Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 24 (7 page)

He was going on. “Plainly there was no other alternative, so I came to supersede him; and now that I am here I refuse to employ the puerile stratagem that Mr. Lewent and Mr. Goodwin were determined to try. They should have known that their pretended concern about a large sum left secretly by Mr. Lewent’s sister with one of you to be passed to him at her death—they should have known that none of you would take it seriously.” He looked at Huck. “You, sir, even assumed that it was merely a blackmailing device, didn’t you?”

“I thought it possible.” Huck, being a millionaire, was giving no ground for a suit for slander. “You say it was a stratagem?”

“Yes.” Wolfe flipped a hand. “Let’s dismiss it. Slithering around looking for cracks is not to my taste. I’d much rather be forthright and tell you straight that I came here to discuss murder.”

There were noises, but not explosive. Paul Thayer’s head jerked up. My private reaction was absolutely unfavorable. Since he had blurted it out, a call to the police was in order right now, and exactly where would I be?

“Murder?” Huck was disbelieving his ears. “Did you say murder?”

“Yes, sir, I did.” Wolfe was at a disadvantage. Working on an audience in his office, it wasn’t difficult to keep all the faces in view, but there they made almost half a circle, with Huck in his wheelchair in the center, and Wolfe had to keep turning his head and moving his eyes. “There’s no point,” he declared, “in going on with the rigmarole started by Mr. Goodwin. I much prefer the directness and vigor of Mr. Lewent’s original suggestion when he called at my office this morning to hire me. He suggested that Mr. Goodwin should come here and tell you that he, Lewent, suspected that one of these three women had murdered his sister, poisoned her, and that he had engaged me to investigate. I now propose—”

This time the noises could be called explosions, especially the one contributed by Mrs. O’Shea. Also she moved. She bounced out of her chair and started for the door, and
when Wolfe sharply demanded where she was going and she didn’t stop, I dived across and headed her off. White-faced, she ordered me, “Get out of my way! The dirty little rat!”

I held the pass. Wolfe’s voice came. “If you’re going for Mr. Lewent, madam, I beg you to consider. He came to me and paid me money because he lacked the spunk to tackle this himself. You can drag him in here, and the three of you can screech and scratch, but what good will it do? I’m willing to try to work this out, but not in pandemonium.”

She turned and took a step.

“You should all realize,” Wolfe told them, “what the situation is. You may think that this notion of Mr. Lewent’s is preposterous, that he is in effect deranged, but that doesn’t dispose of it or him. If he clings to it and speaks of it, it can become extremely ugly for all of you. Suing him for slander might settle him, but it wouldn’t settle the stench. From the fact that he chose me to investigate for him, and from his paying me in advance what was for him a substantial sum, I assume that he has high regard for my sagacity, judgment, and integrity. If I am convinced that his suspicions are baseless and unmerited, I think I can persuade him to abandon them; and it may be that you can convince me here and now. Do you want to try?”

Paul Thayer threw his head back and haw-hawed. It didn’t go over as well as it had when he and I were together in his room. They all looked at him, not admiringly, and when he subsided they transferred the looks to Theodore Huck. He was regarding Wolfe thoughtfully.

“I am wondering,” he said, “if it would help for me to have a talk with my brother-in-law.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” Sylvia Marcy said so positively that everyone glanced at her in surprise. Immediately she cooed. “I just mean,” she cooed, “that he’s a case. He is definitely a case.”

Huck looked at Dorothy Riff. “What do you think?”

She didn’t hesitate. The gray-green eyes were alert and determined. “I would like to know what it would take to convince Mr. Wolfe.” She looked at him.

“That depends,” Wolfe told her. “If, for instance, the source of the poison that killed Mrs. Huck has been satisfactorily established, and if none of you was connected
with in in any way, I would be well on the road to conviction. According to Mr. Lewent, it was ptomaine, and all of you were on the premises at the time. Is that correct?”

“Yes.”

“Good God,” Paul Thayer protested, “you don’t really mean it! You’re actually going to ask us?”

“I’ll ask you, Mr. Thayer, since you are not suspected by Mr. Lewent. Where did Mrs. Huck die? Here?”

Thayer looked at Huck. “What about it, Uncle Theodore? Do you want me to play?”

Huck nodded slowly. “I suppose so. Yes.”

“Whatever you say.” Thayer looked at Wolfe. “My aunt died in this house, in her bed, just about a year ago.”

“Were you here?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about it. Just tell it, and I’ll ask questions as required.”

“Well.” Thayer cleared his throat. “It was my uncle’s birthday, and there was a little celebration here in this room. We were all here, we who are here now, and a few other people, four or five—old friends of my aunt and uncle. Do you want to know who they were?”

“Later, perhaps. Now just the event.”

“We had drinks and things, and afterward a buffet dinner served in this room, plenty of wine—my aunt liked wine, and so does Uncle Theodore—finishing up with champagne, and some of us were fairly high, including me. In fact I finally got slightly objectionable, so my aunt said, and I left before the party broke up and went up to my room and made music. Did you ever play the piano while you were lit?”

Wolfe said no.

“Try it sometime. By the way, will you kindly tell me something? Why did one of these women poison my aunt? What for?”

“Speaking for Mr. Lewent, because she was on intimate terms with your uncle and wanted to marry him. Where there is room for a deed there is always room for a motive. That can—”

“You dare!” Mrs. O’Shea blazed. She was back in her chair.

“No, madam, I don’t. I am only trying to learn if there is any cause for daring. Go on, Mr. Thayer?”

Thayer shrugged. “At some hour I quit making music and went to bed. In the morning I was told that my aunt had died, and the way it was described to me—it was quite horrible.”

“Who described it?”

“Miss Marcy, and Mrs. O’Shea some.”

Wolfe’s eyes moved. “You saw it then, Miss Marcy?”

“Yes, I did.” She was not cooing. “To say that one of us poisoned her, that’s terrible.”

“I agree. What did you see?”

“I was sleeping on the floor above this, and so was Mrs. Huck. She came and got me up; she was in great pain and didn’t want to disturb her husband. I got her back to bed and called a doctor—it was after midnight—and I got Mrs. O’Shea, but there wasn’t much we could do until the doctor came. It was a question about telling Mr. Huck—he couldn’t even go in the room where she was, because the door was too narrow for his chair, but of course we had to tell him. She died about eight o’clock.”

Wolfe went to Huck. “Naturally there was some inquiry—a death under those circumstances.”

“Certainly.” Huck was curt.

“Was there an autopsy?”

“Yes. It was ptomaine.”

“Was the source identified?”

“Not by analysis.” A spasm ran over Huck’s face. He was having a little trouble with the controls. “Before dinner there had been a large assortment of hors d’oeuvres, and among them was a kind of pickled artichoke which my wife was very fond of. No one else had taken any of them, and apparently she had eaten them all, since there were none left. Since no one else was ill, it was assumed that the ptomaines, which were definitely present, had been in the artichokes.”

Wolfe grunted. “I’m not a ptomaine scholar, but this afternoon I looked them up a little. Do you know how thoroughly the possibility of the presence of a true alkaloid was excluded?”

“No. I don’t know what you mean.”

“Isn’t ptomaine an alkaloid?” Dorothy Riff asked.

“Yes,” Wolfe conceded, “but cadaveric. However, for that there is the record. You were here the night of Mrs. Huck’s death, Miss Riff?”

“I was here for the party. I left around eleven o’clock.”

“Did you know that she was fond of pickled artichokes?”

“We all did. It was a kind of standing joke.”

“How did you know that ptomaines are alkaloids?”

She flushed a little. “When Mrs. Huck died I read up about them.”

“Why? Was there something about her death or about the artichokes that made you suspect something?”

“No! Of course not!”

Wolfe’s head went right and left. “Did any of you suspect that Mrs. Huck’s death was not accidental?”

He got a unanimous negative with no abstentions, but he insisted, “Have any of you felt, at any time, that the possibility of foul play was insufficiently explored?”

Unanimous again. Mrs. O’Shea snapped, “Why should we feel that if we didn’t suspect anything?”

Wolfe nodded. “Why indeed?” He leaned back, cleared his throat, and looked judicious. “I am impressed, naturally, by the total absence of any currents of mistrust among you. Three women like you—young, smart, alive to opportunity, inevitably competitive in a household like this—are ideal soil for the seeds of suspicion if there are any around, but evidently none have sprouted in you. That is more than indicative, it is almost conclusive, and I could not expect, here in an hour or so, to reach the haven of certainty. It would be unreasonable to challenge you to convince me utterly; the law itself assumes innocence until guilt is demonstrated; and that leaves us only with the question, how much is it worth to you to have me employ my talent and energy to persuade Mr. Lewent that his suspicions are unfounded, and to keep him persuaded? Shall we say one hundred thousand dollars?”

They were unanimous again, this time with gasps. Miss Riff, quickest to find words, cried, “I told you it was blackmail!”

Wolfe showed them his palms. “If you please. I am indifferent to what you call it, blackmail or brigandage, but
it would be childish for you to suppose I would perform so great a service for you as a benefaction. My spring of philanthropy is not so torrential. The sum I named would surely not be exorbitant. I’ll be considerate on details; I don’t even insist on an IOU; it will be sufficient if Mr. Huck will state, all of us hearing him, that he guarantees payment of the full amount to me within one month. With one provision, which I insist on, that no word of this arrangement ever reaches Mr. Lewent. On that I must have explicit and firm assurance. I require the guarantee from Mr. Huck because I know he is good for it and I know nothing of the financial status of any of the rest of you, and of course it is to his interest as well as yours that Mr. Lewent should be persuaded that his suspicions are unfounded.”

He took them in. “Well?”

“It’s blackmail,” Miss Riff said firmly.

Paul Thayer muttered, “Lewent picked a lulu when he picked you.”

Miss Marcy and Mrs. O’Shea were silent. They were looking at Huck, obviously wanting a lead. Huck, his head cocked to one side, was frowning at Wolfe, studying him, as if in doubt whether he had heard correctly.

He spoke. “What makes you think,” he asked, “that you can manage my brother-in-law?”

“Mainly, sir, my self-conceit. I undertake it, and I too am financially responsible. You guarantee to pay, and I guarantee to deliver. You guarantee to pay me one hundred thousand dollars within one month, and I guarantee that Mr. Lewent will not again accuse any person here present of serious misconduct prior to this moment; and if he does so I forfeit the entire amount paid me.”

“Is there a time limit to your guarantee?”

“No.”

“Then I accept it. I guarantee to pay you one hundred thousand dollars within one month, as consideration for the guarantee you have given, as stated by you. Is that satisfactory?”

“Perfectly. Now the provision. It is understood by all of you that no word of this arrangement is ever to get to Mr. Lewent. You agree that you will give him no hint of it
either directly or indirectly. To indicate your agreement please raise your hands.”

Mrs. O’Shea’s hand went up first, then Miss Marcy’s, then Miss Riff’s. Wolfe asked, “Mr. Huck?”

“I thought it unnecessary. Certainly I agree.”

“Mr. Thayer?”

With all eyes on him, Paul Thayer looked highly uncomfortable. He glanced at his uncle. “Oh, nuts,” he said, and raised both hands as high as they would go.

“Then that’s settled.” Wolfe made a face. “Now I must go to work, and I must have your help. First I’ll speak with Mr. Lewent privately, but it may be that after a preliminary I’ll want to bring him in here for a brief colloquy. So you will please remain here a while—not long, I think.” He got to his feet. “Archie, you said Mr. Lewent is in his room on this floor?”

I was a little tardy answering and moving because I was trying to see all their faces at once as they heard that we were going for Lewent. But Wolfe repeated my name, and I was up and with him, detouring around him to get to the door and open it. I led the way to Lewent’s room, opened that door too, and, entering, flipped the wall switch for light and then stepped over Lewent’s legs to get out of the way for Wolfe to come in. He did so and shut the door and stood looking down at his client.

“Lift him so I can see the back of his head.”

That was no great strain, considering the size of the corpse and the fact that it was fairly stiff by then. When Wolfe finished his inspection and straightened up, I lowered it to the rug again, to its former position.

“As you know,” Wolfe said, “it is regarded as undesirable to leave a corpse unguarded, especially when violence is indicated. I’ll stay here. You will go and tell them what we have found, instructing them to remain together in Mr. Huck’s room, and then call the police.”

“Yes, sir. Call from Huck’s rooms or go down to the study?”

“Either. As you choose.”

“When the cops go into details with me, does my memory fail me anywhere besides my one trip to this room?”

“No. Everything else as it was.”

“Including the way I got up here?”