Archie Meets Nero Wolfe (27 page)

The butler, obviously embarrassed, shook his head and said nothing. The housemaid continued to stare at her lap.

“That telephone call is, of course, the key to everything that subsequently occurred,” Wolfe pronounced.

“I don’t believe there was a telephone call at all,” Cramer said, fixing an intense gaze on Mary Trent.

“There I must now disagree, sir. Both Mr. Waverly and Miss Trent attest to hearing the ring, and Miss Trent tells us she heard a man’s voice through the instrument. I believe a call was made, a call perfectly timed to coincide with the arrival in the yard of a closed truck containing produce—produce that Mrs. Price has said was not requested by her.”

“That is correct,” the cook declared. “I had never heard of that particular purveyor before, and I even looked them up in our New York telephone directories later. They were not listed.”

Wolfe nodded. “Given your reaction moments ago, may I assume you would be willing to identify one of the men who left here in handcuffs?”

“Yes, indeed, sir. That was him, no doubt whatever about it. I will not ever forget that face as long as I live,” Mrs. Price asserted dramatically, folding her chubby arms across her chest to underscore her certainty.

“You will be hearing from us,” Cramer told her. “Okay, Wolfe, are you now ready to share your conjecture with us?”

“It is not a conjecture, but rather a fact. Early on, I correctly identified those in the Williamson world whom I felt had conspired in the kidnapping. You will have to believe me when I tell you that even before his disappearance and murder, I had marked Mr. Bell as one of the in-house cabal.”

Cramer snorted. “And I suppose you’re going to take your own sweet time telling us who else was in on the plot.”

“Only as long as it takes to explain my reasoning, sir. Back to the telephone call. Given all the outside lines that feed into the Williamson estate, that call could have come from any number of locations: the kitchen, the stables, the greenhouse, the garage, an upstairs bedroom, even Mr. Williamson’s own study. Of all these, the telephones with the best view of the driveway that curves around to the back of the house are those in the garage and in Mr. Bell’s lodgings over the garage.”

“It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out,” Cramer said sourly.

“No, it does not. Mr. Bell, like everyone else on the staff, could easily have known Tommie would be outside gathering leaves with Miss Moore. I understand that you all discuss household activities when you gather for meals,” Wolfe said, looking at each of them in turn.

“Quite often,” Mrs. Price piped up. “I can’t remember if the leaf project came up. Can anyone else?”

“Oh, I’m almost positive I mentioned something about it,” Sylvia Moore said. “I always talk a lot about what Tommie and I are doing. Some of the others on the staff like to hear about his activities.” She looked at the boy again and got another smile from him.

“So the call is made, and Miss Moore is drawn into the house in terror, fearful of her mother’s condition,” Wolfe continued. “The kidnappers must act quickly, and they do. The one brother posing as a purveyor knows he will be rejected in the kitchen and leaves, although he has kept Mrs. Price occupied just long enough for Tommie to get hustled into the windowless rear of the truck by the second brother. Likewise, Miss Moore is fruitlessly occupied on the telephone during the same few minutes.

“Both the butler, Waverly, and Miss Trent presumably are so distracted by Miss Moore’s panic in trying to reach someone on the other end of the line that they neglect to look after Tommie. The kidnappers gamble, correctly, that Miss Stratton and Messrs. Carstens and Simons are so busy with their own work elsewhere on the estate that the snatching of the boy will go unnoticed. In all, this was an efficient, well-executed operation.”

Burke Williamson cleared his throat. “You appear to have just disproved your own point that someone other than Charles Bell on my staff was involved in this ugly business.”

“Such was not my intent, sir. One of those mentioned above played a pivotal role in the event, and several seemingly innocuous occurrences pointed me toward this accomplice. As I said earlier, Mr. Goodwin is precise in recounting conversations, and my realization of this individual’s culpability began with the use of a pronoun in a sentence that was spoken in his presence: ‘I would never let anything happen to Tommie
myself
.’

“I stressed the final word, which I believe was included to suggest that someone other than the speaker was responsible for Tommie’s being seized. Later, the same individual drew Mr. Goodwin aside, telling him a most implausible story about overhearing part of a conversation in the dining room of the Williamson home between Miss Stratton and Mr. Carstens in which they seem to be speaking in a conspiratorial manner about the kidnapping.”

“That is ridiculous!” Lloyd Carstens stormed, popping out of his chair. “I have never—repeat never—set foot in the dining room of the house. The only room I’ve ever been in is Mr. Williamson’s study, and then to discuss the maintenance of the grounds. Who told that outlandish story?”

Wolfe held up a hand. “Please be seated, sir. I have stated that the story was implausible, and I would like to move on. The individual in question had suggested to Mr. Goodwin that she tell him her eavesdropping story in his chauffeur’s quarters, suggesting that she had spent time there before, perhaps when Mr. Bell occupied those rooms.” As he spoke, Wolfe turned to Mary Trent, who, small as she was, seemed to be shrinking in her chair.

“That’s, that’s ... not true,” she said in a voice barely above a whisper.

“What is true, Miss Trent, is that you have said consistently that you did not recognize the voice on the telephone—until now,” Wolfe remarked. “And tonight you tell us the voice just might be that of Mr. Simons.”

“But I just cannot be sure,” she said, near tears and holding her head in her hands.

“You do not seem to be sure of anything,” Wolfe said sharply as Inspector Cramer moved to stand behind Mary Trent. “You have variously suggested that Miss Stratton, Mr. Carstens, and Mr. Simons have been involved in the kidnapping. Is there anyone else you would like to implicate?”

She was sobbing now, although the expressions of those around her showed no sign of sympathy.

“Miss Trent,” Wolfe said, “I am going to imagine a scenario, and I invite you to comment upon it. In your time as an employee in the Williamson household, you and Mr. Bell became extremely good friends, although you both went to lengths to keep the extent of your friendship from your coworkers.”

“They certainly didn’t do all that good a job of keeping it a secret,” Emily Stratton huffed. “You should have seen the way she would look at him across the dinner table. We all knew what was going on. We are not blind. And heaven knows what happened when she went over to the garage to clean his rooms. He used to say he didn’t want his rooms cleaned, but little Goody-Two Shoes here often disappeared for certain periods, and I know just where she disappeared to.”

“Did you ever share your observations about this relationship with any of my investigators?” Wolfe asked sharply.

“No, I certainly did not,” she snapped. “I am not a gossip. I hardly feel that it is my place to comment on or judge the morals, or the lack of morals, of other members of the staff. If people exercised more self-discipline, the world would be a better place. I will say no more than that.”

Wolfe glared at the housekeeper, then turned back to Mary Trent. “The two of you made plans to start a new life, but you had big dreams, dreams that would take money. Mr. Bell had come to know the Bagley brothers, and perhaps you are familiar with the circumstances of their meeting. Together, the three of them conceived Tommie Williamson’s kidnapping. Mr. Bell quickly realized he would need an accomplice within the household to make the plan work, and who better to play that role than his closest friend on the staff?

“You may originally have been conflicted about the plot and your role in it. Only you can know how enthusiastically you took part. In any event, you became the fourth member of the team, if we can so term it.

“The Bagley brothers rented a truck in the Bronx. This we know from the investigative work of Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Bascom. On the morning of the kidnapping, the Bagleys drove to the Williamson estate, timing their arrival to coincide with the period when Tommie would be out in the yard collecting leaves before leaving for school.

“Mr. Bell, stationed either in the garage itself or at a window in one of his rooms above it, dialed the number of the instrument on the first floor the moment the truck pulled around to the back of the house. Expecting the call, you, Miss Trent, were hovering around the telephone and picked it up, probably on the first ring. Mr. Bell likely spoke no more than a word or two, perhaps something like ‘They’re here!’ You made an exclamation of some sort for the benefit of anyone within earshot. You then ran out onto the terrace, frantically calling to Miss Moore and telling her that she had an emergency call.

“As this was transpiring, one of the Bagley brothers, carrying a box of produce, went through a rear basement door to the kitchen, having been told either by you or Mr. Bell of its location. While he talked to Mrs. Price, the second brother got out of the truck the instant Miss Moore ran into the house and lured Tommie over to the truck. Do I have that right?” Wolfe asked, turning to the boy.

Tommie nodded, his expression serious. “Yes, sir, it happened just exactly like you said. Miss Moore was very upset. I watched her run inside, and right after that, this man came over to me saying he wanted my help taking something out of the truck. Then he shoved me inside. He stuffed a cloth in my mouth and tied me up. Then they drove away.”

Even though they had surely heard the story before, both of Tommie’s parents tensed up as he recounted his ordeal, but the boy seemed totally self-possessed. I believe he was enjoying the attention.

“And was that man one of the two who just left here?” Wolfe asked.

“Yes, I’m pretty sure,” Tommie said. “Except that he had dark glasses on all the time before.”

“Well, the brother I met wasn’t wearing any dark glasses in the kitchen,” Mrs. Price asserted, “and as I told you before, he definitely was the same man who the police just took away. Also as I told you before, I will testify to that in any court if I am asked.”

“Thank you,” Wolfe said. “Now, Miss Trent, what do you think of my scenario? Do you have anything to add?”

Despite what she had done, I almost—but not quite—felt sorry for the young woman, who now was hunched over, weeping into a handkerchief. “We were in love,” she sobbed as if to justify her actions. “When they killed him, I wanted to die, too.”

“Did it occur to you that they might have killed Tommie as well?” a red-faced Burke Williamson yelled at Mary Trent as his wife tugged on his sleeve to hush him up.

“You got anything else you want to add, Wolfe?” Cramer snapped.

“No, sir, I have spoken my piece.”

“Miss Trent, I am going to request that you come with me,” the inspector said grimly, taking her arm and helping her up. She looked at each of her coworkers, finding nothing but hostility in their expressions. She started to speak, then bit her lip and took one last, watery-eyed look at a roomful of people she would never see again—except perhaps in a courtroom.

M
uch of what happened to the accused murderers and kidnappers after that night in Wolfe’s office I learned from newspaper reports. The Bagleys tried to get Stanley Harding to represent them in court, but the little man begged off, claiming, with justification, that he had no experience as a defense attorney in a murder trial.

The ransom money, less several hundred dollars, got recovered from the apartment of the Bagleys’ sister in Brooklyn where they had stashed it, so the brothers had no funds to hire a top-notch lawyer, not that one would have helped them. A public defender was brought in, and although he labored manfully for his clients, according to the newspaper stories, the jury brought in a quick verdict of guilty on two counts of first-degree murder and one of kidnapping. Both men were sentenced to death and were electrocuted on successive nights at the Sing Sing prison up on the Hudson north of the city.

Never before had siblings been sentenced to die in New York in the same case, and the tabloid press turned it into a circus. When the verdict got handed down, the
Daily News
headline screamed
DOUBLE BROILER!
The rival tabloid,
The Mirror
, which was not to be outdone, countered with
ONE FOR THE MONEY, TWO FOR THE CHAIR!
The usually staid
Gazette
even got into the act with
TIME TO TURN ON THE JUICE.

All but lost in the furor over the executions was the fate of Mary Trent. She was found guilty as an accessory to kidnapping and received a three-year term at what was called “a women’s correctional facility.” I never read another word about her.

The ransom money got returned to Burke Williamson. Although he earlier had said the cash meant nothing to him, he accepted it, giving a chunk to Wolfe, who divvied some of it up among the six of us, which was a pleasant surprise.

Soon after that last meeting in Wolfe’s office, Williamson, his son, and I went to that Columbia University football game. It was a beautiful autumn afternoon, and Tommie entered into the spirit of college football waving a Columbia pennant his father had bought him and yelling “Let’s go, Lions!” along with the cheerleaders and the students seated around us. The rooting must have worked, because the home team defeated the Princeton Tigers by scoring a touchdown in the last minute of the game.

As we left the stadium, the hotel magnate pulled me aside and quietly thanked me for having spent time with Tommie during my short stint as his chauffeur.

“Perhaps without intending to, you showed me how to be a better father,” Williamson said. “I hadn’t tossed a football in years, but now Tommie and I throw it around several times a week, and my arm has even stopped aching. Come spring, we’re going to switch to baseball, and I would like you to come to a game with us, Goodwin. Yankees, Giants, Dodgers, whichever team Tommie wants to see.”