Rex Stout - Red Box, The

Helen, in a dark brown suit with a hat to match, twisted her fingers together as soon as she sat down and put her eyes on Wolfe, and stayed that way. Dudley looked at everybody and squirmed. Wolfe had murmured to the inspector:

“Your man, Mr. Cramer. If he would wait in the kitchen?”

Cramer grunted. “He's all right. He won't bite anybody.”

Wolfe shook his head. “We won't need him. The kitchen would be better for him.”

Cramer looked as if he'd like to argue, but called it off with a shrug. He turned: “Go on out to the kitchen, Stebbins. I'll yell if I want you.”

Purley, with a sour glance at me, turned and went. Wolfe waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke, looking around at them:

“And here we are. Though I am aware that you came at Mr. Cramer's invitation, nevertheless I thank you for coming. It was desirable to have you all here, though nothing will be expected of you-”

Dudley Frost blurted, “We came because we had to!. You know that! What else could we do, with the attitude the police are taking?”

“Mr. Frost. Please-”

“There's no please to it! I just want to say, it's a good thing nothing will be expected of us, because you won't get it! In view of the ridiculous attitude of the police, we refuse to submit to any further questioning unless we have a lawyer present. I've told Inspector Cramer that! I, personally, decline to say a word! Not a word!”

Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “On the chance that you mean that, Mr. Frost, I promise not to press you; and we now have another good reason for admitting no lawyers. I was saying: nothing will be expected of you save to listen to an explanation. There will be no questioning. I prefer to do the talking myself, and I have plenty to say. – By the way, Archie, I may as well have that thing handy.”

That was the cue for the first high spot. For me it wasn't a speaking part, but

I had the business. I arose and went to the safe and got out Saul's package and put it on the desk in front of Wolfe; but the wrapping paper had been removed before lunch. What I put there was an old red leather box, faded and scuffed and scarred, about ten inches long and four wide and two deep. On one side were the backbones of two gilt hinges for the lid, and on the other a small gilt escutcheon with a keyhole. Wolfe barely glanced at it, and pushed it to one side. I sat down again and picked up my notebook.

There was some stirring, but no comments. They all stared at the box, except

Helen Frost; she stuck to Wolfe. Cramer was looking wary and thoughtful, with his eyes glued on the box.

Wolfe spoke with sudden sharpness: “Archie. We can dispense with notes. Most of the words will be mine, and I shall not forget them. Please take your gun and keep it in your hand. If it appears to be needed, use it. We don't want anyone squirting nitrobenzene around here-that will do, Mr. Frost! I say stop it! I remind you that a woman and two men have been murdered! Stay in your chair!”

Dudley Frost actually subsided. It may have been partly on account of my automatic which I had got from the drawer and now held in my hand resting on my knee. The sight of a loaded gun out in the open always has an effect on a guy, no matter who he is. I observed that Cramer had shoved his chair back a few inches and was looking even warier than before, with a scowl on his brow.

Wolfe said, “This, of course, is melodrama. All murder is melodrama, because the real tragedy is not death but the condition which induces it. However.” He leaned back in his chair and aimed his half-closed eyes at our client. “I wish to address myself, Miss Frost, primarily to you. Partly through professional vanity. I wish to demonstrate to you that engaging the services of a good detective means much more than hiring someone to pry up floorboards and dig up flower beds trying to find a red box. I wish to show you that before I ever saw this box or its contents, I knew the central facts of this case; I knew who had killed Mr. McNair, and why. I am going to shock you, but I can't help that.”

He sighed. “I shall be brief. First of all, I shall no longer call you Miss

Frost, but Miss McNair. Your name is Glenna McNair, and you were born on April

2nd, 1915.”

I got a glimpse of the others from the corner of my eye, enough to see Helen sitting rigid and Lew starting from his chair and Dudley staring with his mouth open, but my chief interest was Mrs. Frost. She looked paler than she had when she came in, but she didn't bat an eye. Of course the display of the red box had prepared her for it. She spoke, cutting through a couple of male ejaculations, cool and curt:

“Mr. Wolfe. I think my brother-in-law is right. This sort of nonsense makes it a case for lawyers.”

Wolfe matched her tone: “I think not, Mrs. Frost. If so, there will be plenty of time for them. For the present, you will stay in that chair until the nonsense is finished.”

Helen Frost said in a dry even tone, “But then Uncle Boyd was my father. He was my father. All the time. How? Tell me how?” Lew was out of his chair, with a hand on her shoulder, staring at his Aunt Gallic. Dudley was making sounds.

Wolfe said, “Please. Sit down, Mr. Frost. Yes, Miss Mc- Nair, he was your father all the time. Mrs. Frost thinks that I did not learn that until this red box was found, but she is wrong. I was first definitely convinced of it on Thursday morning, when you told me that in the event of your death before reaching twenty-one all of Edwin Frost's fortune would go to his brother and nephew. When

I considered that, in combination with other points that had presented themselves, the picture was complete. Of course, the first thing that brought this possibility to my mind was the fact of Mr. McNair's unaccountable desire to have you wear diamonds. What special virtue did a diamond have on you-since he seemed not otherwise fond of them? Could it be this, that the diamond is the birthstone for April? I noted that possibility.”

Llewellyn muttered, “Good God. I said-I told McNair once-”

“Please, Mr. Frost. Another little point: Mr. McNair told me Wednesday evening that his wife died, but not that his daughter did. He said he 'lost' his daughter. That of course is a common euphemism for death, but why had he not employed it for his wife also? A man may either be direct or euphemistic, but not often both in the same sentence. He said his parents died. Twice he said his wife died. But not his daughter; he said he lost her.”

Glenna McNair's lips were moving. She muttered, “But how? How? How did he lose me…”

“Yes, Miss McNair. Patience. There were various other little points, things you told me about your father and yourself; I don't need to repeat them to you. Your dream about the orange, for instance. A subconscious memory dream? It must have been. I have told you enough, I hope, to show you that I did not need the red box to tell me who you are and who killed Mr. McNair and Mr. Gebert and why.

Anyway, I shan't further coddle my vanity at your expense. You want to know how.

That is simple. I'll give you the main facts- Mrs. Frost! Sit down!”

I don't know whether Wolfe regarded my automatic mostly as stage property or not, but I didn't. Mrs. Edwin Frost had stood up, and she had a fair-sized black leather handbag she was clutching. I'll admit it was unlikely she would be lugging an atomizer loaded with nitrobenzene into Wolfe's office, to have it found if she was searched, but that wasn't a thing to take a chance on. I thought I'd better butt in for the sake of an understanding. I did so: