Rex Stout - And Be a Villain

He'll be disappointed. You know how he'll feel. Better still, you know what he'll do. He'll be so frantic he'll start looking up numbers and dialling them himself. I am offering ten to one that he has already called the Fraser apartment and spoken to Cramer. How much of it do you want? A dime? A buck?” “Can it, you goddam ape.” Purley was resigning. “Save it for O’Hara, he'll be here pretty soon. I hope they give you a cell with bedbugs.” “I would prefer,” I said courteously, “to chat.” “Then chat about this.” “No. For the hundredth time, no. I detest anonymous letters and I don't like to talk about them.” He went to a chair and sat facing me. I got up, crossed to bookshelves, selected Crime and Criminals, by Mercier, and returned to my seat with it.

Purley had been wrong. O’Hara was not there pretty soon. When I glanced at my wrist every ten minutes or so I did it on the sly because I didn't want Purley to think I was getting impatient. It was a little past seven when I looked up from my book at the sound of a buzzer. Purley went to a phone on the desk and had a talk with it. He hung up, returned to his chair, sat, and after a moment spoke: “That was the Deputy Commissioner. He is going to have his dinner. I'm to keep you here till he comes.” “Good,” I said approvingly. “This is a fascinating book.” “He thinks you're boiling. You bastard.” I shrugged.

I kept my temper perfectly for another hour or more, and then, still there with my book, I became aware that I was starting to lose control. The trouble was that I had begun to feel hungry, and that was making me sore. Then there was another factor: what the hell was Wolfe doing? That, I admit, was unreasonable.

Any phoning he did would be to Cramer or O’Hara, or possibly someone at the DA's office, and with me cooped up as I was I wouldn't hear even an echo. If he had learned where I was and tried to get me, they wouldn't have put him through, since Purley had orders from O’Hara that I was to make no calls. But what wj,th feeling hungry and getting no word from the outside world, I became aware that I was beginning to be offended, and that would not do. I forced my mind away from food and other aggravating aspects, including the number of revolutions the minute hand of my watch had made, and turned another page.

It was ten minutes to nine when the door opened and O’Hara and Cramer walked in.

Purley stood up. I was in the middle of a paragraph and so merely flicked one eye enough to see who it was. O’Hara hung his hat and coat on a rack, and Cramer dropped his on a chair. O’Hara strode to his desk, crossing my bow so close that I could easily have tripped him by stretching a leg.

Cramer looked tired. Without spending a glance on me he nodded at Purley.

“Has he opened up?” “No, sir. Here it is.” Purley handed him the item.

They had both had it read to them on the phone, but they wanted to see it.

Cramer read it through twice and then handed it to O’Hara. While that was going on I went to the shelves and replaced the book, had a good stretch and yawn, and returned to my chair.

Cramer glared down at me. “What have you got to say?” “More of the same,” I told him. “I've explained to the sergeant, who has had nothing to eat, by the way, that that thing has no connection whatever with any murder or any other crime, and therefore questions about it are out of order.” “You've been charged as a material witness.” “Yeah, I know, Purley showed it to me. Why don't you ask Mr Wolfe? He might be feeling generous.” “The hell he might. We have. Look, Goodwin-” “I'll handle him, Inspector.” O’Hara speaking. He was an energetic cuss. He had gone clear around his desk to sit down, but now he arose and came clear around it again to confront me. I looked up at him inquiringly, not a bit angry.

He was trying to control himself. “You can't possibly get away with it,” he stated. “It's incredible that you have the gall to try it, both you and Wolfe.

Anonymous letters are a central factor in this case, a vital factor. You went up to that apartment today to see those people, and you had in your pocket an anonymous letter about one of them, practically accusing her of murder. Do you mean to tell me that you take the position that that letter has no connection with the crimes under investigation?” “I sure do. Evidently Mr Wolfe does too.” I made a gesture. “Corroboration.” “You take and maintain that position while aware of the penalty that may be imposed upon conviction for an obstruction of justice?” “I do.” O’Hara turned and blurted at Cramer, “Get Wolfe down here! Damn it, we should have hauled him in hours ago!” This, I thought to myself, is something like. Now we ought to see some fur fly.

But we didn't, at least not as O’Hara had it programmed. What interfered was a phone call. The buzzer sounded, and Purley, seeing that his superiors were too worked up to hear it, went to the desk and answered. After a word he told Cramer, Tor you, Inspector,” and Cramer crossed and got it. O’Hara stood glaring down at me, but, having his attention called by a certain tone taken by Cramer's voice, turned to look that way. Finally Cramer hung up. The expression on his face was that of a man trying to decide what it was he just swallowed.

“Well?” O’Hara demanded.

“The desk just had a call,” Cramer said, “from the WPIT newsroom. WPIT is doing the script for the ten o'clock newscast, and they're including an announcement received a few minutes ago from Nero Wolfe. Wolfe announces that he has solved the murder cases, all three of them, with no assistance from the police, and that very soon, probably sometime tomorrow, he will be ready to tell the District Attorney the name of the murderer and to furnish all necessary information. WPIT wants to know if we have any comment.” Of course it was vulgar, but I couldn't help it. I threw back my head and let out a roar. It wasn't so much the news itself as it was the look on O’Hara's face as the full beauty of it seeped through to him.

“The fat bum!” Purley whimpered.

I told O’Hara distinctly: The next time Cramer asks you to step into another room with him I'd advise you to step.” He didn't hear me.

“It wasn't a question,” Cramer said, “of Wolfe having me buffaloed. With him the only question is what has he got and how and when will he use it. If that goes on the air I would just as soon quit.” “What-” O’Hara stopped to wet his lips. “What would you suggest?” Cramer didn't answer. He pulled a cigar from his pocket, slow motion, got it between his teeth, took it out again and hurled it for the wastebasket, missing by two feet, walked to a chair, sat down, and breathed.

“There are only two things,” he said. “Just let it land is one. The other is to ask Goodwin to call him and request him to recall the announcement-and tell him he'll be home right away to report.” Cramer breathed again. “I won't ask Goodwin that. Do you want to?” “No! It's blackmail!” O’Hara yelled in pain.

“Yeah,” Cramer agreed. “Only when Wolfe does it there's nothing anonymous about it The newscast will be on in thirty-five minutes.” O’Hara would rather have eaten soap. “It may be a bluff,” he pleaded.”Pure bluff!” “Certainly it may. And it may not. It's easy enough to call it-just sit down and wait. If you're not going to call on Goodwin I guess I'll have to see if I can get hold of the Commissioner.” Cramer stood up.