Rex Stout - Three Witnesses

I nodded at Wolfe, and he took up his phone. “Mr. Cramer? I don’t know if you know that I’m investigating the Karnow murder. For a client. Mrs. Karnow engaged me at noon today.”

“Go ahead and investigate. What do you want?”

“I understand that Mr. Aubry is being held on a murder charge, without bail. That’s regrettable, because he’s innocent. If you are supporting that charge I advise you to reconsider. On the soundness of that advice I stake my professional reputation.”

I would have paid admission to see Cramer’s face. He knew Wolfe would rather go without eating a whole day than be caught wrong in a flat statement like that.

“That’s all I wanted, your advice.” The growl was still a growl, but not the same. “Is it all right if I wait till morning to turn him loose?”

“Formalities may require it. May I ask a question? How many of the others-Mrs. Savage, her son, Mr. and Mrs. Horne, Mr. Beebe-have been eliminated by alibis?”

“Crossed off, no one. But Aubry not only has no alibi, he admits he was there.”

“Yes, I know. However, it was one of the others. I must now choose between alternatives. Either I proceed independently to disclose and hand over the culprit, or I invite you to partake. Which would you prefer?”

It was nearly silence, but I thought I could hear Cramer breathe. “Are you saying you’ve got it?”

“I’m saying I am prepared to expose the murderer. It would be a little simpler if you can spare the time, for I must have them here at my office, and for you that will be no problem. If you care to take part could you get them here in half an hour?”

Cramer cussed. Since it’s a misdemeanor to use profanity over the phone, and since I don’t want to hang a misdemeanor rap on an inspector, I won’t quote it. He added, “I’m coming up there. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“You won’t get in.” Wolfe wasn’t nasty, but he was firm. “If you come without those people, or without first assuring me that they will be brought, Mr. Goodwin won’t even open the door to the crack the chain bolt will permit. He’s in a touchy mood because a man hit him on the jaw and knocked him down. Nor am I in any humor to wrangle with you. I gave you your chance. Do you remember that when you were here this morning I told you that I had the last letter Mrs. Karnow received from her husband, and offered to show it to you?”

“Yes.”

“And you said you weren’t interested in a letter Karnow wrote nearly three years ago. You were wrong. I now offer again to show it to you before I send it to the District Attorney, but only on the condition as stated. Well?”

I’ll say one thing for Cramer, he knew when he was out of choices, and he didn’t try to prolong it. He cussed again and then got it out. “They’ll be there, and so will I.”

Wolfe hung up. I asked him, “What about our client? Hadn’t she better be present?”

He made a face. “I suppose so. See if you can get her.”

V

IT WAS HALF-PAST eleven when I ushered Norman Horne and his attractive wife to the office and to the two vacant seats in the cluster of chairs that had been placed facing Wolfe’s desk. At their left was Mrs. Savage; behind them were Dick Savage, James M. Beebe, and Sergeant Purley Stebbins-only not in that order, because Purley was in the middle, behind Ann Horne. There had been another chair in the cluster, for Caroline Karnow, but she had moved it away, over to the side of the room where the bookshelves were, while I was in the hall admitting Mrs. Savage and Dick. That had put her where Purley couldn’t see her without turning his head a full quarter-circle, and he hadn’t liked it, but I had let him know that it was none of his damn business where our client sat.

The red leather chair was for Cramer, who was in the dining room with Wolfe. After the Hornes had greeted their relatives, including Caroline, and got seated, I crossed to the dining room and told Wolfe we were ready, and he marched to the office and to his desk, and stood.

“Archie?”

“Yes, sir.” I was there. “Front row, from the left, Mr. Horne, Mrs. Horne, Mrs. Savage. Rear, from the left, Mr. Savage, Mr. Stebbins you know, and Mr. Beebe.”

Wolfe nodded almost perceptibly, sat, and turned his head. “Mr. Cramer?”

Cramer, standing, was surveying them. “I can’t say this is unofficial,” he conceded, “since I asked you to come here, and I’m here. But anything Mr. Wolfe says to you is solely on his own responsibility, and you’re under no obligation to answer any questions he asks if you don’t want to. I want that clearly understood.”

“Even so,” Beebe piped up, “isn’t this rather irregular?”

“If you mean unusual, yes. If you mean improper, I don’t think so. You weren’t ordered to come, you were asked, and you’re here. Do you want to leave?”

Apparently they didn’t, at least not enough to make an issue of it. They exchanged glances, and someone muttered something. Beebe said, “We certainly reserve the right to leave.”

“Nobody will stop you,” Cramer assured him, and sat. He looked at Wolfe. “Go ahead.”

Wolfe adjusted himself in his chair to achieve the maximum of comfort, and then moved his eyes, left and right, to take them in. He spoke. “Mr. Cramer assured you that you are not obliged to answer my questions. I can relieve your minds of that concern. I doubt if I’ll have a single question to put to any of you, though of course an occasion for one may arise. I merely want to describe the situation as it now stands and invite your comment. You may have none.”

He interlaced his fingers at the crest of his central bulge. “The news that Mr. Karnow had been murdered was brought here by Mr. Stebbins early last evening, but my interest in it was only casual until Mrs. Karnow came at noon today and aroused it by hiring me. Then I gave it my attention, and it seemed to me that your obvious motive for murder-Mrs. Savage and her son and daughter, and Mr. Horne as the daughter’s husband-was not very compelling. From what my client told me of Mr. Karnow’s character and temperament, it seemed unlikely that any of you would so fear harsh and exigent demands from him that you would be driven to the dangerous and desperate act of murder. You had received your legacies legally and properly, in good faith, and surely you would at least have first tried an appeal to his reason and his grace. So one of you must have had a stronger motive.”

Wolfe cleared his throat. “That derogation of your obvious motives put me up a stump. There were two people with overpowering motives: Mr. Aubry and Mrs. Karnow. Not only did they stand to forfeit a much larger sum than any of you, but also they faced a deprivation even more intolerable. He would lose her, and she would lose him. It is not surprising that Mr. Cramer and his colleagues were dazzled by the glitter of that powerful motive. I might have been similarly bemused but for two circumstances. The first was that I had concluded that neither Mrs. Karnow nor Mr. Aubry had committed murder. If they had, they had come fresh from that ferocious deed to engage me to negotiate for them with the man one of them had just killed, for the devious purpose of raising the presumption that they didn’t know he was dead, and I had sat here and conversed with them for an hour without feeling any twinge of suspicion that they were diddling me. I was compelled either to reject that notion or abandon certain pretensions that feed my ego. The choice wasn’t difficult.”