Rex Stout - Please Pass the Guilt

" "There's batter for another cake, Archie." "No, thanks. They're extra good, they always are, but I've had five. He's wanted for peddling pot. Or maybe acid." "But his front? The monts?" 6 Please Pass the Guilt "Part of the disguise. King-size bra. Is this the Brazilian coffee?" "No, Colombian. Of course you're just talking. If he sees her--" He threw his hands, and aimed his eyes, up. "But he probably will. He often comes to the kitchen while you're giving them lunch." I sipped hot coffee. "I'll tell him when he comes down. Have your ear plugs in, he may let out a roar." So I didn't go for a walk. Anything could happen; Lucile might know about the orchids and sneak up for a look. I was at my desk in the office when the sound of the elevator came at eleven o'clock, and when Wolfe entered and told me good morning and went to put a cluster of Acampe pachyglossa in the vase on his desk, I said, "There's an amendment to the by-laws. Andy is here with Sam and a woman, a black one named Lucile. She is now up in your room with Andy. He says that more and more men think housework isn't manly, which is silly since Fritz and Theodore and I work in your house and we're as manly as they come. It looks like a case of circumstances beyond our control, but if you don't agree, control it." He sat, got his nineteen stone (it looks better in stone than in pounds) arranged in his made-to-order chair, glanced at his desk calendar, and picked up the stack the mailman had brought. He looked at me. "Are there female Black Panthers?" "I'll look it up. If there are, Lucile isn't one. She would be a black mare, Clydesdale or Percheron. She can pick up the vacuum cleaner with one finger." "She is in my house by invitation. 111 have to speak with her, at least a nod and a word." But he didn't. He didn't go to the kitchen while they were there at lunch, and Andy, who knew Wolfe's habits, kept their paths from crossing. Their regular leaving time was four o'clock, but that was also the time for Wolfe's afternoon turn in the plant rooms, and Andy waited until he was in the elevator on his way up. With them gone, I relaxed. In view of Wolfe's basic Please Pass the Guilt 7 attitude on women, there's no telling what will happen when one is in that house. I was making entries, from notes supplied by Theodore, on the germination and performance cards, when Dr. Vollmer phoned to say that Ronald Seaver would come at nine o'clock. The only preparation needed took about six minutes-- going to a cabinet for a fancy glass-and-metal jar with the sharpened ends of a dozen pencils protruding at the top, and placing it at a certain spot and a certain angle near the right edge of my desk, and putting a certain plug in a certain hidden outlet. He was nearly half an hour late. It was 9:23, and we had just finished with after-dinner coffee in the office, when the doorbell rang and I went. Going down the hall, what I saw on the stoop through the one-way glass panel was commonplace for anyone who knows midtown Manhattan: a junior executive, medium-sized, with a poorly designed face tired too young, in a dark gray suit that had been cut to fit, no hat. I opened the door and invited him in, and added as he entered, "If you had told me on the phone you were Ron Seaver I would have asked you to come and discuss the outlook." He smiled--the kind of smile that comes quick and goes quicker--and mumbled, "They're doing better." I agreed and ushered him down the hall. In the office, he stopped about three steps in and one foot backed up a little. I thought that at sight of Wolfe he was deciding to call it off, and so did he, but when I indicated the red leather chair, he came to Wolfe's desk, muttered something, and put out a hand, and Wolfe said, "No, there's blood on it. Sit down." He went to the red leather chair, sat, met Wolfe's eyes, and said, "If you could see it, if you could actually see it." As I went to my chair at my desk I glanced at the jar of pencils; it was in position. Wolfe nodded. "But I can't. If Dr. Vollmer has described the situation accurately it must be assumed that you are either obtuse or deranged. In your right mind, if you have one, you 8 Please Pass the Guilt couldn't possibly expect the people at the clinic to help you unless you supplied some facts. Are you going to tell me your name?" "No." It wasn't a mumble. "Are you going to tell me anything at all? Where you live, where you work, where you have seen blood that other people saw or could have seen?" "No." His jaw worked a little. "I explained to Dr. Ostrow that I couldn't. I knew that that clinic had done some remarkable things for people. I had been�I had heard about it. I thought it was just possible�1 thought it was worth trying." Wolfe turned to me. "How much did his suit cost?" "Two hundred or more. Probably more. The shoes, at least forty." "How much would a magazine or newspaper pay him for an article about that clinic?" "My god," Ronald Seaver blurted, "that's not-" He bit it off and clamped his jaw. "It's merely one of the valid conjectures." Wolfe shook his head. "I don't like to be imposed on, and I doubt if Dr. Ostrow does. The simplest way to learn if you are an impostor is to discover who and what you are. For Mr. Goodwin to follow you when you leave would take time and trouble, and it isn't necessary. �Archie?" I picked up the jar and told Ronald Seaver, "Candid camera inside." I removed a couple of the pencils and held them up; they were only two-inch stubs. "Leaving room for the camera below. It now has eight shots of you. Tomorrow I'll show them to people I know�a newspaper man, a couple of cops�" When you are sitting in a chair and a man comes at you, your reaction depends on what he has in mind. If he has an idea of hurting you, with or without a weapon, you get on your feet fast. But if he merely intends to take something from you, for instance a jar of pencils, and if you have decided that you are stronger and quicker than he is, you merely pull your feet back. Please Pass the Guilt 9 Actually he didn't even come close. He stopped three steps short, turned to Wolfe, and said, "You can't do that. Dr. Os- trow wouldn't permit it." Wolfe nodded. "Of course he wouldn't, but this office is not in his jurisdiction. You have presumed to take an evening of my time, and I want to know why. Are you desperately in need of help, or are you playing some silly game? I'll soon know, probably tomorrow, depending on how long it takes Mr. Goodwin to get you identified from the photographs. I hope it won't be prolonged; I am merely doing a favor for a friend. Good evening, sir. I'll communicate with Dr. Ostrow, not with you." With me it had been a tossup whether the guy was in some kind of bad jam or was merely on a complicated caper. His long, pointed nose, which didn't go well with his wide, square chin, had twitched a couple of times, but that didn't prove anything. Now, however, he gave evidence. His half-closed, unblinking eyes, steady at me, with a deep crease across his forehead, showed that something was really hurting. "I don't believe it," he said, louder than necessary, since he was only two arm's lengths away. Without letting my eyes leave him, I reached for the jar, which I had put back on my desk, stood, removed the top that held the pencil stubs, tilted the jar to show him what was inside, and said, "Autophoton, made in Japan. Electronic control. One will get you ten I'll have you tagged by sundown tomorrow." His lips parted to let words out, but none came. His head turned to Wolfe, then back to me, and then he turned clear around and took a slow, short step, and another, and I thought he was heading out. But he veered to the right, toward the big globe near the book shelves, stopped halfway to it, and stood. Apparently he wanted his face to himself while he decided something. It took him a good two minutes, maybe three. He turned, got a leather case from his breast pocket, took things from it, selected one--a card--went to Wolfe's desk, and handed it to him. By the time Wolfe had given it a look, I was there, 10 Please Pass the Guilt and he passed it to me. It was a New York driver's license: Kenneth Meer, 5 feet 11, age 32, 147 Clover Street, New York 10012. "Saving you the trouble of asking questions," he said, and extended a hand. I gave him the card and he put it back in the case and the case in his pocket; and he turned and went. Not slow short steps; be marched. I followed out to the hall, and when he had opened the front door and crossed the sill and pulled the door shut, not banging it, I went back to my desk, sat, cocked my head at Wolfe, and spoke: "You told Doc Vollmer yesterday that you read to learn what your fellow beings are up to. Well?" He scowled. "I have told you a dozen times that 'Doc' is an obnoxious vulgarism." "I keep forgetting." "Pfui. You never forget anything. It was deliberate. As for Kenneth Meer, there has been no picture of him in the Times. Has there been one in the Gazette?" "No. His name several times, but no picture. Nor any report that he got blood on his hands, but of course he saw plenty. I suppose, since it's a favor for a friend, I'll have to see a couple of people and find out�" "No. Get Dr. Vollmer." "But shouldn't I-" "No." I swiveled and swung the phone around. Of VoUmer's three numbers, the most likely one at that hour was the unlisted one on the third floor of his house, and when I dialed it he answered himself. Wolfe got at his phone and I stayed on. "Good evening, doctor. That man came, half an hour late, and has just left. He refused to give us any information, even his name, and we had to coerce him by a ruse with a concealed camera. Under constraint he identified himself by showing us his motor vehicle operator's license, and then departed without a word. His name has recently been in the news in connection Please Pass the Guilt 11 with a murder, but only as one of those present at the scene; there has been no published indication that he is under suspicion or is likely to be. Do you want his name, for Dr. Ostrow?" "Well." Silence for at least ten seconds. "You got it by--uh --coercion?" "Yes. As I said." "Then I don't think-" Another silence, shorter. "I doubt if Irwin would want it. He never uses coercion. May I ask him and let you know?" "Certainly." "Do you intend-- Are you interested in the murder? Professionally?"Читать дальше