Rex Stout - Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

“She must have gone to Barnum Street,” Cramer insisted doggedly. “She described it to Goodwin, the body there on the floor propped against a chair with a scarf around her neck-”

“I didn’t do it!” Roy whined. He was trying to stand up, but Cramer had a hand on his shoulder. “I tell you I didn’t do it! I tell you I didn’t-”

“I’m not going to tolerate much of that,” Wolfe said grimly.

Cramer held Roy down in the chair. Roy was starting to tremble. Cramer was going on, “How the hell could she describe it if she hadn’t seen it-” He chopped it off. “Oh, I’ll be damned!”

“Certainly,” Wolfe said impatiently. “That’s the point. She described it, and he heard her. It was good news for him, the best possible news, since it ended his fear that Miss Amory would disclose her knowledge that he had murdered Mrs. Leeds, but naturally he was startled, and had no idea who had done the job for him.”

“I didn’t!” Roy was whining. “I didn’t do it-”

“Shut up!” Cramer barked at him.

“So,” Wolfe went on, “he dashed down there as fast as he could, and was disconcerted to find that Miss Amory was not quite dead enough. Not, of course, dead at all. Alive and well. His mortification turned him into an imbecile. He conceived the silliest idea in the history of crime. He strangled her with a scarf and propped her up against a chair, the idea being that since Miss Rowan had already described the scene as he arranged it, he had an alibi that could not be broken. I don’t know when he realized how idiotic that was; anyway, when it was done it was done, and Archie arrived so promptly that he had no time to realize anything.”

“I didn’t-” Roy was trembling all over, and trying to squirm out of Cramer’s grasp, but Stebbins had his other shoulder and was getting out handcuffs for him.

Wolfe grimaced and went on. “Of course, instead of saving him, his gambit condemns him. Since it can be proven that Miss Amory left her office after five o’clock, and that Miss Rowan left the Ritz at 5:45 and arrived here ten minutes later, Miss Rowan couldn’t possibly have seen what she said she did at Miss Amory’s apartment, and therefore her description of that scene was an invention. Also Miss Rowan will herself testify to that; she’ll have to. But since the scene actually was as she described it, the inexorable conclusion is that it was staged by someone who heard her describe it. That alone will convict him.”

I started to say something, but found I had no voice. I cleared my throat and got it out, “I heard her describe it too, you know.”

“Pfui.” Wolfe was scornful. “With all your defects, Archie, you are neither a strangler nor a nincompoop.” He wiggled a finger at Cramer. “Get that wretch out of here.”

Chapter 13

An hour later, around half past seven, Wolfe and I were alone in the office. He was behind his desk, with the atlas opened at the map of Australia, and every now and then he lifted his head to sniff. The turkey was broiling in the kitchen.

I reached for the phone and tried again, the third time, for Colonel Ryder at Governor’s Island. He wasn’t there but was expected back any minute.

“I would like to say,” I told Wolfe, “that you are wrong about Ann Amory being a sentimental imbecile for not telling the police as soon as she learned that Roy had killed Mrs. Leeds. I knew her and you didn’t. I doubt if she really knew Roy had done it, I mean actually saw it. My guess is she saw something that gave her a strong suspicion. She told Mrs. Chack about it, but Mrs. Chack talked her out of it.”

Wolfe muttered, “Imbecile.”

“No,” I said with conviction. “She was a damn good kid. I tell you I knew her. Mrs. Chack nearly talked her out of it, but not quite, and it kept worrying her. After all, she was engaged to marry the guy. I’m betting she put it up to him straight, that would have been like her, and of course he denied it, but that didn’t convince her either, and then he was afraid she might spill it to someone any minute, and he probably acted queer-he would-and that made her suspicion stronger. Of course she knew he had had plenty of motive. The only thing he cared about in the world was that loft and the damn pigeons, and Mrs. Leeds was going to take them away from him and kick him out. But she wasn’t absolutely sure he had done it. Nice situation. She couldn’t just let it ride, but she didn’t want to denounce him to the police. So she tried to get expert advice by asking Lily Rowan to send her to a lawyer. She was trying to do it right. She wouldn’t even tell me about it. But when I bounced in down there he got scared good and proper. And she would have told you. That is, she would if you had been approachable.”

“Imbecile,” Wolfe muttered.

There was no question about his being back to normal. Me too. He gave me a pain in the neck. But being in uniform and on duty, I had to suppress my personal emotions. I reached for the phone and dialed the number again, and this time got him. As soon as he heard my name he began to sputter, but I ignored it.

“Colonel Ryder,” I said stiffly, “an appointment has been arranged for you with Mr. Nero Wolfe at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning, if you will kindly be at his office at that hour. If you will arrive at ten-thirty, I shall be glad to furnish you with an explanation of the unfortunate publicity I received today, which I feel sure will be satisfactory. At that time I shall also explain why it will be necessary for me to have a week-end leave beginning Saturday noon. My word of honor as an officer is involved.”

As I hung up Wolfe raised his head for another sniff of the aroma from the kitchen. My own mind was concentrated on something else. I was permitted some latitude in my expense account, but to make an entry, Sending murderer on trip to country, $100 , seemed inadvisable. My solution of the problem is a military secret.

Booby Trap

Chapter 1

On our way out of the house-his house, which was also his office, on West 35th Street over near the North River-Nero Wolfe, who was ahead of me, stopped so abruptly that I nearly bumped into him. He wheeled and confronted me, glancing at my briefcase.

“Have you got that thing?”

I looked innocent. “What thing?”

“You know very well. That confounded grenade. I want that infernal machine out of this house. Have you got it?”

I held my ground. “Colonel Ryder,” I said in a crisp military tone, “who is my superior officer, said I could keep it for a souvenir in view of my valor and devotion to duty in recovering-”

“You can’t keep it in my house. I tolerate pistols as a tool of the business, but not that contraption. If by accident the pin got removed it would blow off the top of the building, not to mention the noise it would make. I thought you understood this is out of discussion. Get it, please.”

Formerly I might have argued that my room on the third floor was my castle, tenanted by me as part of my pay for suffering his society as his assistant and guardian, but that was out now, since Congress was taking care of me by appropriating around ten billion bucks a month. So I merely shrugged to show I was humoring him, and, knowing how it annoyed him to be kept waiting standing up, moseyed over to the stair and took my time mounting the two flights to my room. It was there where I kept it on top of the chest of drawers-about seven inches long and three in diameter, painted a pale pink, looking nothing like as deadly as it was supposed to be. Reaching for it, I glanced at the safety pin to make sure it was snug, put it in the briefcase, went back downstairs at my leisure, ignored a remark he saw fit to make, and accompanied him out to the curb where the sedan was parked.