Rex Stout: When a Man Murders…

“Confound it, in the middle of a meal.”

If you think that was put on, you’re wrong. I know that damn fat genius. That was how he felt, and he said it, that’s all.

I ignored it. “I left nothing in the room,” I told him, “and I had no audience, so we’re fancy free. I know it’s hard to talk with your mouth full, but—”

“Shut up.” Silence for four seconds, then: “Did he die within the past ninety minutes?”

“No. The skin on his chest has started to cool off.”

“Did you see anything suggestive?”

“No. I was in there maybe three minutes. I wanted to interrupt your dinner. I can go back and give it a whirl.”

“Don’t.” He was curt. “There’s nothing to be gained by deferring the discovery. I’ll have Fritz notify the police anonymously. Bring Mr. Aubry and Mrs. Karnow — have they eaten?”

“They may be eating now. I told them to.”

“See that they eat, and then bring them here on a pretext. Devise one.”

“Don’t tell them?”

“No. I’ll tell them. Have them here in an hour and ten minutes, not sooner. I’ve barely started my dinner — and now this.”

He hung up.

After crossing the lobby and proceeding along one of the long, wide, and luxurious corridors, near the entrance to the Tulip Bar I was stopped by an old acquaintance, Tim Evarts, the first assistant house dick, only they don’t call him that, of the Churchill. He wanted to chin, but I eased him off. If he had known that I had just found a corpse in one of his rooms and forgot to mention it, he wouldn’t have been so chummy.

The big room was only half filled with customers at that hour. The clients were at a table over in a corner, and as I approached and Aubry got up to move a chair for me I gave them both a mark for good conduct. Presumably they were on the sharpest edge of anxiety to hear what I was bringing, but they didn’t yap or claw at me.

When I was seated I spoke to their waiting faces. “No answer to my knock. I’ll have to try again. Meanwhile let’s eat.”

I couldn’t see that their disappointment was anything but plain, wholesome disappointment.

“I can’t eat now,” Caroline said wearily.

“I strongly advise it,” I told her. “I don’t mean a major meal, but something like a piece of melon and a sturgeon sandwich? We can get that here. Then I’ll try again, and if there’s still no answer we’ll see. You can’t stick around here all night.”

“He might show up any minute,” Aubry suggested. “Or he might come in and leave again. Wouldn’t it be better if you stayed up there?”

“Not on an empty stomach.” I was firm. “And I’ll bet Mrs. — What do I call you?”

“Oh, call me Caroline.”

“I’ll bet you haven’t eaten for a week. You may need some energy, so you’d better refuel.”

That was a tough half-hour. She did eat a little, and Aubry cleaned up a turkey sandwich and a hunk of cheese, but she was having a hard time to keep from showing that she thought I was a cold-blooded pig, and Aubry, as the minutes went by, left no doubt of his attitude. It was pretty gloomy. When my coffee cup was empty I told them to sit tight, got up and went out and down the corridor to the men’s room, locked myself in a cubicle against the chance that Aubry might appear, and stayed there a quarter of an hour. Then I returned to the bar and went to their table and told them, “No answer. I phoned Mr. Wolfe, and he has an idea and wants to see us right away. Let’s go.”

“No,” Caroline said.

“What for? Aubry demanded.

“Look,” I said, “when Mr. Wolfe has an idea and wants me to hear it, I oblige him. So I’m going. You can stay here and soak in the agony, or you can come along. Take your pick.”

From their expressions it was a good guess that they were beginning to think that Wolfe was a phony and I was a slob, but since their only alternative was to call the deal off and start hunting another salesman for their line, they had to string along. After Aubry paid the check we left, and in the corridor I steered them to the left and around to an exit on a side street, to avoid the main lobby, because by that time some city employees had certainly responded to Fritz’s anonymous phone call to headquarters, and from remarks they had made I had learned that the Aubrys were known at the Churchill. The doorman who waved up a taxi for us called them by name.

At the house I let us in with my key, and, closing the door, shot the chain bolt. As I escorted them down the hall to the office a glance at my wrist told me it was 8:35, so I hadn’t quite stretched it to the hour and ten minutes Wolfe had specified, but pretty close. He emerged from the door to the dining room, which is across the hall from the office, stood there while we filed in, and then followed, the look on his face as black as the coffee he had just been sipping. After crossing to his desk and lowering his overwhelming bulk into his chair, he growled at them, “Sit down, please.”

They stayed on their feet. Aubry demanded, “What’s the big idea? Goodwin says you have one.”

“You will please sit down,” Wolfe said coldly. “I look at people I’m talking to, especially when I suspect them of trying to flummox me, and my neck is not elastic.”

His tone made it evident that what was biting him was nothing trivial. Caroline sidled to the red leather chair and sat on its edge. Aubry plopped on the yellow one and met Wolfe’s level gaze.

“You suspect?” he asked quietly. “Who? Of What?”

“I think one of you has seen and talked with Mr. Karnow — today. Perhaps both of you.”

“What makes you think so?”

“I reserve that. Whether and when I disclose it depends on you. While complete candor is too much to expect, it should at least be approximated when you’re briefing a man for a job you want done. When and where did you see Mr. Karnow, and what was said?”

“I didn’t. I have never seen him. I told you that. What’s the idea of this?”

Wolfe’s head moved. “Then it was you, madam?”

Caroline was staring at him, her brow creased. “Are you suggesting that I saw my — that I saw Sidney Karnow today?”

“Precisely.”

“Well, I didn’t! I haven’t seen him at all! And I want to know why you’re suggesting that!”

“You will.” Wolfe rested his elbows on the chair arms, leaned forward, and gave her his straightest and hardest look. She met it. He turned his head to the right and aimed the look at Aubry, and had it met again.

The doorbell rang.

Fritz was in the kitchen doing the dishes, so I got up and went to the hall and flipped the switch of the light out on the stoop and took a look through the one-way glass panel of the front door. What I saw deserved admiration. Sergeant Purley Stebbins of Manhattan Homicide West knew that that panel was one-way glass and he was visible, but he wasn’t striking a pose; he just stood there, his big broad pan a foot away from the glass, to him opaque, a dick doing his duty.

I went and opened the door and spoke through the two-inch crack which was all the chain bolt would allow. “Hello there. It wasn’t me, honest.”

“Okay, comic.” His deep bass was a little hoarse, as usual. “Then I won’t take you. Let me in.”

“For what?”

“I’ll tell you. Do you expect me to talk through this damn crack?”

“Yes. If I let you in you’ll tramp right over me to bust in on Mr. Wolfe, and he’s in a bad humor. So am I. I can spare you ten seconds to loosen up. One, two, three, four—”

He cut me off. “You were just up at the Hotel Churchill. You left there about a half an hour ago with a man named Paul Aubry and his wife, and got into a taxi with them. Where are they? Did you bring them here?”