Rex Stout - Method Three for Murder

“Likely, but far from certain. It could have been impromptu. Or the embarrassment could have been meant for Miss Bram, not for Miss Holt.”

I returned to Mira. “How close are Judy Bram and your husband?”

“Close?” The frown was getting chronic. “They aren’t close. If you mean intimate, I doubt if Judy has ever allowed any man to be intimate. My husband may have tried. I suppose he has.”

“Could Judy have had any reason to kill Phoebe Arden?”

“Good lord, no.”

“Isn’t it possible that Judy, unknown to you, had got an idea that she would like to break the ice with your husband, and Phoebe Arden was in the way?”

“I suppose it is, if you want to say that anything is possible, but I don’t believe it.”

“You heard what I asked Mr. Wolfe and what he answered. I still like it that whoever killed her knew that you were going to drive the cab there. It’s certainly possible that Judy Bram told someone.”

“Yes, it’s possible, but I don’t believe it. Judy wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t.”

“It’s also possible that you told someone. Did you?”

Her lips twitched. Twice. Two seconds. “No,” she said.

“You’re lying. I haven’t time to be polite. You’re lying. Whom did you tell?”

“I’m not going to say. The person I told couldn’t possibly have… have done anything. Some things are not possible.”

“Who was it?”

“No, Mr. Goodwin. Really.”

I got the twenty and ten from my pocket and twenty from my wallet, got up, and went to her. “Here’s your fifty bucks,” I said. “Count me out. You can leave the back way.”

“But I tell you he couldn’t!”

“Then he won’t get hurt. I won’t bite him. But I’ve got to know everything you do or it’s no good.”

Her lips twitched again. “You would really do that? Just give me up?”

“I sure would. I will. With regrets and best wishes.”

She breathed. “I phoned a friend of mine last evening and told him. His name is Gilbert Irving.”

“Is he more than a friend?”

“No. He is married and so am I. We’re friends, that’s all.”

“Does he know your husband?”

“Yes. They’ve known each other for years, but they’ve never been close.”

“Did he know Phoebe Arden?”

“He had met her. He didn’t know her.”

“Why did you tell him about your plan to drive the cab?”

“Because I wanted to know what he thought of it. He is very — a very intelligent man.”

“What did he think of it?”

“He thought it was foolish. Not foolish exactly, useless. He thought my husband would refuse to listen to me. Honestly, Mr. Goodwin, this is foolish. There is absolutely no—”

The doorbell rang. I had taken three steps before I remembered that I no longer worked there; then, not wishing to be frivolous, I continued to the hall and took a look through the one-way glass panel of the front door. A man and a woman were there on the stoop. A glance was enough to recognize Inspector Cramer, but it took closer inspection for the woman, and I moved down the hall. Even then I wasn’t positive, since the light had been dim on the picture of the female hackie in the taxi, but I was sure enough. It was Judith Bram.

It was up to me, since it was my case and Wolfe was merely helping, but he had many times asked for my opinion and it wouldn’t hurt to reciprocate, so I stepped to the office door and said, “Cramer and Judy Bram. Shall I—”

“Judy!” Mira cried. “She’s here?”

I ignored her. “Shall I scoot with Miss Holt and leave them to you?”

He closed his eyes. In three seconds he opened them. “I would say no. The decision is yours.”

“Then we stick. I want to meet Judy anyhow. Sit tight, Miss Holt. Never drop a simple basic lie until it drops you.”

As I turned the bell rang again. I went to the front, put the chain bolt on, opened the door the two inches the chain allowed, and spoke through the crack. “Do you want me, Inspector?”

“I want in. Open up.”

“Glad to for you, but not for strangers. Who is the lady?”

“Her name is Judith Bram. She’s the owner and driver—”

“I want to see Mira Holt!” the lady said, meaning it. “Open the door!”

I removed the chain, but didn’t have to swing the door because she saved me the trouble. She came with it and darted down the hall. Seeing that Cramer, after her, would brush me, I stiffened to make the brush a bump, and he wobbled and lost a step, giving me time to shut the door and reach the office at his heels. When we entered Judy was sitting on the arm of the red leather chair with her arm across Mira’s shoulders, jabbering. Cramer grabbed her arm and barked at her, but she ignored him.

“—and I said yes, the cab might have still been there in front when you left, but I was sure you wouldn’t take it, and anyway—”

Cramer yanked her up and around, and as she came she swung with her free hand and smacked him in the face. There was too much of him to be staggered by it, but the sound effect was fine. She jerked loose and glared at him. Her big, brown, well-spaced eyes were ideal for glaring. I had a feeling that I had seen her before, but I hadn’t. It was just an old memory: a seventh-grade classmate out in Ohio whom I had been impelled to kiss, and she had socked me on the ear with her arithmetic. She is now married, with five children.

“That’s not advisable, Miss Bram,” Cramer stated. “Striking a police officer.” He moved, got a yellow chair, and swung it around. “Here. Sit down.”

“I’ll sit where I please.” She perched again on the red leather arm. “Is it advisable for a police officer to manhandle a citizen? When I got a hack license I informed myself about laws. Am I under arrest?”

“No.”

“Then don’t touch me.” Her head swung around. “You’re Nero Wolfe? You’re even bigger.” She didn’t say bigger than what. “I’m Judy Bram. Are you representing my friend Mira Holt?”

His eyes on her were half closed. “‘Representing’ is not the word, Miss Bram. I’m a detective, not a lawyer. Miss Holt has hired Mr. Goodwin, and he has hired me as his assistant. You call her your friend. Are you her friend?”

“Yes. And I want to know. She left my place around half past seven, and about an hour later I went out to keep a date. I had left my cab out front and it wasn’t there, but I supposed—”

“Hold it,” Cramer snapped. He was on the yellow chair, and I was at my desk. “I’ll do the talking—”

She merely raised her voice. “—I supposed a man from the garage had come and got it, I have that arrangement—”

“Shut up!” Cramer roared. “Or I’ll shut you up!”

“How?” she asked.

It was a question. He had several choices: clamp his paw on her mouth, or pick her up and carry her out, or call in a couple of big strong men from out front, or hit her with a blunt instrument, or shoot her. All had drawbacks.

“Permit me,” Wolfe said. “I suggest, Mr. Cramer, that you have bungled it. The notion of suddenly confronting Miss Holt with Miss Bram was of course tempting, but your appraisal of Miss Bram’s temperament was faulty. Now you’re stuck. You won’t get the contradictions you’re after. Miss Holt would be a simpleton to supply particulars until she knows what Miss Bram has said. As you well know, that does not necessarily imply culpability for either of them.”

Cramer rasped, “You’re telling Miss Holt not to answer any questions.”

“Am I? If so, unwittingly. Now, of course, you have made it plain. It would appear that you have only two alternatives: either let Miss Bram finish her account, or remove her.”