Rex Stout - Trouble in Triplicate

I called to her without leaving my chair, “Listen, honey, I wouldn’t shoot you for a nickel, but I can easy catch you before you get out the front door and this time I’ll wrap you up good.”

She flung it at me: “Rat!”

Jensen was paying no attention to us. His eyes stuck to Wolfe. He asked, not with any venom, just asking, “Which do you prefer?” Evidently he had decided to give us an exhibition of self-control.

Wolfe returned his gaze. “I should think,” he said dryly, “that you would rather stay here. As you probably know, Mr. Cramer is not fond of you, and he is somewhat heavy-handed. Not that he can be kept out of it indefinitely, but the immediate question is where do you want to wait for the report on the gun and bullets, here or at police headquarters? It is likely to be several hours. I suggest that you will be more comfortable here.” Wolfe glanced at the clock; it said twenty to seven. “There will of course be something to eat.”

Jensen said, “I want to use the phone.”

Wolfe shook his head. “No, sir. Shall I call Mr. Cramer?”

“No.”

“Good. That’s sensible. Miss Geer?”

She wasn’t conversing. Wolfe waited patiently for four seconds.

“Shall I phone the police, Miss Geer?”

Her head went from side to side in a negative, the way she had moved toward the door, as if someone or something was doing it for her.

Wolfe heaved a sigh. “Archie, take them to the front room and stay there till I send for you. Fritz will answer the bell. I am aware that it will be tiresome, but there’s no help for it.”

VIII

Yes, it got tiresome, lasting as it did a full two hours. At first I got some diversion out of the fact that Jane and Jensen showed no inclination to sit side by side on the sofa and hold hands. God knows where Wolfe had ever found that sofa and the velvet cushions; it had been there when I had first arrived. One or the other of them did sit on it now and again during their restless moving around, but not the two together. Wolfe’s poison had done its work. It was interesting to watch it. The one who had not fired the gun had got suspicious of the other one; and the other one, seeing that, obviously had figured that if he or she tried to be cordial on the basis of what the hell, darling, we couldn’t be murderers, could we, it would be a giveaway, because the one would be thinking, If I’m suspicious why isn’t he or she? Naturally I watched for something, any kind of sign, from which I could get a notion who was the one and who was the other, but now I leaned one way and now the other, and got nowhere.

At seven-thirty we were all invited to the dining room, but they wouldn’t go.

When Fritz brought trays in to us I had no trouble dealing with my share of melon, broiled pork loin wafers, salad with Wolfe’s own dressing, blueberry pie, and coffee, and Jensen was with me nose and nose, but Jane wouldn’t even look at hers. I was, I admit, in no condition to place a bet, even to risk as much as a busted shoestring. The only way I could have solved the problem would have been to blindfold myself and whichever one I touched first was it. Anyway, I was licked before I started, because bold and daring, which were words Wolfe had used, was putting it mildly. He or she had of course arrived at the house with the gun ready, dressed in the handkerchief, in pocket or handbag, but only with the idea of using it if opportunity offered, for it couldn’t possibly have been planned just as it happened. For split-second decision and action I had never seen anything to equal it. Entered the room. Saw, through the open door, Wolfe (supposedly) seated at his desk. Got hand on gun, protected by handkerchief.

Waited. Instant came, in about a minute, when Wolfe’s eyes were closed or he was looking elsewhere, and also, simultaneously, the other one was either looking in the hall or was at the piano with back turned, depending on who was who. Aimed and fired. When the other one glanced in all directions, that provided the chance to put the gun in the vase. The devil of it was, try to crack it. Unless you could make it fairly overwhelming by way of motive or possession of the gun or something else from the buildup, how were you going to get a jury to convict either of them? Not to mention the little item that what was really wanted was conviction not for felonious assault on Hackett, but for the murder of Jensen and Doyle. During the two hours I spoke to Jane three times, at well-spaced intervals, as follows:

1. “Do you want a drink of water or something?”

2. “There’s a door to that bathroom from this room too. Over there. The one from the bathroom to the office is now locked.”

3. “I beg your pardon.”

That was for a yawn. She neither spoke to me nor looked at me. Jensen was about as bad. I don’t remember any two hours in my experience with a lower score on joviality. So I appreciated the break in the monotony when, a little before nine, I heard the doorbell. Since the door from the front room to the hall was also soundproof, that was all I got out of it except for the faint vibration of footsteps and an even fainter sound of voices. But in about three minutes the door to the hall opened and Fritz came in. He shut the door behind him and spoke, not very loud.

“Archie, Mr. Wolfe wants you in the office. Inspector Cramer is there with Sergeant Stebbins. I am to stay here.”

He held out his hand for the gun. I gave it to him and went.

If the situation in the front room had been unjovial, the one in the office was absolutely grim. One glance at Wolfe was enough to see that he was in a state of uncontrollable fury, because his forefinger was making the same circle, over and over, on the surface of his desk. Sergeant Purley Stebbins was standing by the wall, looking official. Inspector Cramer was in the red leather chair, with his face about the color of the chair. Nobody bothered to glance at me.

Wolfe snapped, “Your notebook.”

I crossed to my desk and got book and pencil and sat down. “This,” I observed, “is what comes of my not attending to the doorbell. If we didn’t want company-”

“Pfui.” Wolfe tapped a piece of paper on his desk. “Look at this.”

I arose and looked. It was a search warrant. “The premises… owned and inhabited by said Nero Wolfe… situate…”

Wowie. I was surprised that Cramer was still alive, or Wolfe either.

Cramer growled, holding himself in, “I’ll try to forget what you just said, Wolfe. It was totally uncalled for. Goddam it, you have given me a runaround too many times. There I was, with that gun. A bullet fired from it matched the bullet you sent me and also the two that killed Jensen and Doyle. That’s the gun, and you sent it to me. All right, then you’ve got a client, and when you’ve got a client you keep him right in your pocket. I would have been a goddam fool to come here and start begging you. I’ve begged you before.”

Wolfe had started making the circle again. “I repeat, sir,” he murmured, “that your acceptance of your salary constitutes a fraud on the people of New York and you are a disgrace to an honorable profession.”

Cramer’s face had reached the red of the chair and was going on from there. “Then,” he said, “I won’t try to forget it. We’re going to search this house.” He started to leave the chair.