Rex Stout - The Silent Speaker (Crime Line)

Cramer pounced. “When did you tell her not to come here tonight? When?”

Kates didn’t answer. He realized his arm was being gripped, looked down at Cramer’s hand gripping it, and said, “Let go of me. Let go!” Cramer did so. Kates walked across to a chair against the wall, sat on it, and clamped his jaw. He was breaking off relations.

I said to Cramer, “If you want it, I was there when Rowcliffe was questioning him. He said he was at his friend’s apartment on Eleventh Street, where he’s staying, and Miss Gunther phoned to say she had just been told to come here and wanted to know if he had been told too, and he said yes but he wasn’t coming and he tried to persuade her not to come, and when she said she was going to he decided to come too. I know you’re busy, but if you don’t read reports you throw wild punches.”

I turned to include them all. “And if you want my opinion, with no fee, that’s not Miss Gunther’s scarf because it’s not her style. She wouldn’t have worn that thing. And it doesn’t belong to Kates. Look at him. Gray suit, gray topcoat. Also a gray hat. I’ve never seen him in anything but gray, and if he was still speaking to us you could ask him.”

Cramer strode to the door which connected with the front room, opened it a crack, and commanded, “Stebbins! Come in here.”

Purley came at once. Cramer told him, “Take Kates to the dining room. Bring the others in here one at a time, and as we finish with them take them to the dining room.”

Purley went with Kates, who didn’t seem reluctant to go. In a moment another dick entered with Mrs. Boone. She wasn’t invited to sit down. Cramer met her in the middle of the room, displayed the scarf, told her to take a good look at it but not to touch it, and then asked if she had ever seen it before. She said she hadn’t, and that was all. She was led out and Frank Thomas Erskine was led in, and the performance was repeated. There were four more negatives, and then it was Winterhoff’s turn.

With Winterhoff, Cramer didn’t have to finish his speech. He showed the scarf and started, “Mr. Winterhoff, please look-”

“Where did you get that?” Winterhoff demanded, reaching for it. “That’s my scarf!”

“Oh.” Cramer backed up a step with it. “That’s what we’ve been trying to find out. Did you wear it here tonight, or have it in your pocket?”

“Neither one. I didn’t have it. That’s the one that was stolen from me last week.”

“Where and when last week?”

“Right here. When I was here Friday evening.”

“Here at Wolfe’s house?”

“Yes.”

“You wore it here?”

“Yes.”

“When you found it was gone, who helped you look for it? Who did you complain to?”

“I didn’t-what’s this all about? Who had it? Where did you get it?”

“I’ll explain in a minute. I’m asking now, who did you complain to?”

“I didn’t complain to anybody. I didn’t notice it was gone until I got home. If-”

“You mentioned it to no one at all?”

“I didn’t mention it here. I didn’t know it was gone. I must have mentioned it to my wife-of course I did, I remember. But I have-”

“Did you phone here the next day to ask about it?”

“No, I didn’t!” Winterhoff had been forcing himself to submit to the pressure. Now he was through. “Why would I? I’ve got two dozen scarves! And I insist that-”

“Okay, insist.” Cramer was calm but bitter. “Since it’s your scarf and you’ve been questioned about it, it is proper to tell you that there is evidence, good evidence, that it was wrapped around the pipe that Miss Gunther was killed with. Have you any comment?”

Winterhoff’s face was moist with sweat, but it had already been that way up in my room when they were examining his hands. It was interesting that the sweat didn’t seem to make him look any less distinguished, but it did detract some when he goggled, as he now did at Cramer. It occurred to me that his best friend ought to warn him not to goggle.

He finally spoke. “What’s the evidence?”

“Particles from the pipe found on the scarf. Many of them, at one spot.”

“Where did you find it?”

“In an overcoat pocket.”

“Whose coat?”

Cramer shook his head. “You’re not entitled to that. I’d like to ask you not to do any broadcasting on this, but of course you will.” He turned to the dick. “Take him to the dining room and tell Stebbins not to bring any more in.”

Winterhoff had things to say, but he was shooed out. When the door was closed behind him and the dick, Cramer sat down and put his palms on his knees, pulled in a deep breath, and expelled it noisily.

“Jee-zuss-Christ,” he remarked.

Chapter 23

THERE WAS A LONG silence. I looked at the wall clock. It said two minutes to four. I looked at my wrist watch. It said one minute to four. In spite of the discrepancy it seemed safe to conclude that it would soon be four o’clock. From beyond the closed doors to the front room and the hall came faint suggestions of little noises, just enough to keep reminding us that silence wouldn’t do. Every little noise seemed to be saying, come on, it’s getting late, work it out. The atmosphere there in the office struck me as both discouraged and discouraging. Some buoyancy and backbone were needed.

“Well,” I said brightly, “we’ve taken a big step forward. We have eliminated Winterhoff’s darting and dashing man. I am prepared to go on the stand and swear that he didn’t dash into the hall.”

That got a rise out of nobody, which showed the pathetic condition they were in. All that happened was that the D.A. looked at me as if I reminded him of someone who hadn’t voted for him.

The P.C. spoke. “Winterhoff is a damned liar. He didn’t see a man running away from that stoop. He made that up.”

“For God’s sake,” the D.A. burst out ferociously, “we’re not after a liar! We’re after a murderer!”

“I would like,” Wolfe muttered sulkily, “to go to bed. It’s four o’clock and you’re stuck.”

“Oh, we are.” Cramer glowered at him. “ We’re stuck. The way you put it, I suppose you’re not stuck?”

“Me? No, Mr. Cramer. No indeed. But I’m tired and sleepy.”

That might have led to violence if there hadn’t been an interruption. There was a knock on the door and a dick entered, approached Cramer, and reported:

“We’ve got two more taxi drivers, the two that brought Mrs. Boone and O’Neill. I thought you might want to see them, Inspector. One is named-”

He stopped on account of Cramer’s aspect. “This,” Cramer said, “will make you a Deputy Chief Inspector. Easy.” He pointed to the door. “Out that way and find someone to tell it to.” The dick, looked frustrated, turned and went. Cramer said to anyone who cared to listen, “My God. Taxi drivers!”

The P.C. said, “We’ll have to let them go.”