Rex Stout (16 page)

The visitor said in a tone of displeasure, “This is a
waste of time, my stopping here. We could have met downtown. I told you on the phone—”

“Please, Mr. Carew. Have a seat.” Orlik himself sat. “Now, you might as well sit down. This has to be discussed.”

“I don’t see why.” Guy Carew remained standing. “You know as much about it as I do. I told you everything yesterday when I gave you that piece of yarn I got from Miss Farris. They’ve got on to it somehow, I don’t know how, and it doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is to get down there and make them turn her loose. My God, she’s been there all night! I didn’t know about it until I saw the paper—”

“I did. I knew at midnight.”

“What?” Guy stared.

“I said I learned of it at midnight. I know lots of people who are glad to tell me things.” Orlik folded his arms. “You confounded millionaires! When Hutchings & Osborn asked me to take this I was inclined to turn it down. I hate millionaires for clients; I’d rather have one who has to mortgage his home and borrow on his insurance to pay me; they expect less and they appreciate more. But I’m giving you my very best—”

“Not sitting there, you’re not. You’ve already delayed it an hour.”

“And I’m going to delay it ten minutes more to tell you something. Granting that I’m the best criminal lawyer on feet, do you think I can run down to Centre Street and snap my fingers and all the doors will fly open? Look here, Mr. Carew. I’m presuming that you’ve told me the truth, and the whole truth, about everything, including that jacket and the yarn that was in it. If that is so, there is no way in God’s world to get that young woman away from the police until they either learn what they want to know or become convinced they
can’t get it out of her, and it will take some convincing. I heard of it at midnight, and I’ve been working on it, and it looks certain that somehow they’ve got hold of a piece of that yarn and compared it with their piece. Nothing else would account for the way they’re handling it; they wouldn’t dare; Cramer might have taken her down on suspicion, because he really has guts, but Skinner would have got cold feet when the lawyers began to show up, as they did before midnight. Also that Delaney woman nearly tore the building apart. I’ve had several reports from friends of mine. And no one has even been allowed to have a glimpse of her. That means Skinner’s sitting tight, and when he’s sitting tight he’s sitting pretty.”

Orlik unfolded his arms, leaned forward, and elevated his chin to look up. “I only hope to God she has enough sense and guts to keep her mouth shut. One of those lawyers is pretty good, a fellow named Raleigh, and they’ll have to let him see her this morning and he’ll buck her up. You say go down there and get her out? I can’t even go, let alone get her out. The minute I put in a peep for her, we might as well make a signed statement that you gave her the jacket, since they know I’m your lawyer.”

“All right.” Guy still stood. “We’ll make a statement. Anything. I can’t let her—I tell you she’s been there all night—”

“My God!” Orlik spread out his hands. “She had to spend the night somewhere. They’re not hurting her any. That would be fine, to admit you gave her the jacket, with the story that the last you saw of it was when you put it in the closet Tuesday afternoon, and the next you saw of it was two weeks later in your own room. As I say, I’m accepting your story, Mr. Carew. I’m accepting a good deal. I know I’m not defending you against a charge of murder, and I’m not likely to be, with
the alibi you have. But let them once learn that that piece of yarn came from your jacket, and they’ll be like the mule—blind on one side of the face and can’t see out of the other. As I’ve said before, they’re either going to solve it or they’re not. If they don’t, you say you want me to solve it. In that case, I must be handicapped as little as possible. I certainly don’t want to have—”

“That can wait,” Guy snapped impatiently. “Certainly I want you to solve it, but you haven’t done it yet, and I guess it can wait while we get Miss Farris released. Right this minute that’s all I’m interested in. I realise that it’s preferable to do it by a process of law; that’s why I phoned you, and that’s why I stopped here when you insisted. You’re my lawyer and I’m paying you. Are you going to do it?”

“You mean this morning? To-day?”

“I mean now.”

“I can’t.” Orlik spread out his hands again. “Haven’t I been telling you? Damn it, I don’t dare appear for her. They won’t hurt her. If she’s willing to stand the gaff—hey! Mr. Carew!”

Guy, striding toward the door, paid no attention. He turned the knob and pulled, and passed through. He was ten paces down the hall when he heard trotting footsteps behind him and a voice low but tense with fury: “You go down there and make a fool of us and I warn you, I throw it up! I’m out! I’m your attorney and you’ve got to take—”

Guy, without slackening, told him calmly, “All right, get out and go to hell.” He reached the outer door, let himself through, walked along the public corridor to the elevators, took a down car, pushed rudely ahead of others at the main floor, went to the street, found a taxi at the curb, gave the driver an address, and hopped in and
sat on the edge of the seat. To a Cherokee his face might have suggested a thunderbird mask in a corn dance.

At a quarter to ten Jean Farris had no idea whether it was eight in the morning or six in the afternoon. If she had been wasting energy on hope, her hope would have been that it was afternoon, on the ground that the more time there is behind you the less there is in front. History was vague and even unimportant. She knew, or rather, supposed, that some time around dawn she had collapsed and been carried to bed; at least, she had at some hour or other found herself lying under a cotton blanket on a couch with her shoes off, after being coerced somewhat roughly into life by a large woman in a blue uniform who kept sneezing in her face. She had eaten part of something they brought her on a tray and swallowed two cups of surprisingly good coffee, and had been escorted back to the room in the basement by a man in uniform who refused to speak to her. In a few minutes Inspector Cramer appeared and proceeded to complete the process of waking her up, though, of course, not by touching her. It was really hate that woke her, hatred of his voice, which was like a prolonged nightmare persisting after sleep had been torn away.

“Feel a little better, Miss Farris? You had a good nap, nearly two hours. I want to ask you …”

Respite finally came—morning, afternoon, she didn’t know, for they had refused to tell her the time—when the door opened and a man entered, three paces in, and beckoned to the inspector. Cramer went out with him, after saying something to a policeman who was on a chair over by the wall. The policeman got up and strolled to the chair Cramer had vacated, but remained standing and said nothing. Though she couldn’t see very well with
the light in her eyes and his in shadow, it seemed to Jean that he had a decent and friendly face, and she asked, “What time is it?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, miss.” Then he glanced around at the door and, keeping his head turned that way, suddenly thrust out his left arm to its full extent, displaying a wrist-watch. Jean peered and made it out: ten minutes to ten. She said, “Thanks.” He looked up at the ceiling and murmured barely audibly, “Don’t mention it.”

In the hall, outside the door, Inspector Cramer was being presented with a problem. The man who had come for him had told him succinctly, “Guy Carew’s here asking to see Jean Farris.”

Cramer’s eyes widened. “Where?”

“A reporter spotted him in the hall—Allen of the
Gazette—
and jumped for his throat. You know that baby. So I took him upstairs to your office. Burke’s got him.”

“What does he say?”

“He just says he understands Miss Farris is here and he wants to see her.”

“Did you tell him she’s here?”

The man looked pained. “No, sir. I made him spell her name.”

“I’ll be damned.” Cramer gazed at the tip of the man’s nose for a full minute. “Is the commissioner here?”

“No, sir.”

“God Almighty. Maybe it’s going to bust. Wait a minute, let me think.” Slowly he pulled out a cigar, stuck it into his mouth nearly to its middle, and clamped his teeth on it. He elevated his chin, and slowly and devastatingly chewed. “No good,” he muttered. After he had chewed for two minutes he removed the cigar and hurled it down the hall, and said with decision: “Send a man in to keep Bingham company with Miss Farris. We don’t
want any solos on this case. I’ll see Carew upstairs. You go up and wait with Burke. If I send for Miss Farris, don’t call in the photographers.”

He swung off down the dingy hall, turned a corner at the far end, and rang for an elevator. The elevator man saw the scowl on his face and stiffened to a more military posture. Getting off at the third floor and entering, down the hall, a door marked “Homicide Bureau,” he strode through the ante-room without glancing aside and past a series of doors in a partition until at the end he opened one. It was a medium-sized room, innocent of luxury, with three windows, an old well-scarred desk, and chairs with faded leather seats. Cramer sat at the desk and pulled the telephone across, and in a moment told the transmitter, “Send Mr. Carew in here.”

The door opened and Sergeant Burke appeared, following the knob in. The visitor passed through, and Burke went out again with the knob. Cramer stood up and extended a hand across the desk.

“How do you do, Mr. Carew. I’m Inspector Cramer.”

“I beg your pardon.” Guy stood four feet short of the desk. “I suppose I have no right to act like an Indian, since I’ve accepted the white man’s money and clothes and education, but certain things—I’m sorry. I only shake hands with friends.”

Cramer grunted. “Okay. Suit yourself. Have a seat. I understand you want to see Miss Jean Farris.”

“Yes. I do.”

“What makes you think she is here?”

“The newspapers. You arrested her. She is here. Isn’t she?”

Cramer nodded. “Yeah, she’s here. Been here all night. What do you want to see her about?”

Guy had stepped forward with a gleam in his eye and a muttered exclamation. “Oh, you admit—”

“I don’t admit anything. I just say Miss Farris is here. What do you want to see her about?”

“I want to see her. I demand it as the right of a friend. She has committed no crime. It’s not legal—”

“Now wait a minute, Mr. Carew. Let’s leave it to the lawyers what’s legal. You’re not a lawyer, are you? You’re a citizen and I’m a cop. Let’s take it easy. You say you want to see Miss Farris, and I say okay. Certainly you can see her.”

Guy stared at him suspiciously. Paying no attention to that, he sat again, pulled the phone across, and spoke into it: “Burke? Is Stebbins there? Tell him to go down and get Miss Farris and bring her in here. Right away.” He returned the instrument to its cradle. “You might as well sit down, Mr. Carew. She’ll be here in a minute.”

“Thanks.” Guy turned to face the door and remained standing. He was directly between the desk and the door, and Cramer pushed his chair to one side on its castors to have an unobstructed view. Then he sat and regarded the back of Guy’s head, with his lips compressed and his eyes steadily speculative. He could see Guy’s shoulders lift and fall with breathing, and counted twenty-eight respirations in a minute. He opened his mouth to speak, then decided not to, and the silence continued.

The door opened. Stebbins’s technique differed from that of Burke; he flung the door ahead of him and permitted the visitor to enter first. Jean came in two steps, with the light of the windows against her, and then stopped dead. Cramer was half out of his chair, to see better. Dishevelled and pale as she was, the swift colour showed in her cheeks almost startlingly. “Guy!” she gasped. Then, suddenly aware of the inspector stretching his neck and staring, she jerked erect and bit her lip,
already raw from biting. She extended a polite hand and forced a polite tone: “Mr. Carew! This is a surprise!”

But Cramer had also heard Guy’s low answering “Jean!” So he told himself grimly, “Uh-huh, I guess I’m a bad guesser,” and stood up.

G
uy, without moving, said, “You look very bad. You’ve been here all night. You look awful.”

“I … do I?” With a swift fluttering hand Jean brushed at her hair. She tried to laugh: “I didn’t know there was company, or I’d have tried to fix up.”

Guy whirled fiercely on the inspector: “This is a damned outrage! It’s brutal! We’ll see if you can—”

“Please!” Jean was after him, catching his arm. She got in front of him and compelled his eye. “There must—I guess you misunderstand. This has nothing to do with you, Mr. Carew, really. They are just asking me some questions about a piece of yarn which I don’t care to answer. It’s perfectly all right for them to ask, only I happen to be stubborn about it.” She waved a hand and tried another laugh. “Let them go ahead, I don’t mind. I had a good sleep and a good breakfast, and I can stand it if they can.” Her voice sharpened. “You are not to interfere. It’s none of your business.”

Guy, frowning down at her, met her gaze and saw the significant gleam in her eye. Silence. Finally he muttered, “Your eyes are bloodshot. There’s dirt on the side of your face.” He moved abruptly and pushed at a chair. “Here, sit down.”

“Thanks, I’ve been sitting all night—I mean I can stand all right.” But she sat.

So did Guy. He pulled another chair within a yard of hers and, seated, gazed at her again. Finally, he levelled his eyes at Cramer. “I’m much obliged to you, Inspector, for letting me see Miss Farris. I’m thinking over what she said. I’m not very quick-witted. I’m not thick, but I’m a little slow. I started to blow up a minute ago, and of course that was dumb. What you’re doing with Miss Farris is either legal or it isn’t. If it is, I can’t stop you, and if it isn’t, you’ll soon be stopped by the law. But since you were good enough to let me see her, maybe you’d tell me something. I’ve only read the newspaper. What is she here for?”

Cramer, who had been impartially dividing his gaze between them, now let Guy have it all. “Certainly, Mr. Carew. She’s here because she has vital information connected with the murder of your father and refuses to divulge it.”