Rex Stout - Method Three for Murder

“No.” Wolfe snapped it. “This is preposterous. Give me half of that fifty dollars.”

I raised a brow. “For what?”

“To pay me. You have helped me with many problems; surely I can help you with one. I am not being quixotic. I do not accept your headstrong decision that our long association has ended, but even if it has, your repute is inextricably involved with mine. Your client is in a pickle. I have never tried to do a job without your help; why should you try to do one without mine?”

I wanted to grin at him, but he might have misunderstood. “Okay,” I said, and got a twenty from the pocket where I had put the fee, and a five from my wallet, and handed them to him. He took them, turned, and headed for the office, and Mira and I followed.

Where to sit was a delicate question — not for Wolfe, who of course went to his oversized custom-built chair behind his desk, nor for the client, since Wolfe wiggled a finger to indicate the red leather chair that would put her facing him, but for me. The desk at right angles to Wolfe’s was no longer mine. I had a hand on one of the yellow chairs, to move it up, when Wolfe growled, “Confound it, don’t be frivolous. We have a job to do.”

I went and sat where I had belonged, and asked him, “Do I proceed?”

“Certainly.”

I looked at her. In good light, with the cap off, she was very lookable, even in a pickle. “I would like,” I said, “to be corroborated. Did you kill that woman?”

“No. No! ”

“Okay. Out with it. This time, method two, the truth. Judith Bram is a friend of yours?”

“Yes.”

“Did she let you take her cab?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I asked her to.”

“Why did you ask her to?”

“Because… it’s a long story.”

“Make it as short as you can. We may not have much time.”

She was on the edge of the chair, which would have held two of her. “I have known Judy three years. She was a model too, but she didn’t like it. She’s very unconventional. She had money she had inherited, and she bought a cab and a license about a year ago. She cruises when she feels like it, but she has some regular customers who think it’s chic to ride in a cab with a girl driver, and my husband is one of them. He often—”

“Your husband?” Wolfe demanded. “ Miss Holt?”

“They don’t live together,” I told him. “Not divorced, but she uses her own name. Fashion model. Go ahead but keep it short.”

She obeyed. “My husband’s name is Waldo Kearns. He paints pictures but doesn’t sell any. He has money. He often calls Judy to take him somewhere, and he called last night when I was with her and told her to come for him at eight o’clock this evening, and I asked Judy to let me go instead of her. I have been trying to see him for months to have a talk with him, and he refuses to see me. He doesn’t answer my letters. I want a divorce and he doesn’t. I think the reason he doesn’t is that—”

“Skip it. Get on.”

“Well… Judy said I could take the cab, and today at seven o’clock I went to her place and she brought it from the garage, and she gave me her cap and jacket, and I drove it to—”

“Where is her place?”

“Bowdoin Street. Number seventeen. In the Village.”

“I know. You got in the cab there?”

“Yes. I drove it to Ferrell Street. It’s west of Varick, below—”

“I know where it is.”

“Then you know it’s a dead end. Close to the end is an alley that goes between walls to a little house. That’s my husband’s. I lived there with him about a year. I got there a little before eight, and turned around and parked in front of the alley. Judy had said she always waited for him there. He didn’t come. I didn’t want to go to the house, because as soon as he saw me he would shut the door on me, but when he hadn’t come at half past eight I got out and went—”

“You’re sure of the time?”

“Yes. I looked at my watch. Of course.”

“What does it say now?”

She lifted her wrist. “Two minutes after eleven.”

“Right. You went through the alley?”

“Yes, to the house. There’s a brass knocker on the door, no bell. I knocked with it, but nobody came. I knocked several times. I could hear the radio or television going inside, I could just barely hear it, so I knocked loud. He couldn’t have recognized me through a window because it was too dark and I had the cap pulled down. Of course it could have been Morton, his man as he calls him, playing the radio, but I don’t think so because he would have heard the knocker and come to the door. I finally gave up and went back to the cab, and as I was getting in I saw her. At first I thought it was a trick he had played, but when I looked closer I saw the knife, and then I recognized her, and she was dead. If I hadn’t turned around and gripped the wheel as hard as I could I think I would have fainted. I never have fainted. I sat there—”

“Who was it?”

“It was Phoebe Arden. She was the reason my husband didn’t want a divorce. I’m sure she was, or anyway one of the reasons. I think he thought that as long as he was still married to me she couldn’t expect him to marry her, and neither could anyone else. But I wasn’t thinking about that while I sat there, I was thinking what to do. I knew the right thing was to call the police, but I was driving Judy’s cab, and, what was worse, I would have to admit I knew who she was, and they would find out about her and my husband. I don’t know how long I sat there.”

“It must have been quite a while. You left the cab to go to the house at eight-thirty. How long were you gone?”

“I don’t know. I knocked several times, and looked in at the windows, and then knocked some more.” She considered. “At least ten minutes.”

“Then you were back at the cab at eight-forty, and from there to here wouldn’t take more than ten minutes, and you got here at nine-twenty. Did you sit there half an hour?”

“No. I decided to get her — to get it out of the cab. I found that canvas under the panel. I thought the best place would be somewhere along the river front, and I drove there but didn’t see a good place, and men tried to stop me twice, and once when I stopped for a light a man opened the door and when I told him I was making a delivery he almost climbed in anyway. Then I thought I would just leave the cab somewhere, anywhere, and I went to a phone booth to call Judy and tell her to say the cab had been stolen, but there was no answer. Then I thought of Nero Wolfe and you, and I drove here. I didn’t have much time to make that up about the bet, just on my way here. I knew it wasn’t much good while I was telling it.”

“So did I.” I was frowning at her. “I want you to realize one thing. I believe you when you say you didn’t kill her, but it doesn’t follow that I swallow you whole. For instance, the divorce situation. If the fact is that your husband wanted one so he could marry Phoebe Arden, and you balked, that would make it different.”

“No.” She was frowning back. “I’ve told you the truth, every word. I lied to you out there, but if I lied to you now I’d be a fool.”

“You sure would. How good a friend of yours is Judy Bram?”

“She’s my best friend. She’s a little wild, but I like her. I love her.”

“Are you sure she rates it?”

“Yes.”

“You’d better cross your fingers.” I turned to Wolfe. “Since you’re helping on this, and I fully appreciate it, our minds should meet. Do you accept it that she didn’t kill her?”

“As a working hypothesis, yes.”

“Then isn’t it likely that she was killed by someone who knew that Miss Holt would be driving the cab? Since Kearns didn’t show, taking her away from the cab, and the radio or television was on in the house?”