Rex Stout - Might as Well Be Dead

“What inference?”

“That Keems had spent the hundred dollars in pursuance of his mission, that the most likely form of expenditure had been a bribe, and that a probable recipient of the bribe was the Irwins’ maid. Mr. Goodwin got the maid’s name, and a description of her, from Mrs. Molloy, and Mr. Panzer went to see her and couldn’t find her. He spent the day at it and was finally successful. He found her at the morgue, though the identification was only tentative until Mrs. Molloy verified it.”

“That’s not what Goodwin told Donovan. He said she couldn’t make an identification.”

“Certainly. She was in no condition to be pestered. Your colleagues would have kept at her all night. I might as well save you the trouble of a foray on her apartment. She is in this house, upstairs asleep, and is not to be disturbed.”

“But she identified that body?”

“Yes. Positively. As Miss Ella Reyes, the Irwins’ maid.”

Cramer looked at Stebbins, and Stebbins returned it. Cramer took a cigar from his pocket, rolled it between his palms, and stuck it in his mouth, setting his teeth in it. I have never seen him light one. He looked at Stebbins again, but the sergeant had his eyes on Wolfe.

“I realize,” Wolfe said, “that this is a blow for you and you’ll have to absorb it. It is now next to certain that an innocent man stands convicted of murder on evidence picked up by your staff, and that’s not a pleasant dose—”

“It’s far from certain.”

“Oh, come, Mr. Cramer. You’re not an ass, so don’t talk like one. Keems was working on the Molloy murder, and he was killed. He made a contact with Ella Reyes, and she was killed — and by the way, what money was found on her, if any?”

Cramer took a moment to answer, because he would have preferred not to. But the newspaper boys probably already had it. Even so, he didn’t answer, he asked, and not Wolfe, but me.

“Goodwin, the hundred you gave Keems. What was it?”

“Five used tens and ten used fives. Some people don’t like new ones.”

His sharp gray eyes moved. “Was that it, Purley?”

“Yes, sir. No purse or handbag was found. There was a wad in her stocking, ten fives and five tens.”

Wolfe grunted. “They belong to me. And speaking of money, here’s another point. I suppose you know that I learned that Molloy had rented a safe-deposit box under an alias, and a man named Patrick A. Degan was appointed administrator of the estate, and in that capacity was given access to the box. The safe-deposit company had to have a key made. When Mr. Degan opened the box, with Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Parker present, it was found to contain three hundred and twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and forty dollars in currency. But—”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Mr. Degan will doubtless confirm it for you. But the point is, where is Molloy’s key to that box? Almost certainly he carried it on his person. Was it found on his corpse?”

“Not that I remember.” Cramer looked at Stebbins. “Purley?”

Stebbins shook his head.

“And Peter Hays, caught, as you thought, red-handed. Did he have it?”

“I don’t think so. Purley?”

“No, sir. He had keys, but none for a safe-deposit box.”

Wolfe snorted. “Then consider the high degree of probability that Molloy was carrying the key and the certainty that it was not found on him or on Peter Hays. Where was it? Who took it? Is it still far from certain, Mr. Cramer?”

Cramer put the cigar in his mouth, chewed on it, and took it out again. “I don’t know,” he rasped, “and neither do you, but you sure have stirred up one hell of a mess. I’m surprised I didn’t find those people here — the Arkoffs and Irwins. That must be why you were saving the identification, to have a crack at them before I did. I’m surprised I didn’t find you staging one of your goddam inquests. Are they on the way?”

“No. Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Panzer and I were discussing the situation. I don’t stage an inquest, as you call it, until I am properly equipped. Obviously the question is, where did Keems go and whom did he see after he talked with the maid? The easiest assumption is that he stayed at the Irwins’ apartment until they came home, but there is nothing to support it, and that sort of inquiry is not my métier. It is too laborious and too inconclusive, as you well know. Of course your men will now question the doorman and elevator man, but even if they say that Keems went up again shortly after he left Wednesday night with the Irwins, and didn’t come down until after the Irwins returned, what if the Irwins simply deny that he was there when they came home — deny that they ever saw or heard of him again after they left?”

Wolfe gestured. “However, I am not deprecating such inquiry — checking of alibis and all the long and intricate routine — only I have neither the men nor the temper for it, and you have. For it you need no suggestions from me. If, for example, there is discoverable evidence that Keems returned to the Arkoffs’ apartment after talking with Ella Reyes, you’ll discover it, and you’re welcome to. I’m quite willing for you to finish the job. Since you don’t want two unsolved homicides on your record you’ll use all your skills and resources to solve them, and when you do you will inevitably clear Peter Hays. I’ve done my share.”

“Yeah. By getting two people murdered.”

“Nonsense. That’s childish, Mr. Cramer, and you know it.”

Stebbins made a noise, and Cramer asked him, “You got a question, Purley?”

“Not exactly a question,” Purley rumbled. He was always a little hoarser than normal in Wolfe’s presence, from the strain of controlling his impulses. Or rather, one impulse, the one to find out how many clips it would take to make Wolfe incapable of speech. He continued. “Only I don’t believe it, that Wolfe’s laying off. I never saw him lay off yet. He’s got something he’s holding onto, and when we’ve got the edges trimmed by doing all the work that he’s too good for he’ll spring it. Why has he got that Molloy woman here? You remember the time we got a warrant and searched the whole damn house, and up in the plant rooms he had a woman stretched out in a box covered with moss or something and he was spraying it with water, which we found out later. I can go up and bring her down, or we can both go up. Goodwin won’t try stopping an officer of the law, and if he—”

He stopped and was on his feet, but I had already buzzed the South Room on the house phone and in a second was speaking.

“Archie Goodwin, Mrs. Molloy. Bolt your door, quick. Step on it. I’ll hold on.”

“It’s already bolted. What—”

“Fine. Sorry to bother you, but a character named Stebbins, a sort of a cop, is having trouble with his brain, and I thought he might go up and try to annoy you. Forget it, but don’t unbolt the door for anybody but me until further notice.”

I hung up and swiveled. “Sit down, Sergeant. Would you like a glass of water?”

The cord at the side of his big neck was tight. “We’re in the house,” he told Cramer, hoarser than ever, “and they’re obstructing justice. She recognized a corpse and denied it. She’s a fugitive. To hell with the bolt.”

He knew better, but he was upset. Cramer ignored him and demanded of Wolfe, “What does Mrs. Molloy know that you don’t want me to know?”

“Nothing whatever, to my knowledge.” Wolfe was unruffled. “Nor do I. She is my guest. It would be vain to submit her to your importunity even if you requested it civilly, and Mr. Stebbins should by now know the folly of trying to bully me. If you wish the identification confirmed, why not Mr. or Mrs. Irwin or a member of Ella Reyes’ family? The address is— Saul?”