"I guess so." Flora's voice didn't want to work, and she tried again. "I guess so." A little better.
Emmy nodded. "Go ahead, Alec. You can't push him."
Gallant looked at his sister and back at Wolfe. "All right. We will pay you to help us. I will pay you. My sister is innocent and she must not suffer. It would be an offense against nature, against God Himself. She has told me all about it, and she was stupid, but she is innocent. She did arrange with Sarah Yare, as you said, but only to move you. She had read much about you and had a great opinion of your abilities. She was desperate about Bianca Voss. She knew you demanded high fees, much beyond her resources, so she conceived a plan. She would persuade you to talk with Bianca Voss on the phone, and she would get Sarah instead, and Sarah would abuse you with such violence that you would be offended and resent it, and you would be moved to move against Bianca Voss. It was stupid
yes, very stupid--but it was not criminal."
Wolfe's eyes, on him, were half closed. "And you want to pay me to help her."
"Yes. When she learned that your man was there
asking about Sarah Yare, and after she had talked with him, I saw that she was frightened and asked her why, and she told me what she had done. I consulted the others, and it was apparent that you suspected what had happened, and that was dangerous. We decided to come and ask you to help. My sister must not suffer."
Wolfe's eyes moved. "Miss Gallant, you heard your brother. Do you corroborate it?"
"Yes!" That time it was too loud.
"You did those things? As he related them?" "Yes!"
"When did you arrange with Sarah Yare to impersonate Bianca Voss? Yesterday morning before you came here?"
"No. Monday night. Late. After Mr. Goodwin put me in a taxi. After he left me."
Wolfe returned to Gallant. "Again, sir, I am being mistaken for a ninny. I agree with you that your sister was stupid, but you are not the one to proclaim it. You say that she arranged with Sarah Yare to abuse me on the phone, but Miss Yare didn't stop at that. She ended by making noises indicating that she had been violently attacked, and jerked the phone off onto the floor, and made other noises, and then hung up the phone and cut the connection. Was that on her own initiative? Her own idea? Your sister's stupidity can bow to yours if you expected me to overlook that point--or worse, if you missed it yourself."
"I am not stupid, Mr. Wolfe."
"Then you are devious beyond my experience." "Devious?"
"Ruse". Subtil.
"No. I am not." Gallant took a deep breath, and then another. "Bien. We are at the point. Suppose--only to suppose--she arranged that, too, that comedy. Suppose
even that she killed Bianca Voss. Was that a crime? No. It was justice. It was the hand of God. Bianca Voss was an evil woman. She was vilaine. Are you so filled with virtue that you must condemn my sister? Are you a paragon? For she is in your hands, at your mercy. You know about Sarah Yare, but the police do not. You know she dialed that number, but the police do not, and they will not unless you tell them. By your word it can be that my sister was here with you at the time that Bianca Voss was killed. As I have said, I will pay you. Pay you well. It will be a great service from you, and it deserves payment. I will pay you now."
Wolfe grunted. "That was an admirable speech." "It was not a speech. I do not make speeches. It was an appeal to your charity. From my heart."
"And to my cupidity." Wolfe shook his head. "No. I am not a paragon. I am not even a steward of the law. But you have ignored two important factors. One, my self-esteem. Even if Bianca Voss deserved to die, I will not permit myself to be taken for a simpleton. Two, another woman died too. Was Sarah Yare also evil? Was she vilaine?"
Gallant gawked. I don't suppose Lord Byron ever gawked, but Gallant did. "But she Sarah killed herself!"
"No. I don't believe it. That's another coincidence I reject. Granted that she may have been wretched enough for that extreme, why did she choose that particular moment? Again too pat. According to the published account, the medical examiner says she died between ten o'clock yesterday morning and two in the afternoon, but now that is narrowed a little. Since she spoke with Mr. Goodwin and me on the phone at
eleven-thirty, she died between that hour and two O'clock. I believe that the person who killed Bianca Voss at some time prior to eleven-thirty, having arranged with Sarah Yare to enact that comedy, as you call it, went to Sarah Yare's apartment later and killed her. Indeed, prudence demanded it. So you ask too much of my charity. If only Bianca Voss had died--"
"No!" Gallant exploded. "Impossible! Totally impossible! My sister loved Sarah! She killed her? Insane!"
"But you believe she killed Bianca Voss. You came here believing that. All but one of you did. That was stupid too. She didn't."
Gallant's jaw dropped and he froze with his mouth open. The others made noises. Flora gasped and sat stiffly in her chair.
Carl Drew demanded, "Didn't? You say she didn't?" "What is this, Mr. Wolfe? A game?" Emmy Thorne asked, coming to her feet.
"No, madam, not a game. Nor a comedy--Mr. Gallant's word. As a man I know said yesterday, murder is no joke." Wolfe's eyes went to Flora. "There was much against you, Miss Gallant, especially the fact that you dialed that other number before you dialed Sarah Yare's, and- asked someone you called Doris if Miss Voss was around. Are you too rattled to remember that?"
"No." She was still rigid in her chair. "I'm not rattled, I'm just--" She let it hang. "I remember."
"Of course, the reason for it was obvious, if you had killed Bianca Voss before you came here; you had to know that the body had not been found before you proceeded with your stratagem. But since you had not killed Bianca Voss, why did you make that call?"
"I wanted to make sure that she hadn't gone out. That she was there in her office. You might call her
again after I left and find out she hadn't been there. I didn't care if you called her and she denied she had talked to you like that. I thought you would think she was lying. I suppose that was stupid too." Her mouth worked. "How did you know I didn't kill her?"
"You told me. You showed me... If you had killed Bianca Voss and devised that elaborate humbug, certainly you would have decided how to act at the moment of crisis. You would have decided to be surprised, and shocked, and even perhaps a little dazed. But it wasn't like that. You were utterly stunned with bewilderment. When Mr. Goodwin told us what Mr. Drew had said, you exclaimed, 'He said she is dead?' Then you said, 'But how?'" And repeated it, "But how? If you had killed Bianca Voss you would have had to be a master dramatist to write such lines, and an actress of genius to deliver them as you did, and you are neither."
Wolfe waved it away. "But that was for me. For others, for a judge and jury, I must do better, and I think I can. The fact remains that Bianca Voss was murdered. If you are innocent, someone else is guilty. Someone else learned of the arrangement you had made with Sarah Yare, either from you or from her, and persuaded her to add a dramatic climax on some pretext. Someone else killed Bianca Voss and then established an invulnerable alibi for the crucial period. Someone else had secured the required amount of cyanide--it doesn't take much. Someone else, having established the alibi, went to Sarah Yare's apartment and poisoned her glass of whisky. That was done before two O'clock, and that should make it simple. Indeed, it has made it simple. Shortly before you came I learned from Mr. Cramer of the police that you arrived at your brother's place yesterday a few minutes after noon.
Since you left here at a quarter of twelve, you hadn't time to go first to Thirteenth Street and dispose of Sarah Yare; and you were continuously under the eyes of policemen the remainder of the afternoon. That is correct?"
"Yes," Flora said. "When I left here I wanted to go and see what happened to Sarah, but I was afraid. I didn't know "
"It's a good thing you didn't, madam. I also learned from Mr. Cramer that you, Mr. Gallant; you, Mr. Drew; and you, Miss Prince, were also constantly under surveillance, for hours, from the time the police arrived. That accounts for four of you and leaves only one."
His eyes narrowed at Emmy Thorne. "It leaves you, Miss Thorne. You were with three men in an office on Forty-sixth Street from eleven-twenty until a quarter to twelve. You arrived at Mr. Gallant's place, and found the police there, shortly before three o'clock. You may be able to account for the interim satisfactorily. Do you want to try?"
"I don't have to try." Her eyes were narrowed, too, and she kept them straight at Wolfe. "So it is a game."
"Not one you'll enjoy, I fear. Nor will I; I'm out of it now. To disclose your acquisition of the cyanide you would need for Sarah Yare; to show that you entered Bianca Voss' room yesterday morning, or could have, before you left for your business appointment; to find evidence of your visit to Thirteenth Street after your business appointment; to decide which homicide you will be put on trial for--all that is for others. You must see now that it was a mistake... Archie!"
I was up, but halted. Gallant, out of his chair and moving, wasn't going to touch her. His fists were doubled, but not to swing; they were pressed against his chest.
He stopped squarely in front of her and commanded, "Look at me, Emmy."
To do so she would have had to move her head, tilt it back, and she moved nothing.
"I have loved you," he said. "Did you kill Sarah?" Her lips moved, but no sound came.
His fists opened for his fingers to spread on his chest. "So you heard us that day, and you knew I couldn't marry you because I was married to Bianca, and you killed her. That I can understand, for I loved you. But that you killed Sarah, no. No! And even that is not the worst! Today, when I told you and the others what Flora had told me, you accepted it, you allowed us to accept it, that Flora had killed Bianca, though she denied it. You would have let her suffer for it. Look at me! You would have let my sister--"
Flora was there, tugging at his sleeve, sputtering at him. "You love her, Alec! Don't hurt her now! Don't "
"Miss Gallant!" Wolfe's voice was a whip cracking. "It's too late for compassion. And I doubt if this is any surprise to you. You told Miss Thorne of your appointment with me and your arrangement with Sarah Yare. Didn't you? Answer me."
"I can't--" She swallowed it.
I thought she needed help. "Come on, Finger," I
told her. "It only takes one word. Yes or no?" "Yes," she told me, not Wolfe. "Yes, I did." "When? Monday night?"
"Yes. I phoned her."
"Did you tell anyone else?"
"No."
She was still holding Gallant's sleeve. He jerked loose, backed up, folded his arms and breathed; and Emmy Thorne moved. She came up out of her chair, stood rigid long enough to give Gallant a straight hard look, shook her head, spun away from him, and headed for the door, brushing against Flora. Her route took her past Anita Prince, who tilted her head back to look up at her, and on past Carl Drew.
I didn't budge, thinking I wouldn't be needed. The understanding had been that Cramer wouldn't butt in unless he was invited, but circumstances alter understandings. As she made the hall and turned toward the front there were heavy footsteps and a hand gripped her arm--a hand that had had plenty of practice gripping arms.
"Take it easy, Miss Thorne," Cramer said. "We'll have to have a talk."
"
Grand Dieu
!" Gallant groaned, and covered his face with his hands.
By Rex Stout
A Nero Wolfe Short Story
Included in the Death Times Three Short Story Collection
My rule is, never be rude to anyone unless you mean it. But when I looked through the one-way glass panel of the front door and saw her out on the stoop, my basic feelings about the opposite sex were hurt. Granting that women can't stay young and beautiful forever, that the years are bound to show, at least they don't have to let their gray hair straggle over their ears or wear a coat with a button missing or forget to wash their face, and this specimen was guilty on all three counts. So, as she put a finger to the button and the bell rang, I opened the door and told her, "I don't want any, thanks. Try next door." I admit it was rude.
"You would have once, Buster," she said. "Thirty years ago I was a real treat."
That didn't help matters any. I have conceded that the years are bound to show.
"I want to see Nero Wolfe," she said. "Do I walk right through you?"
"There are difficulties," I told her. "One, I'm bigger than you are. Two, Mr. Wolfe can be seen only by appointment. Three, he won't be available until eleven O'clock, more than an hour from now."
"All right, I'll come in and wait. I'm half froze. Are you nailed down?"
A notion struck me. Wolfe believes, or claims he does, that any time I talk him into seeing a female would-be client he knows exactly what to expect if and when he sees her, and this would show him how wrong he was.
"Your name, please?" I asked her.
"My name's Annis. Hattie Annis."
"What do you want to see Mr. Wolfe about?"