Rex Stout (24 page)

“Why—yes.”

“Then Kranz murdered Carew. Try that one.”

She shook her head again. “That comes last. And I said—they were looking for the whip-poor-will—and one of them found it. Buysse. He dragged the man out of the thicket, and I had to admit I had brought him, and I was excited and I told them that I had learned who had attacked me at that spot. Kranz already knew that anyway, from the way I looked at him when he looked at me, or at least he suspected it. Then I took the man away
and put him on a train at Rye and went home. After I had eaten something and taken a bath it was past midnight. I was just going to turn off the light when the doorbell rang. I punched the button for downstairs, and when I asked through my hall door who it was he said a telegram. I opened the door and it was Leo Kranz. He pushed in and closed the door. He had gloves on. He said he wanted to have a talk with me, that I had made a mistake, but the way he looked and the tone of his voice—if you could have seen him and heard him—”

Cramer was frowning. “What do you mean, he had gloves on?”

“I mean he had gloves on! An August night, and he was dressed in an ordinary sack suit, the same one he had worn at Barth’s. I know it sounds silly sitting here telling it, but he had gloves on because he didn’t want to leave fingerprints at my flat. And he had his heavy walking stick.”

“What happened?”

“Buysse came. He had followed me—I had had a talk with him and Wilson and told them about Kranz—and he had followed me and was watching across the street. He rang the bell, all the bells, just as I was going to scream, and he came up and I opened the door—and Kranz said he had only wanted to talk with me and went away.”

Cramer said dryly, “Buysse was on the job, wasn’t he? By the way, I thought you said he was coming here with you.”

“He’ll be here later.”

“Okay, go ahead.”

“You …” Jean gazed at him. “You’re so cold!”

“Yeah, I know. I used to get overheated. This case is something special for you, Miss Farris. For me it’s just part of the twelve hours. It has to be, or I wouldn’t last. Go ahead. I’ll comment when you finish.”

“I guess that’s all.” Jean forced her voice to be calm and businesslike. “I mean, all the facts. I didn’t tell you I could prove it was Leo Kranz, I only said I know it was. It’s obvious that if he attacked me Thursday evening, he murdered Val Carew. He had learned on Tuesday that a piece of the yarn had been found in Val Carew’s hand, and he heard me say there at Barth’s that the yarn in my suit had come from the jacket, and he wanted to destroy it so it couldn’t be traced—”

“It wasn’t his jacket, it was Guy’s.”

“But he had worn it! He must have! He could have got it from the hall closet as easily as Guy, couldn’t he? He did it deliberately, so he could leave it under the hedge and throw suspicion on Guy. Then when he learned—”

“Wait a minute. Leave what under what hedge?”

“The jacket. I’ll come to that later. When he learned that Guy was out of it on account of the alibi Portia Tritt gave him, he was frightened. He was already uneasy because the jacket hadn’t been found, as he had expected it to be, and with Guy safe from suspicion he was frightened, and when he learned that a piece of the yarn was found in Val Carew’s hand he was in a panic. So at Barth’s that day, when he heard that the bayeta yarn was in my suit, he was in still more of a panic, and he saw me going across the grounds and followed me, and knocked me unconscious and took the suit. Another thing, Guy couldn’t have done that. At the time I was attacked he was talking to a group of people on the terrace.”

“Wilson or Buysse could have done it for him.”

“Me? Damn fool.”

They were both startled; they had forgotten the Indian’s silent presence. Jean ignored his contribution: “They could have, but they didn’t, because I know it was
Kranz.” She spread her open hands. “Inspector, listen to me. I know I can’t prove Kranz killed Carew. I can’t prove anything. But haven’t I told you—isn’t this enough to make you doubt Guy’s guilt? To make you think about it, to work at it?”

Cramer shook his head. “It’s not my case any more, Miss Farris.”

“You made it your case to put Guy in jail! Can’t you make it your case to get him out?”

“The lawyers get ’em out, I don’t. My job is to get ’em in.”

“The right ones or the wrong ones? Don’t you care which?”

“Sure, I care.” Cramer slowly scratched his head. Finally he heaved a sigh. “I promised to comment. Well, you haven’t said a thing with any nourishment in it. Yesterday I gave it as my opinion to the commissioner and the district attorney that there was enough evidence to convince a jury of Guy Carew’s guilt, and if I was asked for it again now I would repeat it. I like you, Miss Farris. Usually I get sore at people who hold out on me, it’s part of my make-up, but I didn’t get sore at you Friday night. I liked you then, and I like you now, and that’s why I’m not a damn bit comfortable this minute, whether I show it or not. I think Guy Carew killed his father, and I think it can be proved that he did. You don’t agree with me, and that’s natural, but it makes me want plenty of corroboration for any statement you make.”

Jean met his gaze with her lips pressed tight together. He tossed his mangled cigar into the cuspidor and went on, “And what is it you tell me? That you saw a look on Kranz’s face when a man made a noise like a whip-poor-will! Maybe you did and maybe you didn’t; you’re in a good condition for imagining things. Then you tell me Kranz came to your apartment and got in by
saying it was a telegram, and he had gloves on because he intended to kill you, and Buysse appeared and saved your life. But all Kranz said was that you were making a mistake and he wanted to have a talk with you. That right? Did he attack you? Did he put a hand on you? Do you claim that he even threatened you?”

“No. Not in words. But if you had seen him—”

“But I didn’t. And you know as well as I do that you’re in no state of mind to see straight or hear straight. If I was inclined to bear down, I might make it stronger than that. I’ve seen desperate people before, and some of them just as likeable people as you are. You’ve admitted that you hadn’t mentioned about the whip-poor-will to any one. Maybe because there wasn’t one? You sat around yesterday afternoon trying to think of something to do, and may be you thought of the whip-poor-will gag, and frankly, I think you might have done better. It’s too fancy—”

Jean flared. “But I—I wouldn’t
lie
about it!”

“No? You wouldn’t? Do you mean to tell me you wouldn’t think up a lie if you thought it would save Guy Carew from the electric chair?”

“But I didn’t have to—”

“But would you?”

Jean met his eye. “Yes, I would. Of course. But not a lie that would implicate any one else. Never. And I am implicating Leo Kranz.”

“You sure are trying to. And I don’t know, maybe I’m too old and got too thick a crust, maybe you can make a dent in Anderson up at White Plains. Go on up and try. He’ll see you; in fact, he intends to see you, and I’m surprised he hasn’t done so already. But if you want some unofficial advice, what you had better do is try it on Carew’s lawyer. Sam Orlik knows how to make use of anything, even a whip-poor-will.” Cramer glanced at his
watch. “And now—I’m sorry, but I’ve got an appointment—”

“But I’m not through.” Jean sounded determined, and looked it. “There’s something else—and you can’t say it’s my state of mind or accuse me of lying about it, either. Because it’s a fact. I know where the jacket was from the morning of the murder until the day Guy found it in his room and gave it to me.”

“Yeah? Where?”

Jean turned to the Indian. “You tell him, Wilson. Tell him about the jacket.”

The Indian stirred a little, then was immobile again. The dry rattle sounded: “Me. I have jacket.”

The inspector’s eyes shot to a new target. “Where is it?”

Jean said impatiently, “He means he had it.”

Wilson asserted imperturbably, “I say I have it. My words no good?” He grunted scornfully. “I have jacket many days. When my life come back that morning I work free I look around I see jacket on grass under hedge. I see tomb door open and go find Tsianina’s man dead. I no like jacket there, too much around, I hide him. Then I go tell Tsianina’s son what I find in tomb. After many days, fifteen days, it come like lightning in my head, why, sure, I know about that jacket. That jacket belong Tsianina’s son. Of course. Damn fool. I get jacket from cache, put it in his room on chair. Of course. Happy to remember.”

“I see.” Cramer, pulling thoughtfully at his lip with a finger and thumb, said that and stopped. He sat and stared at the wrinkled old face, his own forehead wrinkled as though in violent distaste. Finally, still staring, his hand reached out for the button on his desk, found it and pushed. In a moment the door opened to admit Sergeant Burke.

Cramer said crisply, “I’ll be busy here a little longer. Tell McConnell to take those two men, separately of course, and get going. He’d better start with Pinkie Frick. I’ll join him as soon as I can.”

“Yes, sir. There’s a man out there that wants in. His name is Amory Buysse. He just came.”

“Keep him until—No. Send him in.”

“There’s another man with him, I don’t know who he is.”

“He can wait. Send Buysse in.”

“Yes, sir.”

The sergeant went. No one spoke. It was a minute before the door opened again and Buysse appeared. He crossed, glanced at Jean and then at Wilson, and looked without marked friendliness at Cramer.

“Good-morning, Inspector.”

“Good-morning. Pull a chair up.”

Jean blurted, “Inspector Cramer says I’m lying about the whip-poor-will and that Kranz came to my apartment last night just to have a talk.”

Buysse sat down and put up his brows at her. “Well, you wanted to come here. I knew that was about what you’d get.”

Cramer declared, “Miss Farris is exaggerating. Anyhow, we’ve passed that.” He turned to the Indian: “Now you. You know what I can do to you if you tell me lies.”

Wilson shrugged. “No lies. Plenty truth.”

“Okay. You say that when you came to that morning you were bound hand and foot. You worked yourself free, and looked around, and saw the jacket under the hedge. After you had gone to the tomb and saw what was there, you hid the jacket before you went to the house to see Guy Carew. That right?”

The Indian grunted.

“Then, fifteen days later, you got the jacket from
where you had hid it and took it to Guy Carew’s room and left it there in his absence. Right?”

Another grunt.

“How do you happen to remember it was exactly fifteen days?”

Buysse said shortly, “That’s your ignorance. Indians always count days for everything.”

“Good. Good thing you’re here, Buysse, much obliged.” Back to Wilson: “How did it happen that you didn’t tell the police about the jacket?”

“No one speak of jacket. No one ask.”

“I’m aware of that. That was their ignorance. Why didn’t you speak of it?”

“Not here.” With his middle finger Wilson tapped his temple, then flipped the finger to the wind. “Clear out.”

“Why did you hide it?”

“Not hide to keep. Me no thief.”

Cramer’s voice went up a little. “Why did you hide it?”

“Habit of Cherokee Indian. Everything put away.”

“That’s fine. And you say you didn’t know whose it was, and fifteen days later it popped into your head like lightning that it belonged to Guy Carew, so you got it and took it—”

Jean broke in, “That’s silly! It’s perfectly obvious why he said that, and why he hid it! Because he knew it was Guy’s jacket, and he thought Guy had killed his father, and he wanted to shield him! He told Mr. Buysse and me that last night—that’s when we learned about it. There’s no sense in bullying him about anything as obvious as that.” She got up and went over and put her hand on the Indian’s shoulder, and bent down to face him. “Listen, Wilson. Don’t be afraid of anything. Don’t be afraid of the truth. The truth is going to come out, and we want you to help with it. Don’t be afraid of it. I think
it was wonderful of you to try to shield Tsianina’s son; it was beautiful. Do you know the word beautiful?”

“Sure. Sun, water, fast cloud—”

“That’s it. It was beautiful. And I promise you that no harm will come if you tell the whole truth—if you will accept my promise. I don’t know much about a Cherokee Indian’s opinion of a woman, I’ve only read about it in a book. Will you trust a woman?”

He shrugged. “Trust one day maybe. Find out.”

“Well, make it to-day. You can trust me, I swear you can. I swear it! Do you know what it means when I swear?”

“Sure. Goddam hell and Jesus—”

Cramer snorted. “Okay, Miss Farris. Fine. Did you rehearse it?”

She straightened and wheeled. “Rehearse what?”

“Oh, the little act. Sentiment and humour all together—very pretty. My God, do you think I’m a ninny? This isn’t any better than the whip-poor-will—in fact, it’s even worse. I get the idea, of course. If Wilson found the jacket under the hedge it couldn’t have been Guy who left it there, because he wouldn’t have been fool enough to leave his own jacket on the scene. I’ll admit there’s a little subtlety to it, but—”

Astonishment stopped him, for Buysse suddenly roared, “Shut up!” Then Buysse turned to Jean: “I said he was a cop, didn’t I? He’s a cop and he acts like a cop.”

Jean, disregarding him, was standing against the edge of the desk, as close as she could get to Cramer, facing him, her eyes flashing. “Yes,” she told him scornfully, “you are a ninny! You are a complete fool! You had the nerve to say you like me. God help the people you don’t like! You have accused me twice of lying, of deliberately making up things. You accuse me of inventing this story for Wilson. Good Lord, if Buysse and Wilson
and I wanted to invent something, couldn’t we do better than this? If we were willing to endanger a man who might be innocent? I can invent one right now. When Kranz left the tomb after murdering Carew, Wilson wasn’t still unconscious; he only pretended to be. He opened his eyes enough to see Kranz going by and leaving through the gap in the hedge, after he had put the jacket there on the grass. He has kept still about it up to now because he was afraid to talk. Also Buysse, out of his bedroom window, saw Kranz going toward the tomb and coming back again, and he has kept silent because he didn’t want to testify against an old friend. How do you like that?” She hit the desk with her fist, and her eyes blazed. “I could do much better if I had ten minutes to think it over! And you are stupid enough to accuse me of making that up for Wilson! And of inventing the whip-poor-will in an effort to put it off on Leo Kranz! You
are
a ninny!”