Rex Stout - Red Box, The

But it was a little while before he got it. An instant after he pressed the button the doorbell rang, which meant that Fritz would have to attend to that chore first. Since it was nearly eleven o'clock and no one was expected, my heart began to beat, as it always does when we're on a case with any kick to it and any little surprise turns up. As a matter of fact, I got proof that I had fallen for Wolfe's showmanship again, for I had a sudden conviction that Saul

Panzer was going to walk in with the red box under his arm.

Then I heard a voice in the hall that didn't belong to Saul. The door opened and swung around and Fritz stepped back to admit the visitor, and Helen Frost walked in. At the look on her face I hopped up and went over and put a hand on her arm, thinking she was about ready to flop.

She shook her head and I dropped the hand. She walked toward Wolfe's desk and stopped. Wolfe said:

“How do you do, Miss Frost? Sit down.” Sharply: “Archie, put her in a chair.”

I got her arm again and eased her over and got a chair behind her, and she sank into it. She looked at me and said, “Thank you.” She looked at Wolfe: “Something awful has happened. I didn't want to go home and I…I came here. I'm afraid. I have been all along, really, but…I'm afraid now. Perren is dead. Just now, up on 73rd Street. He died on the sidewalk.”

“Indeed. Mr. Gebert.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “Breathe, Miss Frost. In any event, you need to breathe. – Archie, get a little brandy.”

Chapter Sixteen

Our client shook her head. “I don't want any brandy. I don't think I could swallow.” She was querulous and shaky. “I tell you…I'm afraid!”

“Yes.” Wolfe had sat up and got his eyes open. “I heard you. If you don't pull yourself together, with brandy or without, you'll have hysterics, and that will be no help to all. Do you want some ammonia? Do you want to lie down? Do you want to talk? Can you talk?”

“Yes.” She put the fingertips of both hands to her temples and caressed them delicately-her forehead, then the temples again. “I can talk. I won't have hysterics.”

“Good for you. You say Mr. Gebert died on the sidewalk on 73rd Street. What killed him?”

1 don't know.” She was sitting up straight, with her hands clasped in her lap.

“He was getting in his car and he jumped back, and he came running down the sidewalk toward us…and he fell, and then Lew told me he was dead-”

“Wait a minute. Please. It will be better to do this neatly. I presume it happened after you left the chapel where the services were held. Did all of you leave together? Your mother and uncle and cousin and Mr. Gebert?”

She nodded. “Yes. Perren offered to drive mother and me home, but I said I would rather walk, and my uncle said he wanted to have a talk with mother, so they were going to take a taxi. We were all going slow along the sidewalk, deciding that-”

I put in, “East? Toward Gebert's car?”

“Yes. I didn't know then…I didn't know where his car was, but he left us and my uncle and mother and I stood there while Lew stepped into the street to stop a taxi, and I happened to be looking in the direction Perren had gone, and so was my uncle, and we saw him stop and open the door of his car…and then he jumped back and stood a second, and then he yelled and began running toward us…but he only got about halfway when he fell down, and he tried to roll…he tried…”

Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “Less vividly, Miss Frost. You've lived through it once, don't try to do so again. Just tell us about it; it's history. He fell, he tried to roll, he stopped. People ran to succor him. Did you? Your mother?”

“No. My mother held my arm. My uncle ran to him, and a man that was there, and I called to Lew and he came and ran there too. Then mother told me to stay where I was, and she walked to them, and other people began to come. I stood there, and in about a minute Lew came to me and said they thought Perren was dead and told me to get a taxi and go home and they would stay. The taxi he had stopped was standing there and he put me in it, but after it started I didn't want to go home and I told the driver to come here. I…I thought perhaps…”

“You couldn't be expected to think. You were in no condition for it.” Wolfe leaned back. “So. You don't know what Mr. Gebert died of.”

“No. There was no sound…no anything…”

“Do you know whether he ate or drank anything at the chapel?”

Her head jerked up. She swallowed. “No, I'm sure he didn't.”

“No matter.” Wolfe sighed. “That will be learned. You say that after Mr. Gebert jumped back from his car he yelled. Did he yell anything in particular?”

“Yes…he did. My mother's name. Like calling for help.”

One of Wolfe's brows went up. “I trust he yelled it ardently. Forgive me for permitting myself a playful remark; Mr. Gebert would understand it, were he here. So he yelled 'Calida.' More than once?”

“Yes, several times. If you mean…my mother's name…”

“I meant nothing really. I was talking nonsense. It appears that, so far as you know, Mr. Gebert may have died of a heart attack or a clot on the brain or acute misanthropy. But I believe you said it made you afraid. What of?”

She looked at him, opened her mouth, and closed it again. She stammered. “That's why…that's what…” and stopped. Her hands unclasped and fluttered up, and down again. She took another try at it: “I told you…I've been afraid…”

“Very well.” Wolfe showed her a palm. “You needn't do that. I understand. You mean that for some time you have been apprehensive of something malign in the relations of those closest and dearest to you. Naturally the death of Mr. McNair made it worse. Was it because-but forgive me. I am indulging one of my vices at a bad time-bad for you. I would not hesitate to torment you if it served our end, but it is useless now. Nothing more is needed. Did you intend to marry Mr.

Gebert?”

“No. I never did.”

“Did you have affection for him?”

“No. I told you…I didn't really like him.”

“Good. Then once the temporary shock is past you can be objective about it. Mr.

Gebert had very little to recommend him, either as a sapient being or as a biological specimen. The truth is that his death simplifies our task a little, and I feel no regret and shall pretend to none. Still his murder will be avenged, because we can't help ourselves. I assure you, Miss Frost, I am not trying to mystify you. But since I am not yet ready to tell you everything, I suppose it would be best to tell you nothing, so I'll confine myself, for this evening, to one piece of advice. Of course you have friends-for instance, that

Miss Mitchell who attempted loyalty to you on Tuesday morning. Go there, now, without informing anyone, and spend the night. Mr. Goodwin can drive you.

Tomorrow-”

“No.” She was shaking her head. 1 won't do that. What you said…about Perren's murder. He was murdered.

Wasn't he?”

“Certainly. He died ardently. I repeat that because I like it. If you make a conjecture from it, all the better as preparation for you. I do not advise your spending the night with a friend on account of any danger to yourself, for there is none. In fact, there is no danger left for anyone, except as I embody it. But you must know that if you go home you won't get much sleep. The police will be clamoring for minutiae; they are probably bullying your family at this moment, and it would only be common sense to save yourself from that catechism. Tomorrow morning I could inform you of developments.”