Rex Stout - Too Many Clients

Aiken jerked his head to tell her not to answer, and jerked it back to Wolfe. “That’s just a trick. Granting that Durkin saw her enter that house Sunday evening, that doesn’t prove she killed Yeager. He may not have been there. Did Durkin see him enter?”

“No. But someone else did. Mr. and Mrs. Cesar Perez. The janitor and his wife. I would advise you not to approach them. They are bereaved. Their daughter died last night. Since you don’t want Yeager’s connection with that house disclosed, you had better leave them to Mr. Goodwin and me.”

“What time did Yeager enter? Before Miss McGee or after?”

“Before. He arrived around seven o’clock. I am humoring you, sir.”

“I don’t appreciate it. Granting that Durkin saw Miss McGee enter, he didn’t see her leave. Are you accusing her of killing Yeager there in that house and carrying his body out to the street and dumping it in the hole?”

“No. I’m not accusing her; I am confronting her with a fact.” Wolfe cocked his head. “Mr. Aiken. I’m not turning our association into a conflict instead of a concert; you are. I told you Tuesday evening that the only feasible way to try to protect the reputation and interests of your corporation with any hope of success would be to stop the police investigation of the murder by reaching an acceptable solution of it without involving that room. I dare contrive such a solution and offer it only if I know what actually happened. It is established that Yeager entered that room around seven o’clock that evening, and it is a reasonable assumption that he was still there when Miss McGee arrived. You say my asking her why she killed him was a trick; certainly it was, and an ancient one; the Greeks used it two thousand years ago, and others long before. I’ll withdraw that question and try another.” He turned. “Miss McGee. Was Mr. Yeager in that room when you entered it Sunday evening?”

She had finished studying the pattern of the rug some time back. Now her eyes left Wolfe to go to Aiken, and his met them. She said nothing, but he did. “All right, answer it.”

She looked at Wolfe, straight. “Yes, he was there. His body was. He was dead.”

“Where was the body?”

“On the floor. On the carpet.”

“Did you touch it? Move it?”

“I only touched his hair, where the hole was. He was on his side with his mouth open.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything. I sat on a chair a few minutes and then left.”

“Exactly what time did you leave?”

“I don’t know exactly. It must have been about half past nine. It was a quarter past when I got there.”

“Yeager expected you at a quarter past nine?”

“No, at nine o’clock, but I was fifteen minutes late.”

“You went to take dictation?”

“Yes.”

“At nine o’clock Sunday evening?”

“Yes.”

Wolfe grunted. “I think I’ll ignore that, Miss McGee. It’s a waste of time to challenge lies that are immaterial. It would be pointless to poke the fact at you that Mr. Yeager had arranged for the delivery of caviar and pheasant at midnight. Was there any indication that there had been a struggle?”

“No.”

“Did you see a gun?”

“No.”

“Did you take anything from the room when you left?”

“No.”

“Have you ever owned a gun?”

“No.”

“Or borrowed one?”

“No.”

“Have you ever shot one?”

“No.”

“Where did you go when you left the house?”

“I went home. My apartment. On Arbor Street.”

“Did you tell anyone of your experience?”

“No. Of course not.”

“You didn’t tell Mr. Aiken?”

“No.”

“Then he didn’t know until now that you were there Sunday evening?”

“No. Nobody knew.”

“Do you know what a hypothetical question is?”

“Certainly.”

“I submit one. You said Tuesday evening that you decided your loyalty should be to the corporation, not to Mr. Yeager, so you betrayed him. Then if—”

“I didn’t betray him. I only thought Mr. Aiken should know.”

Wolfe swiveled to the Webster’s Unabridged on its stand, opened it, and found the page. “Betray, verb, Definition Two: ‘To prove faithless or treacherous to, as to a trust or one who trusts.’ ” He closed the dictionary and wheeled back. “Surely Yeager trusted you not to tell about that room, but you did. Then if — this is the hypothesis — if you went there Sunday evening, not to take dictation, but to participate in activities congenial to that décor, what am I to assume regarding your disposition at that time toward Mr. Yeager and Mr. Aiken? Had you reconsidered and decided your loyalty was to Mr. Yeager?”

It didn’t faze her. She didn’t chew on it. “My disposition had nothing to do with it. Mr. Yeager asked me to go there to take dictation, and I went.” She was darned good. If I hadn’t seen that bower I might have had a sliver of doubt myself. She went on. “That trick question you asked me, why I killed him, I want to ask you, why would I kill him? Would I go there to take dictation and take a gun to shoot him?”

Wolfe’s shoulders went up a fraction of an inch, and down. “I said I’d ignore your purpose in going there, and I shouldn’t have brought it up again. It’s futile. If you had a reason for killing him, I won’t learn it from you. I doubt if I’ll learn anything from you. You say you went there, found him dead, and left.” He leaned back, closed his eyes, and pushed his lips out. In a moment he pulled them in. Out again, in again. Out and in, out and in.

Aiken spoke. “I have things to ask Miss McGee myself, but they can wait. You have only made it worse, bringing it out that he was killed in that room. I don’t think she killed him, and I don’t think you do. What are you going to do now?”

No reply. Wolfe was still working his lips. “He didn’t hear you,” I told Aiken. “When he’s doing that he doesn’t hear anything or anybody. We’re not here.”

Aiken stared at him. He transferred the stare to Miss McGee. She didn’t meet it.

Wolfe opened his eyes and straightened up. “Miss McGee. Give me the keys. To the door of that house and the elevator.”

“Did you hear what I said?” Aiken demanded.

“No. The keys, Miss McGee.”

“I said you’ve made it worse!” Aiken hit the chair arm with a fist. “Yeager dead in that room! She didn’t kill him, she had no reason to, but what if she did? Do you call this protecting the interests of my corporation?”

Wolfe ignored him. “The keys, Miss McGee. You have no further use for them, and you’re hardly in a position to balk. You have them?”

She opened her bag, the one I had opened Tuesday evening while she was on the floor wrapped in the coverlet, and took out the key fold. I went and got it, looked at the two keys, and handed it to Wolfe. He put it in a drawer, turned to Aiken, and inquired, “How the deuce did you get to head a large and successful corporation?”

The president goggled at him, speechless. Wolfe went on. “You spout and sputter. You say I have made it worse. In your business, do you blame subordinates when they expose problems not of their making which must be solved if the business is to prosper? If I hadn’t resorted to humbug we wouldn’t know that Yeager was killed in that room, whether by Miss McGee or another, and I might have blundered fatally. I pried it out of her by a ruse. I had cause to suspect she was there Sunday evening, but nothing that could be used as a lever on her, so I fabricated one. I had no client Sunday evening; Mr. Durkin was not posted at that house; he wasn’t there to see her enter. But now that I know she did enter, and that Yeager was killed there—”