Rex Stout: The Last Witness

If she liked to bet on any animals other than horses, one would have got her ten that she was a damn liar. Evidently Wolfe would have split it with me, since he didn’t even bother to ask her the names of the friends.

He merely nodded. “What is your salary?”

“It’s only sixty-five, so of course I can’t bet much myself.”

“Of course. About the windows in that front room. In summer weather, when one of you is on duty there at night, are the windows open?”

She was concentrating. “When it’s hot, yes. Usually the one in the middle. If it’s very hot, maybe all of them.”

“With the shades up?”

“Yes.”

“It was hot July fifteenth. Were the windows open that night?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t here.”

“Where were you?”

“I was out in Jersey, in a car with a friend — Alice Hart. To get cooled off. We got back after midnight.”

Wonderful, I thought. That settled that. One woman might conceivably lie, but surely not two.

Wolfe was eying her. “If the windows were open and the shades up the evening of July fifteenth, as they almost certainly were, would anyone in her senses have proceeded to kill Marie Willis so exposed to view? What do you think?”

She didn’t call him on the pronoun. “Why, no,” she conceded. “That would have been — no, I don’t think so.”

“Then she — or he — must have closed the windows and drawn the shades before proceeding. How could Leonard Ashe, in the circumstances as given, have managed that without alarming Miss Willis?”

“I don’t know. He might have — no, I don’t know.”

“He might have what?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.”

“How well do you know Guy Unger?”

“I know him fairly well.”

She had been briefed all right. She was expecting that one.

“Have you seen much of him in the past two months?”

“No, very little.”

Wolfe reached in his pocket and got the snapshot and held it out. “When was this taken?”

She left the bed and was going to take it, but he held on to it. After a look she said, “Oh, that,” and sat down again. All of a sudden she exploded, indignation finally breaking through. “You took that from my drawer! What else did you take?” She sprang up, trembling all over. “Get out of here! Get out and stay out!”

Wolfe returned the snap to his pocket, arose, said, “Come, Archie, there seems to be a limit after all,” and started for the door. I followed.

He was at the sill when she darted past me, grabbed his arm, and took it back. “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean that. I flare up like that. I just — I don’t care about the damn picture.”

Wolfe pulled loose and got a yard of space. “When was it taken?”

“About two weeks ago — two weeks ago Sunday.”

“Who is the other woman?”

“Helen Weltz.”

“Who took it?”

“A man that was with us.”

“His name?”

“His name is Ralph Ingalls.”

“Was Guy Unger Miss Weltz’s companion, or yours?”

“Why, we — we were just together.”

“Nonsense. Two men and two women are never just together. How were you paired?”

“Well — Guy and Helen, and Ralph and me.”

Wolfe sent a glance at the chair he had vacated and apparently decided it wasn’t worth the trouble of walking back to it. “Then since Miss Willis died Mr. Unger’s interest has centered on Miss Weltz?”

“I don’t know about ‘centered.’ They seem to like each other, as far as I know.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“At this office, since it opened a year ago. Before that I was at the Trafalgar office for two years.”

“When did Miss Willis tell you she was going to tell Robina Keane of her husband’s proposal?”

She had expected that one too. “That morning. That Thursday, the fifteenth of July.”

“Did you approve?”

“No, I didn’t. I thought she ought to just tell him no and forget it. I told her she was asking for trouble and she might get it. But she was so daddled on Robina Keane—” Bella shrugged. “Do you want to sit down?”

“No, thank you. Where is Miss Weltz?”

“This is her day off.”

“I know. Where can I find her?”

She opened her mouth and closed it. She opened it again. “I’m not sure. Wait a minute,” she said, and went clicking down the hall to the front. It was more like two minutes when she came clicking back and reported, “Miss Hart thinks she’s at a little place she rented for the summer up in Westchester. Do you want me to phone and find out?”

“Yes, if you would.”

Off she went, and we followed. In the front room the other three were at the boards. While Bella Velardi spoke to Miss Hart, and Miss Hart went to the phone at the desk and got a number and talked, Wolfe stood and frowned around, at the windows, the boards, the phone answerers, and me. When Miss Hart told him Helen Weltz was on the wire he went to the desk and took it.

“Miss Weltz? This is Nero Wolfe. As Miss Hart told you, I’m looking into certain matters connected with the murder of Marie Willis, and would like to see you. I have some other appointments but can adjust them. How long will it take you to get to the city?... You can’t?... I’m afraid I can’t wait until tomorrow... No, that’s out of the question... I see. You’ll be there all afternoon?... Very well, I’ll do that.”

He hung up and asked Miss Hart to tell me how to get to the place in Westchester. She obliged, and beyond Katonah it got so complicated that I got out my notebook. Also I jotted down the phone number. Wolfe had marched out with no amenities, so I thanked her politely and caught up with him halfway down the stairs. When we were out on the sidewalk I inquired, “A taxi to Katonah?”

“No.” He was cold with rage. “To the garage for the car.”

We headed west.

As we stood inside the garage, on Thirty-sixth Street near Tenth Avenue, waiting for Pete to bring the car down, Wolfe came out with something I had been expecting.

“We could walk home,” he said, “in four minutes.”

I gave him a grin. “Yes, sir. I knew it was coming — while you were on the phone. To go to Katonah we would have to drive. To drive we would have to get the car. To get the car we would have to come to the garage. The garage is so close to home that we might as well go and have lunch first. Once in the house, with the door bolted and not answering the phone, we could reconsider the matter of driving to Westchester. So you told her we would go to Katonah.”

“No. It occurred to me in the cab.”

“I can’t prove it didn’t. But I have a suggestion.” I nodded at the door to the garage office. “There’s a phone in there. Call Fritz first. Or shall I?”

“I suppose so,” he muttered, and went to the office door and entered, sat at the desk, and dialed. In a moment he was telling Fritz who and where he was, asking some questions, and getting answers he didn’t like. After instructing Fritz to tell callers that he hadn’t heard from us and had no idea where we were, and telling him not to expect us home until we got there, he hung up, glared at the phone, and then glared at me.

“There have been four phone calls. One from an officer of the court, one from the District Attorney’s office, and two from Inspector Cramer.”

“Ouch.” I made a face. “The court and the DA, sure, but not Cramer. When you’re within a mile of a homicide of his he itches from head to foot. You can imagine what kind of suspicions your walking out under a subpoena would give him. Let’s go home. It will be interesting to see whether he has one dick posted out in front, or two or three. Of course he’ll collar you and you may get no lunch at all, but what the hell.”