Rex Stout - Red Box, The

“Perren! Stop it!”

“My dear Calida! Stop when I've just started? Give the fellow what he wants and he'll let us alone. It's a pity we can't give him his red box; Boyd really should have told us about that. But I realize that his chief interest is in

Boyd's death, not his life. I can be helpful on that too. Knowing so well how

Boyd lived, surely I should know how he died. As a matter of fact, when I heard of his death last evening, I was reminded of a quotation from Norboisin-the girl

Denise gasps it as she expires: ‘Au moins, je meurs ardemment!’ Might not Boyd have used those very words, Calida? Of course, with Denise the adverb applied to herself, whereas with Boyd it would have been meant for the agent-”

“Perren!” It was not a protest this time, but a command. Mrs. Frost's tone and look together refrigerated him into silence. She surveyed him: “You are a babbling fool. Would you make a jest of it? No one but a fool jests at death.”

Gebert made her a little bow. “Except his own, perhaps, Calida. To keep up appearances.”

“You may. I am Scotch, too, like Boyd. It is no joke to me.” She turned her head and let me have her eyes again. “You may as well go. As you say, this is my daughter's house; we do not put you out. But my daughter is still a minor-and anyway, we cannot help you. I have nothing whatever to say, beyond what I have told the police. If you enjoy Mr. Gebert's vaudeville I can leave you with him.”

I shook my head. “No, I don't like it much.” I stuck my notebook in my pocket.

“Anyhow, I've got an appointment downtown, to squeeze blood out of a stone, which will be a cinch. It's just possible Mr. Wolfe will phone to invite you to his office for a chat. Have you anything on for this evening?”

She froze me. “Mr. Wolfe's taking advantage of my daughter's emotional impulse is abominable. I don't wish to see him. If he should come here-”

“Don't let that worry you.” I grinned at her. “He's done all his traveling for this season and then some. But I expect I'll be seeing you again.” I started off, and after a few steps turned. “By the way, if I were you I wouldn't make much of a point of persuading your daughter to fire us. It would just make Mr.

Wolfe suspicious, and that turns him into a fiend. I can't handle him when he's like that.”

It didn't look as if even that one was going to cause her to burst into sobs, so

I beat it. In the entrance hall I tried to open up the wrong mirror, then found the right one and got my hat. The etiquette seemed to be turned off, so I let myself out and steered for the elevator.

I had to flag a taxi to take me home, because I had ridden up with our client and her cousin, not caring to leave them alone together at that juncture.

It was after six o'clock when I got there. I went to the kitchen first and commandeered a glass of milk, took a couple of sniffs at the goulash steaming gently on the simmer plate, and told Fritz it didn't smell much like freshly butchered kid to me. I slid out when he brandished a skimming spoon.

Wolfe was at his desk with a book, Seven Pillars of Wisdom, by Lawrence, which he had already read twice, and I knew what mood he was in when I saw that the tray and glass were on his desk but no empty bottle. It was one of his most childish tricks, every now and then, especially when he was ahead of his quota more than usual, to drop the bottle into the wastebasket as soon as he emptied it, and if I was in the office he did it when I wasn't looking. It was that sort of thing that kept me skeptical about the fundamental condition of his brain, and that particular trick was all the more foolish because he was unquestionably on the square with the bottle caps; he faithfully put every single one in the drawer; I know that, because I've checked up on him time and time again. When he was ahead on quota he made some belittling remark about statistics with each cap he dropped in, but he never tried to get away with one.

I tossed my notebook on my desk and sat down and sipped at the milk. There was no use trying to explode him off of that book. But after a while he picked up the thin strip of ebony he used for a bookmark, inserted it, closed the book, laid it down, and reached out and rang for beer. Then he leaned back and admitted I was alive.

“Pleasant afternoon, Archie?”

I grunted. “That was one hell of a tea. Dudley Frost was the only one who had any, and he wasn't inclined to divvy so I sent him home. I only got one real hot piece of news, that no one but a fool jests at death. How does that strike you?”

Wolfe grimaced. “Tell me about it.”

I read it to him from the notebook, filling in the gaps from memory, though I didn't need much because I've condensed my symbols until I can take down the

Constitution of the United States on the back of an old envelope, which might be a good place for it. Wolfe's beer arrived, and met its fate. Except for time out for swallowing, he listened, as usual, settled back comfortably with his eyes closed.

I tossed the notebook to the back of my desk, swiveled, and pulled the bottom drawer out and got my feet up. “That's the crop. That one's in the bag. What shall I start on now?”

Wolfe opened his eyes. “Your French is not even ludicrous. We'll return to that.

Why did you frighten Mr. Frost away by talk of a search warrant? Is there a subtlety there too deep for me?”

“No, just momentum. I asked him that question about the red box to get a line on the other two, and as I went along it occurred to me it might be fun to find out if he had anything at home he didn't want anyone to see, and anyway what good was he? I got rid of him.”

“Oh. I was about to credit you with superior finesse. It would have been that, to get him away, on the chance that there might be a remark, a glance, a gesture, not to be expected in his presence. In fact, that is exactly what happened. I congratulate you anyhow. As for Mr. Frost-everyone has something at home they don't want anyone to see; that is one of the functions of a home, to provide a spot to keep such things. – And you say they haven't the red box and don't know where it is.”

“I offer that opinion. The look Gebert shot at Frost when I hinted Frost had it, and the look Mrs. Frost gave Gebert, as I told you. It's a cinch that what they think is in the box means something important to them. It's a good guess that they haven't got it and don't know where it is, or they wouldn't have been so quick on the trigger when I hinted that. As for Frost, God knows. That's the advantage a guy has that always explodes no matter what you say, there's no symptomatic nuances for an observer like me.”

“You? Ha! I am impressed. I confess I am surprised that Mrs. Frost didn't find a pretext as soon as you entered, to take her daughter to some other room. Is the woman immune to trepidation? Even common curiosity…”

I shook my head. “If it's common, she hasn't got it. That dame has got a steel spine, a governor on her main artery that prevents acceleration, and a patent air-cooling system for her brain. If you wanted to prove she murdered anyone you'd have to see her do it and be sure to have a camera along.”

“Dear me.” Wolfe came forward in his chair to pour beer. “Then we must find another culprit, which may be a nuisance.” He watched the foam subside. “Take your book and look at your notes on Mr. Gebert's vaudeville. Where he quoted