Rex Stout: The Body in the Hall

Cramer’s eyes came to me, and I obeyed. “I didn’t find out about the switch in coats until the middle of the afternoon. His was the same color as mine, but mine’s newer. When he phoned for an appointment this morning he gave me his name and address, and I wanted to phone him to tell him to bring my coat back, but he wasn’t listed, and Information said she didn’t have him, so I decided to go get it. I walked, wearing Meegan’s coat. There was a cop and a crowd and a PD car in front of twenty-nine Arbor Street, and, as I approached, another PD car came, and Purley Stebbins got out and went in, so I decided to skip it, not wanting to go through the torture. There was a dog present, and he nuzzled me, and I patted him. I will admit, if pressed, that I should not have patted him. The cop asked me if the dog was mine, and I said no and went on, and headed for home. I was—”

“Did you call the dog or signal it?”

“No. I was at Twenty-eighth and Ninth Avenue before I knew he was tailing me. I did not entice or remove. If I did, if there’s some kind of a dodge about the dog, please tell me why I phoned the precinct to get the name of his owner.”

“I don’t know. With Wolfe and you I never know. Where is it?”

I blurted it out before Wolfe could stop me. “Upstairs in my room.”

“Bring it down here.”

“Right.”

I was up and going, but Wolfe called me sharply. “Archie!”

I turned. “Yes, sir.”

“There’s no frantic urgency.” He went to Cramer. “The animal seems intelligent, but I doubt if it’s up to answering questions. I don’t want it capering around my office.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then why bring it down?”

“I’m taking it downtown. We want to try something with it.”

Wolfe pursed his lips. “I doubt if that’s feasible. Sit down, Archie. Mr. Goodwin has assumed an obligation and will have to honor it. The creature has no master, and so, presumably, no home. It will have to be tolerated here until Mr. Goodwin gets satisfactory assurance of its future welfare. Archie?”

If we had been alone I would have made my position clear, but with Cramer there I was stuck. “Absolutely,” I agreed.

“You see,” he told Cramer. “I’m afraid we can’t permit the dog’s removal.”

“Nuts. I’m taking it.”

“Indeed? What writ have you? Replevin? Warrant for arrest as a material witness?”

Cramer opened his mouth and shut it again. He put his elbows on the chair arms, interlaced his fingers, and leaned forward. “Look. You and Meegan check, either because you’re both telling it straight, or because you’ve framed it, I don’t know which, and we’ll see. But I’m taking the dog. Kampf, the man who was killed, lived on Perry Street, a few blocks away from Arbor Street. He arrived at twenty-nine Arbor Street, with the dog on a leash, about five-twenty this afternoon. The janitor of the house, named Olsen, lives in the basement, and he was sitting at his front window, and he saw Kampf arrive with the dog and turn in at the entrance. About ten minutes later he saw the dog come out, with no leash, and right after the dog a man came out. The man was Victor Talento, a lawyer, the tenant of the ground-floor apartment. Talento says he left his apartment to go to an appointment, saw the dog in the hall, thought it was a stray, and chased it out, and that’s all he knows. Anyhow, Olsen says Talento walked off, and the dog stayed there on the sidewalk.”

Cramer unlaced his fingers and sat back. “About twenty minutes later, around ten minutes to six, Olsen heard someone yelling his name and went to the rear and up one flight to the ground-floor hall. Two men were there, a live one and a dead one. The live one was Ross Chaffee, a painter, the tenant of the top-floor studio — that’s the fourth floor. The dead one was the man that had arrived with the dog. He had been strangled with the dog’s leash, and the body was at the bottom of the stairs leading up. Chaffee says he found it when he came down to go to an appointment, and that’s all he knows. He stayed there while Olsen went downstairs to phone. A squad car arrived at five-fifty-eight. Sergeant Stebbins arrived at six-ten. Goodwin arrived at six-ten. Excellent timing.”

Wolfe merely grunted. Cramer continued, “You can have it all. The dog’s leash was in the pocket of Kampf’s raincoat, which was on him. The laboratory says it was used to strangle him. The routine is still in process. I’ll answer questions within reason. The four tenants of the house were all there when Kampf arrived: Victor Talento, the lawyer, on the ground floor; Richard Meegan, whose job you say you wouldn’t take, second floor; Jerome Aland, a night-club performer, third floor; and Ross Chaffee, the painter with the studio. Aland says he was sound asleep until we banged on his door and took him down to look at the corpse. Meegan says he heard nothing and knows nothing.”

Cramer sat forward again. “Okay, what happened? Kampf went there to see one of those four men, and had his dog with him. It’s possible he took the leash off in the lower hall to leave the dog there, but I doubt it. At least it’s just as possible that he took the dog along to the door of one of the apartments, and the dog was wet and the tenant wouldn’t let it enter, so Kampf left it outside. Another possibility is that the dog was actually present when Kampf was killed, but we’ll know more about that after we see and handle the dog. The particular thing we want — we’re going to take the dog in that house and see which door it goes to. We’re going to do that now. There’s a man out in my car who knows dogs.” Cramer stood up.

Wolfe shook his head. “You must be hard put. You say Mr. Kampf lived on Perry Street. With a family?”

“No. Bachelor. Some kind of a writer. He didn’t have to make a living; he had means.”

“Then the beast is orphaned. He’s in your room, Archie?”

“Yes, sir.” I got up and started for the door.

Wolfe halted me. “One moment. Go up and in, lock your door, and stay there till I notify you. Go!”

I went. It was either that or quit my job on the spot, and I resign only when we haven’t got company. Also, assuming that there was a valid reason for refusing to surrender the dog to the cops, Wolfe was justified. Cramer, needing no warrant to enter the house because he was already in, wouldn’t hesitate to mount to my room to do his own fetching, and stopping him physically would have raised some delicate points. Whereas breaking through a locked door would be another matter.

I didn’t lock it, because it hadn’t been locked for years and I didn’t remember which drawer of my chest the key was in, and while I was searching Cramer might conceivably have made it up the carpeted stairs and come right in, so I left it open and stood on the sill to listen. If I heard him coming I would shut it and brace it with my foot. Nero, or Jet, depending on where you stand, came over to me, but I ordered him back, and he went without a murmur. From below came voices, not cordial, but not raised enough for me to get words. Before long there was the sound of Cramer’s heavy steps leaving the office and tramping along the hall, and then the slam of the front door.

I called down, “All clear?”

“No!” It was a bellow. “Wait till I bolt it!” And after a moment: “All right!”

I shut my door and went to the stairs and descended. Wolfe was back in his chair behind his desk, sitting straight. As I entered he snapped at me, “A pretty mess! You sneak a dog in here to badger me, and what now?”

I crossed to my desk, sat, and spoke calmly. “We’re way beyond that. You will never admit you bollixed it up yourself, so forget it. When you ask me what now, that’s easy. I could say I’ll take the dog down and deliver him at Homicide, but we’re beyond that too. Not only have you learned that he is orphaned, as you put it, which sounds terrible, and therefore adopting him will probably be simple, but also you have taken a stand with Cramer, and of course you won’t back up. If we sit tight with the door bolted I suppose I can take the dog out back for his outings, but what if the law shows up tomorrow with a writ?”