he said. “We thought you might tell us what’s up.”

“Roping contest,” I said. “I run down the block and you snare me from the stoop. Orchids for prizes.” I turned to Fritz. “There’s a mermaid in the sink.” I wheeled and went to the kitchen, and in a moment he came.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“In his room with Saul and Fred. Your tie’s crooked, Archie, and your—”

“I fell off a horse. Having a party?”

“Yes. Mr. Wolfe—”

“What time?”

“I was told they would come at half past eleven. The lady and gentleman on the couch—”

“Came early to hold hands. Excuse my manners, I spent the night with louts and it rubbed off on me. I’ve got to rinse it off. Could you possibly bring up toast and coffee in eight minutes?”