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

“No.” Wolfe was positive. “Tomorrow.”

Cramer regarded him three seconds more, then stood up and addressed General Fife. “I’ve got nothing against the Army. As an Army. We can’t fight a war without an Army. But it would suit me fine if the whole goddamn outfit would clear out of my borough and get on ships bound for Germany.” He turned and went.

Wolfe sighed again.

Fife pursed his lips and shook his head. “You can’t blame him.”

“No,” Wolfe agreed. “Mr. Cramer is constantly leaping at the throat of evil and finding himself holding on for dear life to the tip of its tail.”

“What?” Fife squinted at him. “Oh. I suppose so.” He got out his handkerchief and used it on his brow and face and neck, removing an old smear but producing new ones. He shot me a glance, and went back to Wolfe. “About Ryder. I’d rather discuss it with you privately.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Not without Major Goodwin. I use his memory. Also for years I’ve found his presence an irritant which stimulates my cells. What about Ryder? Wasn’t it an accident?”

“I suppose it was. What do you think?”

“I haven’t thought. Nowhere to start. Could it have been an accident? If he took it from the drawer and it dropped on the floor?”

“No,” Fife declared. “Out of the question. Anyway, it was somewhere above the desk when it exploded. The desk top was smashed downward. And that pin is jolt-proof. It requires a sharp firm lateral pull.”

“Then it wasn’t an accident,” Wolfe said placidly. “Suicide remains, and so does- By the way, what about that woman in his anteroom? That female in uniform. Where was she?”

“Not there. Out to lunch.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe’s brows went up. “At four o’clock?”

“So she told Tinkham. He spoke with her when she returned. She’s waiting outside now. I sent for her.”

“Get her in here. And may I-?”

“Certainly.” Fife lifted his phone and spoke in it.

In a moment the door opened and Sergeant Bruce entered. She came in three steps, getting the three of us at a glance, stopped with her heels together, and snapped a salute. She appeared to be quite herself, only extremely solemn. She advanced when she was told to.

“This is Nero Wolfe,” Fife said. “He’ll ask you some questions, and you’ll answer as from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sit down,” Wolfe told her. “Archie, if you’ll move that chair around? Excuse me, General, if I violate regulations, a major waiting on a sergeant, but I find it impossible to regard a woman as a soldier and don’t intend to try.” He looked at her. “Miss Bruce. That’s your name?”

“Yes, sir. Dorothy Bruce.”

“You were at lunch when that thing exploded?”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was as clear and composed as it had been when she told me she was in my eye.

“Is that your usual lunch hour? Four o’clock?”

“No, sir. Shall I explain?”

“Please. With a minimum of sirs . I am not a field marshal in disguise. Go ahead.”

“Yes, sir. I beg your pardon, that was automatic. I have no usual lunch hour. At Colonel Ryder’s request, I mean his order, I have been going to lunch whenever he did, so I would be on duty when he was in his office. Today he didn’t go to lunch-that is, I don’t think he did-at least he didn’t come out through the anteroom and let me know he was going, as he always had done. When he called me in at a quarter to four to give me some instructions, he asked if I had had lunch and said he had forgotten about it, and told me to go then. I went down to the corner drugstore and had a sandwich and coffee. I got back at twenty past four.”

Wolfe’s half-closed eyes never left her face. “The corner drugstore?” he inquired mildly. “Didn’t you hear the explosion or see any excitement?”

“No, sir. The drugstore is a block and a half away, around on Mitchell Street.”

“You say Colonel Ryder didn’t go to lunch? Was he constantly in his office right through to a quarter to four?”

“I think I qualified that. I said he didn’t come out through the anteroom. Of course he could have left by the other door at any time, the one direct from his room to the outer hall, and re-entered the same way. He often used that door.”

“Was that door kept locked?”

“Usually it was, yes, sir.” She hesitated. “Should I confine myself to the question?”

“We want information, Miss Bruce. If you have it we want it.”

“Only about that door. Colonel Ryder had a key to it, of course. But on two occasions I saw him, going out that way, intending to return soon, push the button that released the lock so that he could get back in without using the key. If you want details like that-”

“We do. Have you got some more?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. I only mentioned that because you asked if that door was kept locked.”

“Have you any idea how this thing happened?”

“Why-” Her eyes flickered. “I thought-I understand it was a grenade Colonel Ryder had in his desk.”

Fife shot at her, “How do you know it was a grenade?”

Her head pivoted to him. “Because, sir, everyone is saying that it was. If it was a secret-it isn’t now.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Wolfe said peevishly. “If you please, General. Have you any idea, Miss Bruce, how the grenade got exploded?”

“Certainly not! I mean-no, sir.”

“It is permissible to mean certainly not,” Wolfe murmured at her. “You know nothing whatever about it?”

“No, sir.”

“What were the instructions Colonel Ryder gave you at a quarter to four when he called you in?”

“Only routine matters. He said he was leaving for the day, and told me to sign the letters, and that he wouldn’t be in tomorrow and I should cancel any appointments he had.”

“That was all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were his confidential secretary?”

“Well-I don’t know how confidential I was. I have been here less than two weeks and had never met Colonel Ryder before. I suppose, really, for that sort of job, I was still on trial. I only came up from Washington ten days ago.”

“What had you been doing in Washington?”

“I was secretary to one of General Carpenter’s assistants. Lieutenant Colonel Adams.”

Wolfe grunted, and closed his eyes. Sergeant Bruce sat and waited. Fife had his lips pressed into a straighter line than usual, apparently restraining himself. He wasn’t accustomed to playing audience while someone else asked questions, but probably hadn’t forgotten the time Wolfe had made him look silly in front of three lieutenants and a private who had been tailing a distinguished visitor from Mexico. Wolfe grunted again, this time what I called his number-three grunt, which meant he was displeased, and I had no idea what had riled him. I thought Sergeant Bruce had been courteous, co-operative, and cute. Then he opened his eyes, shifted his center of gravity, and got his hands braced on the chair arms, and of course that explained it. He was displeased because he had decided he was going to stand up.