Rex Stout: Might as Well Be Dead

Of course all eyes were on him, but his were only for Wolfe. “No,” he said, “except that it’s outrageous and libelous and I’ll get your hide. Produce your sheaf of papers.”

Wolfe shook his head. “The District Attorney will produce them when the time comes. But I’ll humor your curiosity. When Molloy decided to leave the country with his loot, alarmed by the Senate investigation, and to take his secretary, Delia Brandt, with him, he stowed his records in a suitcase and left it in Delia Brandt’s apartment. That is suggestive, since prudence would have dictated their destruction. It suggests that he foresaw some future function for them, and the most likely one would have been to escape penalty for himself by supplying evidence against you. No doubt you foresaw that too, and that’s why you killed him. Do you wish to comment?”

“No. Go ahead and hang yourself.”

“Wait a minute,” Cramer snapped. “I want to see those papers.”

“Not now. By agreement I have an hour without interruption.”

“Where did you get them?”

“Listen and you’ll know.” Wolfe returned to Degan. “The best conjecture is that you knew Molloy had those records, some in your writing, and you knew or suspected he was preparing to decamp. If you demanded that he give them to you or destroy them in your presence, he refused. After you killed him you had no time to search the apartment, but enough to go through his clothing, and it must have been a relief to find the key to the safe-deposit box, since that was the most likely repository of the records — but it was a qualified relief, since you didn’t dare to use the key. If you still have it, and almost certainly you have, it can be found and will be a damaging bit of evidence. You now have another, as the administrator of Molloy’s estate, but surely the safe-deposit company can distinguish between the original and the duplicate they had to have made — and by the way, what would you have done if, opening the box in the presence of Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Parker, you had found the records in it? Had you decided on a course?”

Degan didn’t reply. “Get on,” Cramer rasped. “Where did you get them?”

Wolfe ignored him. “However, they weren’t there. Another question: how did you dare to kill him when you didn’t know where they were? But I’ll venture to answer that myself. By getting Peter Hays there and giving the police an obvious culprit, you insured plenty of time and opportunity for searching the apartment as an old friend of Mrs. Molloy’s. She is not present to inform us, but that can wait.”

“Where is she?” Cramer demanded.

Ignored again. “You must admit, Mr. Degan, that luck was with you. For instance, the safe-deposit box. You had the key, but even if you had known the name Molloy had used in renting it, and you probably didn’t, you wouldn’t have dared to try to get at it. Then fortune intervened, represented by me. I got you access to the box. But in spite of that good fortune you weren’t much better off, for the records weren’t there, and until you found them you were in great jeopardy. What did you do? I wouldn’t mind paying you the compliment of supposing that you conceived the notion that Molloy had cached the records in Delia Brandt’s apartment, and you approached her, but I doubt if you deserve it. It is far more likely that she approached you; that, having decided to marry William Lesser, she wanted to get rid of Molloy’s suitcase, still in her apartment; that before doing so she forced it open and inspected its contents; that if items such as passports and steamship or airplane tickets were there she destroyed them; that she examined the sheaf of papers and from them learned that there was a large sum of money somewhere and that you had been involved with Molloy in extensive and lucrative transactions and probably knew where the money was. She was not without cunning. Before approaching you she took the suitcase, with the records in it, to Grand Central Terminal and put it in a checking locker. Then she saw you, told you what she knew and what she had, and demanded the money.”

“That’s a lie!” William Lesser blurted.

Wolfe’s eyes darted to him. “Then what did she do? Since you know?”

“I don’t know, but I know she wouldn’t do that! It’s a lie!”

“Then let me finish it. A lie, like a truth, should reach its destination. And that, Mr. Degan, was where luck caught up with you. You couldn’t give her the money from the safe-deposit box, but even if you gave her a part of your share of the loot and she surrendered the records to you, you couldn’t empty her brain of what she knew, and as long as she lived she would be a threat. So last night you went to her apartment, ostensibly, I presume, to give her the money and get the records, but actually to kill her, and you did so. I don’t know — Saul !”

I wouldn’t say that Saul slipped up. Sitting between Lesser and Degan, naturally he was concentrating on Degan, and Lesser gave no warning. He just lunged, right across Saul’s knees, either to grab Degan or hit him, or maybe both. By the time I got there Saul had his coattail, jerking him off, Degan was sitting on the floor, and Purley Stebbins was on the way. But Purley, who has his points, wasn’t interested in Lesser, leaving him to Saul. He got his big paws on Degan’s arm, helped him up, and helped him down again onto the chair, while Saul and I bulldozed Lesser to the couch. When we were placed again it was an improvement: Stebbins on one side of Degan and Saul on the other, and Lesser on the sidelines. Cramer, who had stood to watch the operation, sat down.

Wolfe resumed. “I was saying, Mr. Degan, that I don’t know whether you searched her apartment for the records, but naturally — Did he, Mr. Cramer?”

“Someone did,” Cramer growled. “Good. I’m stopping this right here. I want to see those records and I want to know how you got them.”

Wolfe looked at the wall clock. “I still have thirty-eight minutes of my hour. If you interpose authority of course you have it. But I have your word. Is it garbage?”

Cramer’s face got redder, and his jaw worked. “Go ahead.”

“I should think so.” Wolfe returned to Degan. “You did search, naturally, without success. You weren’t looking for something as small as a key, but even if you had been you still wouldn’t have found it, for it was destined for me. How it reached me is a detail Mr. Cramer may discuss with me later if he still thinks it worth while; all that concerns you is that I received it, and sent Mr. Panzer with it to Grand Central, and he returned with the suitcase. From it I got the sheaf of papers now in my drawer. I was inspecting them when Mr. Cramer phoned me shortly after six o’clock, and I arranged with him for this meeting. That’s all, Mr. Degan.”

Wolfe’s eyes went left, and his voice lifted and sharpened. “Now for you, Mrs. Irwin. I wonder if you know how deep your hole is?”

“Don’t say anything, Fanny.” Irwin stood up. “We’re going. Come on, Fanny.” He took her shoulder and she came up to her feet.

“I think not,” Wolfe said. “I quote Mr. Cramer: ‘As it stands now, you can walk out whenever you feel like it.’ But the standing has been altered. Archie, to the door. Mr. Cramer, I’ll use restraint if necessary.”

Cramer didn’t hesitate. He was gruff. “I think you’d better stay and hear it out, Mr. Irwin.”

“I refuse to, Inspector. I’m not going to sit here while he insults and bullies my wife.”

“Then you can stand. Stay at the door, Goodwin. No one leaves this room until I say so. That’s official. All right, Wolfe. God help you if you haven’t got it.”

Wolfe looked at her. “You might as well sit down, Mrs. Irwin. That’s better. You already know most of what I’m going to tell you, perhaps all. Last Wednesday evening a man named Keems, in my employ, called at your apartment and spoke with you and your husband. You were leaving for a party and cut the interview short. Keems left the building with you, but soon he went back to your apartment and talked with your maid, Ella Reyes, and gave her a hundred dollars in cash. In return she gave him information. She told him that on January third you complained of no headache until late in the afternoon, immediately after you received a phone call from Patrick Degan. She may even—”