Rex Stout - Method Three for Murder

“No.”

“Was that taxi here when you arrived?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t notice, but I suppose it was because it didn’t come after we sat down.”

“How did you come here?”

“I don’t think that matters.”

“I’ll decide if it matters. How did you come?”

She shook her head. “No. For instance, if somebody drove me here, or near here, you would ask him, and I might not want you to. No.”

So she also knew what “no trimmings” meant.

“I advise you,” Cramer advised her, “to tell me how you came.”

“I would rather not.”

“What was the bet you wanted to consult about?”

“That doesn’t matter either. It was a private bet with a friend.” Her head turned. “You’re a detective, Mr. Goodwin, so you ought to know, do I have to tell him about my private affairs just because I was sitting here with you?”

“Of course not,” I assured her. “Not unless he shows some connection between your private affairs and his public affairs, and he hasn’t. It’s entirely up to you whether—”

“What the devil is all this?” Nero Wolfe bellowed.

I twisted around and so did my client. The door was wide open and he was standing on the threshold, his bulk towering above us. “What’s going on?” he demanded.

Since I was merely an ex-employee and Cramer was an inspector I thought it fitting to let him reply, but he didn’t. Apparently he was too flabbergasted at seeing Wolfe actually stick his nose outdoors. Wolfe advanced a step. “Archie. I asked a question.”

I had stood up. “Yes, sir, I heard you. Miss Holt, this is Mr. Wolfe. Miss Mira Holt. When I left the house she was coming up the steps. I had never seen her before. When I told her I was no longer in your employ she said I would be better than you and asked to consult me. She had paid me. We sat down to confer. There was an empty taxi parked at the curb, no driver in it. A police car came along and stopped, and a cop found a dead body, female, in the taxi under a piece of canvas. I was there looking in when he removed the canvas. I came back up the stoop to sit with my client. We recessed our conference to watch the proceedings. Officers arrived promptly, including Inspector Cramer. When he got around to it he came and questioned us. I knew nothing about the taxi or its contents and said so. She told him she had not driven the taxi here and hadn’t come in it. She gave him her name and address and occupation, but refused to answer questions about her private affairs — for instance, what she was consulting me about. I was telling her that was entirely up to her when you appeared.”

Wolfe grunted. “Why didn’t you bring Miss Holt inside?”

“Because it’s not my house. Or my office.”

“Nonsense. There is the front room. If you wish to stand on ceremony, I invite you to use it for consultation with your client. Sitting here in this hubbub is absurd. Have you any further information for Mr. Cramer?”

“No.”

“Have you, Miss Holt?”

She was on her feet beside me. “I didn’t have any,” she said. “I haven’t got any.”

“Then get away from this turmoil. Come in.”

Cramer found his tongue. “Just a minute.” He had come on up to the stoop and was at my elbow, focused on Wolfe. “This is all very neat. Too damn neat. Goodwin says he quit his job. Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Pfui. That’s egregious, Mr. Cramer, and you know it.”

“Did it have anything to do with Miss Holt or what she was coming to consult about?”

“No.”

“Or with the fact that a taxi was parked at your door with a dead body in it?”

“No.”

“Did you know Miss Holt was coming?”

“No. Nor, patently, did Mr. Goodwin.”

“Did you know the taxi was out here?”

“No. I am bearing with you, sir. You persist beyond reason. If Mr. Goodwin or I were involved in the circumstance that brought you here, or Miss Holt, would he have sat here with her, supine, awaiting your assault? You know him, and you know me. Come, Archie. Bring your client.” He turned.

I told Cramer, “I’ll be glad to type up statements and bring them down,” touched Mira Holt’s arm, and followed her inside, Wolfe having preceded us.

When I had shut the door and the lock had clicked Wolfe spoke. “Since there’s no telephone in the front room and you may have occasion to use one, perhaps the office would be better. I will go to my room.”

“Thank you,” I said politely. “But it might be still better for us to leave the back way. You may not want us here when I explain the situation. Miss Holt drove that taxi here. A friend of hers named Judith Bram is one of the ninety-three female hackies in New York, and she let Miss Holt take her cab — or maybe Miss Holt took it without Miss Bram’s knowledge. She left—”

“No,” Mira said. “Judy let me take it.”

“Possible,” I conceded. “You’re a pretty good liar. Let me finish. She left it, empty, in front of a building and went in the building for something, and when she came back there was a dead body in it, a woman, with a knife between its ribs. Either it was covered with a canvas, or she—”

“I covered it,” Mira said. “It was under that panel by the driver’s seat.”

“She’s level-headed,” I told Wolfe. “Somewhat. She couldn’t notify the police, because not only had she and her friend violated the law, but also she had recognized the dead woman. She knew her. She decided to come and consult you and me. I met her on the stoop. She told me a cockeyed tale about a bet she had made with a friend which I’ll skip. I said somewhat level-headed. I let her see that I knew she was feeding me soap but kept her from blurting it out. So I told Cramer no lies, but she did, and did a good job. But the lies won’t keep long. It’s barely possible that Judith Bram will deny that she let someone take her cab, but sooner or later—”

“I tried to phone her,” Mira said, “but she didn’t answer. I was going to tell her to say that someone stole it.”

“Quit interrupting me. Did you ever hear of fingerprints? Did you see them working on that cab? So I have a client who is in a double-breasted jam. I’ll know more about it after she tells me things. The point is, did she kill that woman? If I thought she did I would bow out quick — I would already have bowed out because it would have been hopeless. But she didn’t. One will get you ten that she didn’t. If she had—”

That interruption wasn’t words; it was her lips against mine and her palms covering my ears. If she had been Wolfe’s client I would have shoved her off quick, since that sort of demonstration only ruffles him, but she was mine and there was no point in hurting her feelings. I even patted her shoulder. When she was through I resumed.

“If she had killed her she would not have driven here with the corpse for a passenger to tell you, or even me, a goofy tale about a bet with a friend. Not a chance. She would have dumped the corpse somewhere. Make it twenty to one. Add to that my observation of her while we sat there on the stoop, and it’s thirty to one. Therefore I am keeping the fee she paid me, and I’m — by the way.” I reached in my pocket for the bills she had given me, unfolded them, and counted. Three twenties, three tens, and a five. Returning two twenties and a ten to my pocket, I offered her the rest. “Your change. I’m keeping fifty.”

She hesitated, then took it. “I’ll pay you more. Of course. What are you going to do?”

“I’ll know better after you answer some questions. One that shouldn’t wait: what did you do with the cap?”

“I have it.” She patted her front.

“Good.” I returned to Wolfe. “So we’ll be going. Thank you again for your offer of hospitality, but Cramer may be ringing the bell any minute. We’ll go out the rear, Miss Holt. This way.”