Rex Stout: The Squirt and the Monkey

“I’ll accept that,” Wolfe murmured.

“That’s the way it was when I met Harry, but I didn’t know it until we were married, two years ago. I admit Getz might not have got killed if it hadn’t been for me. When I found out how it was I tried to talk sense into Harry. I told him his name had been connected with Dazzle Dan so long that Getz would have to give him a bigger share, at least half, if he demanded it. He claimed he tried, but he just wasn’t man enough. I told him his name was so well known that he could cut loose and start another one on his own, but he wasn’t man enough for that either. He’s not a man, he’s a worm. I didn’t let up. I kept after him, I admit that. I’ll admit it on the witness stand if I have to. And I admit I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. I didn’t know there was any danger of making him desperate enough to commit murder. I didn’t know he had it in him. Of course he’ll break down, but if he says I knew that he had decided to kill Getz I’ll have to deny it because it’s not true. I didn’t.”

Her husband was staring up at the back of her head, his mouth hanging open.

“I see.” Wolfe’s voice was hard and cold. “First you plan to put it on a stranger, Mr. Goodwin — indeed, two strangers, for I am in it too. That failing, you put it on your husband.” He shook his head. “No, madam. Your silliest mistake was opening the window to kill the monkey, but there were others, Mr. Cramer?”

Cramer had to take only one step to get her arm.

“Good God!” Koven groaned.

Pat Lowell said to Wolfe in a thin sharp voice, “So this is what you worked me for.”

She was a tough baby too, that girl.