Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 31 (7 page)

“It’s all right here,” I told him. “Soundproofed, doors and all.”

“All right for what?” Edwin Laidlaw asked.

“For privacy. Unless you came to see Inspector Cramer of Homicide?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came to see you.”

“I thought you might have, and I also thought you might prefer not to collide with Cramer. He’s in the office chatting with Mr. Wolfe, and is about ready to go, so I shunted you in here.”

“I’m glad you did. I’ve seen all I want of policemen for a while.” He glanced around. “Can we talk here?”

“Yes, but I must go and see Cramer off. I’ll be back soon. Have a chair.”

I went to the door to the hall and opened it, and there was Cramer heading for the front. He didn’t even look at me, let alone speak. I thought if he could be rude I could too, so I let him get his own hat and
coat and let himself out. When the door had closed behind him I went to the office and crossed to Wolfe’s desk. He spoke.

“I will make one remark, Archie. To bedevil Mr. Cramer for a purpose is one thing; to do so merely for pastime is another.”

“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t dream of it. You’re asking me if my position with you, privately, is the same as it was with him. The answer is yes.”

“Very well. Then he’s in a pickle.”

“That’s too bad. Someone else is too, apparently. Yesterday when I was invited to the party and given the names of the male guests, I wanted to know who they were and phoned Lon Cohen. One of them, Edwin Laidlaw, is a fairly important citizen for a man his age. He used to be pretty loose around town, but three years ago his father died and he inherited ten million dollars, and recently he bought a controlling interest in the Malvin Press, book publishers, and apparently he intends to settle down and—”

“Is this of interest?”

“It may be. He’s in the front room. He came to see me, and since my only contact with him was last night it
could
be of interest. I can talk with him there, but I thought I should tell you because you might possibly want to sit in—or stand in. At the hole. In case I need a witness.”

“Pfui.”

“Yeah, I know. I don’t want to shove, but we haven’t had a case for two weeks.”

He was scowling at me. It wasn’t so much that he would have to leave his chair and walk to the hall and on to the alcove, and stand at the hole—after all, that amount of exercise would be good for his appetite—as
it was that the very best that could come of it, getting a client, would also be the worst, since he would have to work. He heaved a sigh, not letting it interfere with the scowl, muttered, “Confound it,” put his palms on the desk rim to push his chair back, and got up and went.

The hole was in the wall, at eye level, eight feet to the right of Wolfe’s desk. On the office side it was covered by a picture of a pretty waterfall. On the other side, in a wing of the hall across from the kitchen, it was covered by nothing, and you could not only see through but also hear through. I had once stood there for four solid hours, waiting for someone to appear from the front room to snitch something from my desk. I allowed Wolfe a minute to get himself posted and then went and opened the door to the front room and spoke.

“In here, Laidlaw. It’s more comfortable.” I moved one of the yellow chairs around to face my desk.

L
aidlaw sat and looked at me. Three seconds. Six seconds. Evidently he needed priming, so I obliged.

“I thought it was a nice party up to a point, didn’t you? Even with the protocol.”

“I can’t remember that far back.” He leaned forward. His hair was still perfectly uncombed. “Look, Goodwin. I want to ask you a straight question, and I hope you’ll answer it. I don’t see why you shouldn’t.”

“I may not either. What?”

“About what you said last night, that you thought that girl was murdered. You said it not only to us, but to the police and the District Attorney. I can tell you confidentially that I have a friend, it doesn’t matter who or where, who has given me a little information. I understand that they would be about ready to call it suicide and close the investigation if it weren’t for you, so your reason for thinking it was murder must be a pretty good one. That’s my question. What is it?”

“Your friend didn’t tell you that?”

“No. Either he wouldn’t, or he couldn’t because he doesn’t know. He says he doesn’t know.”

I crossed my legs. “Well, I can’t very well say that. So I’ll say that I have told only the police and the D.A.’s office and Mr. Wolfe, and for the present that’s enough.”

“You won’t tell me?”

“At the moment, no. Rules of etiquette.”

“Don’t you think the people who are involved just because they were there—don’t you think they have a right to know?”

“Yes, I do. I think they have a right to demand that the police tell them exactly why they are going ahead with a homicide investigation when everything seems to point to suicide. But they have no right to demand that
I
tell them.”

“I see.” He considered that. “But the police refuse to tell us.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve had experiences with them. I’ve just had one with Inspector Cramer.”

He regarded me. Four seconds. “You’re in the detective business, Goodwin. People hire you to get information for them, and they pay for it. That’s all I want, information, an answer to my question. I’ll give you five thousand dollars for it. I have it in my pocket in cash. Of course, I would expect a definitive answer.”

“You would deserve one, for five grand.” I was finding that meeting his eyes halfway, not letting them come on through me, took a little effort. “Five grand in cash would suit me fine, since the salary Mr. Wolfe pays me is far from extravagant. But I’ll have to say no even if you double it. This is how it is. When the police make up their minds about it one way or the other, that I’m right or I’m wrong, no matter which, I’ll feel free to tell you or anybody else. But if I
go spreading it around before then they will say I am interfering with an official investigation, and they will interfere with me. If I lost my license as a private detective your five grand wouldn’t last long.”

“Ten would last longer.”

“Not much.”

“I own a publishing business. I’d give you a job.”

“You’d soon fire me. I’m not a very good speller.”

His eyes were certainly straight and steady. “Will you tell me this? How good is your reason for thinking it was murder? Is it good enough to keep them on it the whole way, in spite of the influence of a woman in Mrs. Robilotti’s position?”

I nodded. “Yes, I’ll answer that. It was good enough to bring Inspector Cramer here when he hadn’t had much sleep. In my opinion it is good enough to keep them from crossing it off as suicide until they have dug as deep as they can go.”

“I see.” He rubbed his palms together. Then he rubbed them on the chair arms. He had transferred his gaze to a spot on the rug, which was a relief. It was a full minute before he came back to me. “You say you have told only the police, the District Attorney, and Nero Wolfe. I want to have a talk with Wolfe.”

I raised my brows. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?”

“Whether …” I let it trail, screwing my lips. “He doesn’t like to mix in when I’m involved personally. Also he’s pretty busy. But I’ll see.” I arose. “With him you never can tell.” I moved.

As I turned left in the hall Wolfe appeared at the corner of the wing. He stood there until I had passed and pushed the swing door, and then followed me into the kitchen. When the door had swung shut I spoke.

“I must apologize for that crack about salary. I forgot you were listening.”

He grunted. “Your memory is excellent and you shouldn’t disparage it. What does that man want of me?”

I covered a yawn. “Search me. If I had had some sleep I might risk a guess, but it’s all I can do to get enough oxygen for my lungs so my brain’s doing without. Maybe he wants to publish your autobiography. Or maybe he wants you to make a monkey of me by proving it was suicide.”

“I won’t see him. You have supplied a reason: that you are involved personally.”

“Yes, sir. I am also involved personally in the income of your detective business. So is Fritz. So is the guy who wrote you that letter from New Guinea, or he’d like to be.”

He growled, as a lion might growl when it realizes it must leave its cosy lair to scout around for a meal. I admit that for him a better comparison would be an elephant, but elephants don’t growl. Fritz, at the table shucking clams, started humming a tune, very low, probably pleased at the prospect of a client. Wolfe glared at him, reached for a clam, popped it into his mouth, and chewed. When I pushed the door open and held it, he waited until the clam was down before passing through.

He doesn’t like to shake hands with strangers, and when we entered the office and I pronounced names he merely gave Laidlaw a nod en route to his desk. Before I went to mine I asked Laidlaw to move to the red leather chair so I wouldn’t have him in profile as he faced Wolfe. As I sat, Laidlaw was saying that he
supposed Goodwin had told Wolfe who he was, and Wolfe was saying yes, he had.

Laidlaw’s straight, steady eyes were now at Wolfe instead of me. “I want,” he said, “to engage you professionally. Do you prefer the retainer in cash, or a check?”

Wolfe shook his head. “Neither, until I accept the engagement. What do you want done?”

“I want you to get some information for me. You know what happened at Mrs. Robilotti’s house last evening. You know that a girl named Faith Usher was poisoned and died. You know of the circumstances indicating that she committed suicide. Don’t you?”

Wolfe said yes.

“Do you know that the authorities have not accepted it as a fact that she killed herself? That they are continuing with the investigation on the assumption that she might have been murdered?”

Wolfe said yes.

“Then it’s obvious that they must have knowledge of some circumstance other than the ones I know about—or that any of us know about. They must have some reason for not accepting the fact that it was suicide. I don’t know what that reason is, and they won’t tell me, and as one of the people involved—involved simply because I was there—I have a legitimate right to know. That’s the information I want you to get for me. I’ll give you a retainer now, and your bill can be any amount you think is fair, and I’ll pay it.”

I was not yawning. I must say I admired his gall. Though he didn’t know that Wolfe had been at the hole, he must have assumed that I had reported the offer he had made, and here he was looking Wolfe
straight in the eye, engaging him professionally, and telling him he could name his figure, no matter what, whereas with me ten grand had been his limit. The gall of the guy! I had to admire him.

The corners of Wolfe’s mouth were up. “Indeed,” he said. Laidlaw took a breath, but it came out merely as used air, not as words.

“Mr. Goodwin has told me,” Wolfe said, “of the proposal you made to him. I am at a loss whether to respect your doggedness and applaud your dexterity or to deplore your naïveté. In any case I must decline the engagement. I already have the information you’re after, but I got it from Mr. Goodwin in confidence and may not disclose it. I’m sorry, sir.”

Laidlaw took another breath. “I’m not as dogged as you are,” he declared. “Both of you. In the name of God, what’s so top secret about it? What are you afraid of?”

Wolfe shook his head. “Not afraid, Mr. Laidlaw, merely discreet. When a matter in which we have an interest and a commitment requires us to nettle the police we are not at all reluctant. In this affair Mr. Goodwin is involved solely because he happened to be there, just as you are, and I am not involved at all. It is not a question of fear or of animus. I am merely detached. I will not, for instance, tell the police of the offers you have made Mr. Goodwin and me because it would stimulate their curiosity about you, and since I assume you have made the offers in good faith I am not disposed to do you an ill turn.”

“But you’re turning me down.”

“Yes. Flatly. In the circumstances I have no choice. Mr. Goodwin can speak for himself.”

Laidlaw’s head turned to me and I had the eyes
again. I wouldn’t have put it past him to renew his offer, with an amendment that he would now leave the figure up to me, but if he had that in mind he abandoned it when he saw my steadfast countenance. When, after regarding me for eight seconds, he left his chair, I thought he was leaving the field and Wolfe wouldn’t have to go to work after all, but no. He only wanted to mull, and preferred to have his face to himself. He asked, “May I have a minute?” and, when Wolfe said yes, he turned his back and moseyed across the rug toward the far wall, where the big globe stood in front of bookshelves; and, for double the time he had asked for, at least that, he stood revolving the globe. Finally he about-faced and returned to the red leather chair, not moseying.

“I must speak with you privately,” he told Wolfe.

“You are,” Wolfe said shortly. “If you mean alone, no. If a confidence weren’t as safe with Mr. Goodwin as with me he wouldn’t be here. His ears are mine, and mine are his.”

“This isn’t only a confidence. I’m going to tell you something that no one on earth knows about but me. I’m going to risk telling you because I have to, but I’m not going to double the risk.”

“You will not be doubling it.” Wolfe was patient. “If Mr. Goodwin left us I would give him a signal to listen to us on a contraption in another room, so he might as well stay.”

“You don’t make it any easier, Wolfe.”

“I don’t pretend to make things easier. I only make them manageable—when I can.”

Laidlaw looked as if he needed to mull some more, but he got it decided without going to consult the globe again. “You’ll have all you can do to manage
this,” he declared. “I couldn’t go to my lawyer with it, or anyhow I wouldn’t, and even if I had it would have been too much for him. I thought I couldn’t go to anybody, and then I thought of you. You have the reputation of a wizard, and God knows I need one. First I wanted to know why Goodwin thinks it was murder, but evidently you’re not going—by the way—”