Rex Stout: Method Three for Murder

“There’s a third one I like better. I’ll remove Miss Holt.” Cramer got up. “Come on, Miss Holt. I’m taking you down for questioning in connection with the murder of Phoebe Arden.”

“Is she under arrest?” Judy demanded.

“No. But if she doesn’t talk she will be. As a material witness.”

“Can he do that, Mr. Wolfe?”

“Yes.”

“Without a warrant?”

“In the circumstances, yes.”

“Come on, Miss Holt,” Cramer growled.

I was sitting with my jaw set. Wolfe would rather miss a meal than let Cramer or any other cop take a client of his from that office into custody, and over the years I had seen and heard him pull some fancy maneuvers to prevent it. But this was my client, and he wasn’t batting an eye. I admit that it would have had to be something extra fancy, and it was up to me, not him, but I had split the fee with him. So I sat with my jaw set while Mira left the chair and Judy jabbered and Cramer touched Mira’s arm and they headed for the door. Then I came to, scribbled on my memo pad — formerly my memo pad — tore the sheet off, and made for the hall. Cramer had his hand on the knob.

“Here’s the phone number,” I told her. “Twenty-four-hour service. Don’t forget method three.”

She took the slip, said, “I won’t,” and crossed the sill, with Cramer right behind. I noted that the floodlights and the taxi were still there before I shut the door.

Back in the office, Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed and Judy Bram was standing scowling at him. She switched the scowl to me and demanded, “Why don’t you put him to bed?”

“Too heavy. How many people did you tell that Mira was going to drive your cab to her husband’s house?”

She eyed me, straight, for two breaths, then went to the red leather chair and sat. I took the yellow one, to be closer.

“I thought you were working for her,” she said.

“I am.”

“You don’t sound like it. She didn’t drive my cab.”

I shook my head. “Come on down. Would I be working for her if she hadn’t opened up? You told her yesterday that Kearns had phoned you to call for him at eight o’clock today, and she asked you to let her go instead of you. She wanted to have a talk with him about a divorce. How many people did you tell about it?”

“Nobody. If she opened up what’s the rest of it?”

“Ask her when you see her. Did you kill Phoebe Arden?”

From the flash in her eye she would have smacked me if I had been close enough. “Oh, for God’s sake,” she said. “Get a club. Drag me by the hair.”

“Later maybe.” I leaned to her. “Look, Miss Bram. Give your temperament a rest and use your brain. I am working for Mira Holt. I know exactly where she was and what she did, every minute, from seven o’clock this evening on, but I’m not going to tell you. Of course you know that the dead body of a woman named Phoebe Arden was found in your cab. I am certain that Mira didn’t kill her, but she is probably going to be charged. I am not certain that the murderer tried to get her tagged for it, but it looks like it. I would be a fathead to tell the murderer about her movements. Wouldn’t I? Answer with your brain.”

“Yes.” She was meeting my eyes.

“Okay. Give me one good reason why I should cross you off. One you would accept if you were in my place. Mira has, naturally, but why should I?”

“Because there’s not the slightest—” She stopped. “No. You don’t know that. All right. But don’t try twisting my arm. I know some tricks.”

“I’ll keep my distance if you will. Did you kill Phoebe Arden?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“No.”

“Have you any suspicions? Any ideas?”

“Yes. Or I would have if I knew anything — where and when it happened. Did Phoebe come out to the cab with Waldo Kearns?”

“No. Kearns didn’t show up. Mira never saw him.”

“But Phoebe came?”

“Not alive. When Mira saw her she was dead. In the cab.”

“Then my idea is Waldo. The sophisticated ape. You know, you’re not any too bright. If I killed her in my own cab while Mira was driving it, I already know everything you do and more. Why not tell me?”

I looked at Wolfe, who had opened his eyes off and on. He grunted. “You told her to use her brain,” he muttered.

I returned to Judy. “You certainly would know this: Mira got there before eight o’clock and parked in front. When Kearns hadn’t showed at eight-thirty she went to the house and spent ten minutes knocking and looking in windows. When she returned to the cab the dead body was in it. She never saw Kearns.”

“But my God.” Her brows were up. She turned her hands over. “All she had to do was dump it out!”

“She hasn’t got your temperament. She—”

“She drove here with it? To consult with you? ”

“She might have done worse. In fact, she tried to. She phoned you , and got no answer. What’s your idea about Kearns?”

“He killed Phoebe.”

“Then that’s settled. Why?”

“I don’t know. He tried to shake her and she hung on. Or she cheated on him. Or she had a bad cold and he was afraid he would catch it. He put the body in the cab to fix Mira. He hates her because she told him the truth about himself once.”

“Did you know Phoebe well? Who and what was she?”

“Well enough. She was a widow at thirty, roaming around. I might have killed her, at that. About a year ago she started scattering remarks about me, and I broke her neck. Almost. She spent a week in a hospital.”

“Did it cure her? I mean of remark-scattering?”

“Yes.”

“We might as well finish with you. You told Mr. Wolfe Mira left your place around half past seven and about an hour later you went out to keep a date. So you might have left at a quarter after eight.”

“I might, but I didn’t. I walked to Mitchell Hall on Fourteenth Street to make a speech at a cab drivers’ meeting, and I got there at five minutes to nine. After the meeting I walked back home, and two cops were there waiting for me. They were dumb enough to ask me first where my cab was, and I said I supposed it was in the garage. When they said no, it was parked on Thirty-fifth Street, and asked me to come and identify it, naturally I went. I also identified a dead body, which they hadn’t mentioned. Is that Inspector Cramer dumb?”

“No.”

“I thought not. When he asked me if I knew Mira Holt of course I said yes, and when he asked when I last saw her I told him. Since I had no idea what had happened I thought that was safest, but I said I hadn’t told her she could take the cab and I knew she wouldn’t take it without asking me. Does that finish with me?”

“It’s a good start. How well do you know Gilbert Irving?”

That fazed her. Her mouth opened and she gawked with her big, brown, well-spaced eyes. “Are my ears working?” she demanded. “Did you say Gilbert Irving?”

“That’s right.”

“Who let him in?”

“Mira mentioned him. How well do you know him?”

“Too well. I dream about a lion standing on a rock about to spring at me, and I suspect it’s him. If my subconscious is yearning for him it had better go soak its head, because first he’s married and his wife has claws, and second, when he looks at Mira or hears her voice he has to lean against something to keep from trembling. Did she tell you that?”

“No. Who is he? What does he do?”

“Something in Wall Street, but he doesn’t look it. Why did Mira mention him?”

“Because I made her. She phoned him last evening and told him she was going to drive your cab and why. She wanted to know what he thought of it. I want to know what motive he might have for killing Phoebe Arden.”