Dashiell Hammett: The Thin Man

“I don't know. I was wondering.”

“And I don't know,” he said. “I never saw Nunheim, far as I—”

“He was a little fellow, not more than five feet three, and would weigh maybe a hundred and twenty. I'd say he was thirty-five or —six. Sallow, dark hair and eyes, withi the eyes set pretty close together, big mouth, long limp nose, bat-wing ears—shifty-looking.”

“That could easily be him,” he said, “though I didn't get too close a view of my man. I suppose the police would let me see him”—he shrugged—“not that it matters now. Where was I? Oh, yes, about not being able to get in touch with Wynant. That put me in an uncomfortable position, since the police clearly thought I was in touch with him and lying about it. So did you, didn't you?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“And you also, like the police, probably suspected that I had met him, either at the Plaza or later, on the day of the murder.”

“It seemed possible.”

“Yes. And of course you were partly right. I had at least seen him, and seen him at a place and time that would've spelled Guilty with a capital G to the police, so, having lied instinctively and by inference, I now lied directly and deliberately. Herrnann had been tied up in a conference all that afternoon and didn't know how long I had been waiting to see him. Louise Jacobs is a good friend of mine. Without going into details, I told her she could help me help a client by saying I had arrived there at a minute or two after three o'clock and she agreed readily enough. To protect her in case of trouble, I told her that if anything went wrong she could always say that she hadn't remembered what time I arrived, but that I, the next day, had casually mentioned my arrival at that time and she had no reason for doubting me—throwing the whole thing on me.” Macaulay took a deep breath. “None of that's important now. What's important is that I heard from Wynant this morning.”

“Another one of those screwy letters?” I asked.

“No, he phoned. I made a date with him for tonight—for you and me. I told him you wouldn't do anything for him unless you could see him, so he promised to meet us tonight. I'm going to take the police, of course. I can't go on justifying my shielding him like this. I can get him an acquittal on grounds of insanity and have him put away. That's all I can do, all I want to do.”

“Have you told the police yet?”

“No. He didn't phone till just after they'd left. Anyway, I wanted to see you first. I wanted to tell you I hadn't forgotten what I owed you and—”

“Nonsense,” I said.

“It's not.” He turned to Nora. “I don't suppose he ever told you he saved my life once in a shell-hole in—”

“He's nuts,” I told her. “He fired at a fellow and missed and I fired at him and didn't and that's all there was to it.” I addressed him again: “Why don't you let the police wait awhile? Suppose you and I keep this date tonight and hear what he's got to say. We can sit on him and blow whistles when the meeting's about to break up if we're convinced he's the murderer.”

Macaulay smiled wearily. “You're still doubtful, aren't you? Well, I'm willing to do it that way if you want, though it seems like a— But perhaps you'll change your mind when I tell you about our telephone conversation.”

Dorothy, wearing a nightgown and a robe of Nora's, both much too long for her, came in yawning. “Oh!” she exclaimed when she saw Macaulay, and then, when she had recognized him, “Oh, hello, Mr. Macaulay. I didn't know you were here. Is there any news of my father?”

He looked at me. I shook my head. He told her: “Not yet, but perhaps we'll have some today.”

I said: “Dorothy's had some, indirectly. Tell Macaulay about Gilbert.”

“You mean about—about my father?” she asked hesitantly, staring at the floor.

“Oh, dear me, no,” I said.

Her face flushed and she glanced reproachfully at me; then, hastily, she told Macaulay: “Gil saw my father yesterday and he told Gil who killed Miss Wolf.”

“What?”

She nodded four or five times, earnestly.

Macaulay looked at me with puzzled eyes.

“This doesn't have to've happened,” I reminded him. “It's what Gil says happened.”

“I see. Then you think he might be—?”

“You haven't done much talking to that family since hell broke loose, have you?” I asked.

“No.”

“It's an experience. They're all sex-crazy, I think, and it backs up into their heads. They start off—”

Dorothy said angrily: “I think you're horrid. I've done my best to—”

“What are you kicking about?” I demanded. “I'm giving you the break this time: I'm willing to believe Gil did tell you that. Don't expect too much of me.”

Macaulay asked: “And who killed her?”

“I don't know. Gil wouldn't tell me.”

“Had your brother seen him often?”

“I don't know how often. He said he had been seeing him.”

“And was anything said—well—about the man Nunheim?”

“No. Nick asked me that. He didn't tell me anything else at all.”

I caught Nora's eye and made signals. She stood up saying: “Let's go in the other room, Dorothy, and give these lads a chance to do whatever it is they think they're doing.”

Dorothy went reluctantly, but she went out with Nora.

Macaulay said: “She's grown up to be something to look at.” He cleared his throat. “I hope your wife won't—”

“Forget it. Nora's all right. You started to tell me about your conversation with Wynant.”

“He phoned right after the police left and said he'd seen the ad in the Times and wanted to know what I wanted. I told him you weren't anxious to get yourself mixed up in his troubles and had said you wouldn't touch it at all without talking it over with him first, and we made the date for tonight. Then he asked if I'd seen Mimi and I told him I'd seen her once or twice since her return from Europe and had also seen his daughter. And then he said this: 'If my wife should ask for money, give her any sum in reason.'”

“I'll be damned,” I said.

Macaulay nodded. “That's the way I felt about it. I asked him why and he said what he'd read in the morning papers had convinced him that she was Rosewater's dupe, not his confederate, and he had reason to believe she was 'kindly disposed' towards him, Wynant. I began to see what he was up to, then, and I told him she had already turned the knife and chain over to the police. And try to guess what he said to that.”

“I give up.”

“He hemmed and hawed a bit—not much, mind you—and then as smooth as you like asked: 'You mean the chain and knife on the watch I left with Julia to be repaired?'”

I laughed. “What'd you say?”

“That stumped me. Before I could think up an answer he was saying: 'However, we can discuss that more fully when we meet tonight.' I asked him where and when we'd meet him and he said he'd have to phone me, he didn't know where he'd be. He's to phone me at my house at ten o'clock. He was in a hurry now, though he had seemed leisurely enough before, and hadn't time to answer any of the things I wanted to ask, so he hung up and I phoned you. What do you think of his innocence now?”

“Not as much as I did,” I replied slowly. “How sure are you of hearing from him at ten tonight?”

Macaulay shrugged. “You know as much about that as I do.”

“Then if I were you I wouldn't bother the police till we've grabbed our wihd man and can turn him over to them. This story of yours isn't going to make them exactly love you and, even if they don't throw you in the can right away, they'll make things pretty disagreeable for you if Wynant gives us a run-around tonight.”

“I know, but I'd like to get the load off my shoulders.”