The Rodeo Murder

II

It was ten minutes to four when I got back to the parking lot on 63rd Street. Walking west, I crossed Park Avenue and stopped for a look. Five cops were visible. One was talking to the driver of a car who wanted to turn the corner, two were standing at the curb talking, and two were holding off an assortment of pedestrians who wanted to get closer to three mounted cowboys. The cowboys were being spoken to by a man on foot, not in costume. As I moved to proceed one of the cops at the curb blocked me and spoke. “Do you live in this block, sir?”

I told him no, I was going to Miss Lily Rowan’s party, and he let me pass. The New York Police Department likes to grant reasonable requests from citizens, especially when the request comes from a woman whose father was a Tammany district leader for thirty years. There were no parked cars on that side of the street, but twenty paces short of the building entrance a truck with cameras was hugging the curb, and there was another one farther on, near Madison Avenue.

When I had left with Wolfe Lily had had nine guests; now she had twenty or more. Three of the new arrivals were cowboys, making six with Cal Barrow, Harvey Greve, and Mel Fox; the rest were civilians. They were all on the terrace. The civilians were at the parapet, half at one end and half at the other, leaving the parapet clear for thirty feet in the middle. The cowboys, their ten-gallon hats on their heads and their ropes in their hands, were lined up facing a tall skinny man in a brown suit. At the man’s elbow was Roger Dunning, the promoter. The man was speaking.

“... and that’s the way it’s going to be. I’m the judge and what I say goes. I repeat that Greve hasn’t done any practicing, and neither has Barrow or Fox. I have Miss Rowan’s word for that, and I don’t think you want to call her a liar. I’ve told you the order, but you don’t move in until I call your name. Remember what I said, if you take a tumble off a bronc it’s four feet down; here it’s a hundred feet down and you won’t get up and walk. Once again, no hooligan stuff. There’s not supposed to be any pedestrians on this side of the street from four o’clock to five, but if one comes out of a house and one of you drops a loop on him you won’t sleep in a hotel room tonight. We’re here to have some fun, but don’t get funny.” He looked at his watch. “Time to go. Fox, get—”

“I want to say something,” Roger Dunning said.

“Sorry, Roger, no time. We promised to start on the dot. Fox, get set. The rest of you scatter.”

He went to the parapet, to the left, and picked up a green flag on a stick that was there on a chair. Mel Fox stepped to the middle of the clear stretch, straddled the parapet, and started his noose going. The others went right and left to find spots in the lines of guests. I found a spot on the right that happened to be between Laura Jay and Anna Casado. Leaning over to get a view of the street, I saw I was blocking Laura Jay and drew in a little. The three mounted cowboys and the man I had seen talking to them were grouped on the pavement halfway to Park Avenue. The judge stuck his arm out with the green flag and dipped it, the man down with the mounted cowboys said something, and one of the ponies was off on the jump, heading down the middle of the lane between the curb on our side and the parked cars on the other. Mel Fox, leaning out from his hips, moved his whirling loop back a little, and then brought it forward and let it go. When it reached bottom it was a little too far out and the cowboy on the pony was twenty feet ahead of it. The instant it touched the pavement Fox started hauling it in; he had thirty seconds until the flag started number two. He had it up and a noose going in less than that, but the judge went by his watch. The flag dipped, and here came the second one. That was a little better; the rope touched the pony’s rump, but it was too far in. Fox hauled in again, shifted his straddle a little, and started another whirl. That time he nearly made it. Anna Casado, on my left, let out a squeal as the rope, descending smoothly in a perfect circle, brushed the edge of the cowboy’s hat. The audience clapped, and a man in a window across the street shouted “Bravo!” Fox retrieved his rope, taking his time, dismounted from the parapet, said something I didn’t catch because of other voices, and moved off as the judge called out, “Vince!”

A chunky little youngster in a purple shirt, Levis, and working boots mounted the parapet. Saturday night I had seen him stick it out bareback on one of the roughest broncs I had ever seen — not speaking as an expert. He wasn’t so hot on a parapet. On his first try his loop turned straight up, which could have been an air current, on his second it draped over a parked car across the street, and on his third it hit the asphalt ten feet ahead of the pony.

Harvey Greve was next. Naturally I was rooting for him, since he had done me a lot of favors during the month I had spent at Lily’s ranch. Lily called something to him from the other end of the parapet, and he gave her a nod as he threw his leg over and started his loop. His first throw was terrible; the noose buckled and flipped before it was halfway down. His second was absolutely perfect; it centered around the cowboy like a smoke ring around a fingertip, and Harvey timed the jerk just right and had him. A yell came from the audience as the cowboy tightened the reins and the pony braked, skidding on the asphalt. He loosened the loop with one hand and passed it over his head, and as soon as it was free the judge sang out “Thirty seconds!” and Harvey started hauling in. His third throw sailed down round and flat, but it was too late by ten feet.

As the judge called Barrow’s name and Cal stepped to the parapet, Laura Jay, on my right, muttered, “He shouldn’t try it.” She was probably muttering to herself, but my ear was right there and I turned my head and asked her why. “Somebody stole his rope,” she said.

“Stole it? When? How?”

“He don’t know. It was in the closet with his hat and it was gone. We looked all around. He’s using the one that was on that saddle and it’s new and stiff, and he shouldn’t—”

She stopped and I jerked my head around. The flag had dipped and the target was coming. Considering that he was using a strange rope, and a new one, Cal didn’t do so bad. His loops kept their shape clear down, but the first one was short, the second was wide, and the third hit bottom before the pony got there. Neither of the last two ropers, one named Lopez and the other Holcomb, did as well. When Holcomb’s third noose curled on the curb below us the judge called, “Second round starts in two minutes! Everybody stay put!”

There were to be three rounds, giving each contestant a total of nine tries. Roger Dunning was stationed near the judge, with a pad of paper and a pen in his hand, to keep score in case the decision had to be made on form and how close they came, but since Harvey Greve had got one that wouldn’t be necessary.

In the second round Fox got a rider and Lopez got a pony. In the third round Holcomb got a rider and Harvey got his second one. The winner and first world champion rope-dropper or drop-roper from one hundred feet up: Harvey Greve! He took the congratulations and the riding from the other competitors with the grin I knew so well, and when he got kissed by a friend of Lily’s who was starring in a hit on Broadway and knew how to kiss both on stage and off, his face was nearly as pink as Nan Karlin’s shirt. Anna Casado broke off a branch of sagebrush and stuck it under his hatband. Lily herded us into the living room, where we gathered around the sawhorse, and Roger Dunning was starting a presentation speech when Cal Barrow stopped him.

“Wait a minute, this goes with it,” Cal said, and went and hung the rope on the horn. He turned and sent the blue-gray eyes right and then left. “I don’t want to start no fuss right now, but when I find out who took mine I’ll want to know.” He moved to the rear of the crowd, and Dunning put his hand on the seat of the saddle. Dunning had a long and narrow bony face with a scar at the side of his jaw.

“This is a happy occasion,” he said. “Thank God nothing happened like one of you falling off. I wanted to have a net down—”

“Louder!” Mel Fox called.

“You’re just sore because you didn’t win,” Dunning told him. “I wanted to have a net below but they wouldn’t. This magnificent saddle with genuine silver rivets and studs was handmade by Morrison, and I don’t have to tell you what that means. It was donated by Miss Lily Rowan, and I want to thank her for her generosity and hospitality on behalf of everybody concerned. I now declare Harvey Greve the undisputed winner of the first and only roping contest ever held in a Park Avenue penthouse — anyway just outside the penthouse and we could see Park Avenue — and I award him the prize, this magnificent saddle donated by Miss Lily Rowan. Here it is, Harvey. It’s all yours.”

Applause and cheers. Someone called “Speech!” and others took it up, as Harvey went and flattened his palm on the sudadero. He faced the audience. “I tell you,” he said, “if I tried to make a speech you’d take this saddle away from me. The only time I make a speech is when a cayuse gets from under me and that’s no kind for here. You all know that was just luck out there, but I’m mighty glad I won because I sure had my eye on this saddle. The lady that kissed me, I didn’t mind that at all, but I been working for Miss Lily Rowan for more’n three years and she never kissed me yet and this is her last chance.”

They let out a whoop, and Lily ran to him, put her hands on his shoulders, and planted one on each cheek, and he went pink again. Two men in white jackets came through the arch, with trays loaded with glasses of champagne. In the alcove a man at the piano and two with fiddles started “Home on the Range.” Lily had asked me a week ago what I thought of having the rug up and trying some barn dancing, and I had told her I doubted if many of the cowboys and girls would know how, and none of the others would. Better just let the East meet the West.

The best way to drink champagne, for me anyhow, is to gulp the first glass as a primer and sip from there on. Lily was busy being a hostess, so I waited to go and touch glasses with her until I had taken a couple of sips from my second. “Doggone it,” I told her, “I’d a brung my rope and give it a whirl if I’d a known you was goin’ tuh kiss the winner.” She said, “Huh. If I ever kissed you in front of an audience the women would scream and the men would faint.”

I moved around a while, being sociable, and wound up on a chair by a clump of sagebrush on the terrace, between Laura Jay and a civilian. Since I knew him well and didn’t like him much, I didn’t apologize for horning in. I asked her if Cal had found his rope, and she said she didn’t think so, she hadn’t seen him for the last half hour.

“Neither have I,” I said. “He doesn’t seem to be around. I wanted to ask him if he’d found it. I haven’t seen Wade Eisler either. Have you?”

Her eyes met mine straight. “No. Why?”

“No special reason. I suppose you know I’m in the detective business.”

“I know. You’re with Nero Wolfe.”

“I work for him. I’m not here on business, I’m a friend of Miss Rowan’s, but I’m in the habit of noticing things, and I didn’t see Wade Eisler at the parapet while they were roping, and I haven’t seen him since. I know you better than I do the others, except Harvey Greve, because I sat next to you at lunch, so I just thought I’d ask.”

“Don’t ask me. Ask Miss Rowan.”

“Oh, it’s not that important. But I’m curious about Cal’s rope. I don’t see why—”

Cal Barrow was there. He had come from the rear and was suddenly there in front of me. He spoke, in his low easy voice. “Can I see you a minute, Archie?”

“Where have you been?” Laura demanded.

“I been around.”

I stood up. “Find your rope?”

“I want to show you. You stay hitched, Laura.” She had started up. “You hear me?” It was a command, and from her stare I guessed it was the first one he had ever given her. “Come along, Archie,” he said, and moved.

He led me around the corner of the penthouse. On that side the terrace is only six feet wide, but in the rear there is space enough for a badminton court and then some. The tubs of evergreens that had been removed from the front were there, and Cal went on past them to the door of a shack which Lily used for storage. The grouse had been hung there Saturday afternoon. He opened the door and entered, and when I was in shut the door. The only light came from two small windows at the far end, so it was half dark coming in from broad daylight, and Cal said, “Look out, don’t step on him.”

I turned and reached for the light switch and flipped it, turned back, and stood and looked down at Wade Eisler. As I moved and squatted Cal said, “No use taking his pulse. He’s dead.”

He was. Thoroughly. The protruding tongue was purple and so were the lips and most of the face. The staring eyes were wide open. The rope had been wound around his throat so many times, a dozen or more, that his chin was pushed up. The rest of the rope was piled on his chest.

“That’s my rope,” Cal said. “I was looking for it and I found it. I was going to take it but I thought I better not.”

“You thought right.” I was on my feet. I faced him and got his eyes. “Did you do it?”

“No, sir.”

I looked at my wrist: twelve minutes to six. “I’d like to believe you,” I said, “and until further notice I do. The last I saw you in there you were taking a glass of champagne. More than half an hour ago. I haven’t seen you since. That’s a long time.”

“I been hunting my rope. When I drank that one glass I asked Miss Rowan if she minded if I looked and she said no. We had already looked inside and out front. Then when I come in here and found him I sat on that box a while to think it over. I decided the best thing was to get you.”

“Wasn’t this door locked?”

“No, sir. It was shut but it wasn’t locked.”

That was possible. It was often left unlocked in the daytime. I looked around. The room held all kinds of stuff — stacks of luggage, chairs, card tables, old magazines on shelves — but at the front, where we were, there was a clear space. Everything seemed to be in place; there was no sign that Eisler had put up a fight, and you wouldn’t suppose a man would stand with his hands in his pockets while someone got a noose around his neck and pulled it tight. If he had been conked first, what with? I stepped to a rack against the wall on the left and put a hand out, but pulled it back. One of those three-foot stainless-steel rods, for staking plants, would have been just the thing, and the one on top was lying across the others. If I had had gloves and a glass with me, and there had been no rush, and Cal hadn’t been there with his eyes boring at me, I would have given it a look.

I opened the door, using my handkerchief for the knob, and stepped out. There were six windows in the rear of the penthouse, but except for the two near the far corner, which belonged to the maid’s room and bathroom, their view of the shack and the approach to it was blocked by the evergreens. That had been a break for the murderer; there had certainly been someone in the kitchen. I went back inside, shut the door, and told Cal, “Here’s how it is. I have to get the cops here before anyone leaves if I want to keep my license. I don’t owe Wade Eisler anything, but this will be a sweet mess for Miss Rowan and I’m a friend of hers, so I’m curious. When did you first miss the rope?”

He opened his mouth and closed it again. He shook his head. “I guess I made a mistake,” he said. “I should have took that rope off and found it somewhere else.”

“You should like hell. It would have been a cinch for the police lab to prove it had been around his neck. When did you first miss it?”

“But I had told you about last night and how I was worked up and you had promised to keep it in, and I figured I couldn’t expect you to be square with me if I wasn’t square with you, so I went and got you. Now the way you take it, I don’t know.”

“For God’s sake.” I wasn’t as disgusted as I sounded. “What did you think, I’d bring you a bottle of champagne? Wait till you see how the cops take it. When did you first miss the rope?”

“I don’t know just what time. It was a while after you left, maybe twenty minutes. With people coming and putting things in that closet I thought I’d get it and hang on to it.”

“Had you put it in the closet yourself?”

“Yeah. On the shelf with my hat on top. The hat was there but the rope was gone.”

“Did you tell someone right away?”

“I looked all over the closet and then I told Laura and she told Miss Rowan. Miss Rowan asked everybody and she helped Laura and me look some, but people started coming.”

“At the time you missed the rope had anybody already come? Was anyone here besides those who ate lunch with us?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure enough to put a no on it. They ain’t much a man can be dead sure of. It might be someone came I didn’t see, but I was right there and I’d have to—”

“Save it.” I glanced at my watch: five minutes to six. “At the time you missed the rope where was Wade Eisler?”

“I don’t know.”

“When did you see him last?”

“I can’t say exactly. I wasn’t riding herd on him.”

“Did you see him after you missed the rope? Take a second. This is important. Take ten.”

He screwed up his lips and shut his eyes. He took the full ten seconds. His eyes opened. “No, sir, I didn’t.”

“Sure enough to put a no on it?”

“I already did.”

“Okay. Do you know if anyone else was worked up about Wade Eisler?”

“I wouldn’t say worked up. I guess nobody wanted him for a pet.”

“As it looks now, someone who ate lunch with us killed him. Have you any idea who?”

“No, sir. I don’t expect to have none.”

“That’s noble. Don’t be too noble. There’s plenty more, but it will have to wait. If I leave you here while I go in and tell Miss Rowan and call the cops will you stay put and keep your hands off of that rope?”

“No, sir. I’m going to see Laura. I’m going to tell her if they ask her anything she better leave it out about last night.”

“You are not.” I was emphatic. “You’ve got no brand on her, you said so. You may think you know how she’ll take a going-over by experts, but you don’t. Every move anybody makes from now on will get on the record, and if you go and call her away from that baboon she’s sitting with, what does she say and what do you say when they ask you why? She’ll either leave it out or she won’t, and you’ll only make it worse if you tell her to. If you won’t promise you’ll stick here I’ll just open the door and yell for Miss Rowan, and she can call the cops.”

His jaw was working. “You said you believed me.”

“I do. If I change my mind I’ll let you know first. What you told me and what you asked me to do, I said I’d keep it in and I will, provided you do too. We were discussing the saddle. Well?”

“I figure to keep everything in. But if I could just tell her—”

“No. She probably won’t spill it, but if she does and says she told you about it that won’t break any bones. You left it out because you didn’t want to cause her trouble. Everybody leaves things out when cops ask questions. Do I yell for Miss Rowan?”

“No. I’ll stay hitched.”

“Come outside and stand at the door. You’ve already touched the knob twice and that’s enough. If anyone comes keep them off.” Using my handkerchief again, I opened the door. He stepped out and I pulled the door shut as I crossed the sill. “Be seeing you,” I said, and went.

I entered at the rear and glanced in at the kitchen on the chance that Lily was there. No. Nor the living room. The piano and fiddles were playing “These Fences Don’t Belong.” I found her on the terrace, caught her eye and gave her a sign, and she came. I headed for the dining room, and when she had followed me in I closed the door.

“One question,” I said. “That’s all there’s time for. When did you last see Wade Eisler?”

She cocked her head and crinkled her eyes, remembering. I have mentioned a part of her that wasn’t mine; this was a part of her that was mine. No what or why; I had asked her a question and she was digging up the answer. She took longer than Cal had. “It was soon after you left,” she said. “He put his cup down and I asked him if he wanted more coffee and he said no. Someone did want some and the pot was nearly empty and I went to the kitchen for more. Felix and Robert were arguing about when the champagne should be put on ice, and I sent Freda to the terrace with the coffee and stayed there to calm them down. Who’s worrying about Wade Eisler?”

“Nobody. How long did you stay in the kitchen?”

“Oh, ten minutes. Felix can be difficult.”

“Eisler wasn’t there when you went back?”

“I didn’t notice. They had scattered. Some of them were in the living room. Then Laura Jay told me Cal Barrow’s rope was gone and I helped them look, and then people came.”

“When did you notice that Eisler wasn’t around?”

“Some time later. Roger Dunning wanted someone to meet him and asked me where he was. I didn’t know and didn’t care. I supposed he had left without bothering to thank me for the meal. He would.” She tossed her head. “That’s four questions. What’s the point?”

“Cal Barrow was looking for his rope and found Eisler’s body on the floor of the shack with the rope around his neck. He came and got me. He’s there guarding the door. Will you phone the police or do you want me to?” I glanced at my wrist: four minutes after six. “It’s already been sixteen minutes since I saw him and that’s enough.”

“No,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Wade Eisler hung himself?”

“No. He’s not hanging, he’s on the floor. Also after the noose was pulled tight the rope was wound around his neck a dozen times. He didn’t do that.”

“But how could — who would — no!”

“Yes. It would be me to hand you something like this, but at that I’m glad it is. I mean since it happened I’m glad I’m here. Do you want me to phone?”

She swallowed. “No, I will. It’s my house.” She touched my sleeve. “I’m damn glad you’re here.”

“Spring seven, three one hundred. I’ll repeat that number: Spring seven—”

“You clown! All right, I needed it, that helped. I’ll phone from the bedroom.”

She moved, but I stopped her. “Do you want me to collect the guests and tell them the cops are coming?”

“Oh my God. Here in my house — but of course that’s routine. That’s etiquette — when you’re having a party and someone finds a body you collect the guests and make an announcement and say you hope they’ll come again and—”

“You’re babbling.”

“So I am.” She went, and I had to step to get to the door ahead of her.

Since a prowl car was certainly in the neighborhood there wasn’t much time, and I went to the terrace and sang out, “Everybody inside! Don’t walk, run! Inside, everybody!” I entered the living room and mounted a chair. I wanted to see their faces. You seldom get anything helpful from faces, especially when there are more than twenty of them, but you always think you might. Those already inside approached, and those coming from the terrace joined them. I turned to the musicians and patted the air, and they broke off. Mel Fox said in a champagne-loud voice, “She’s gone and got a saddle for me.” Laughter. When you’ve been drinking champagne for an hour laughing comes easy.

I raised a hand and waggled it. “I’ve got bad news,” I said. “I’m sorry, but here it is. A dead body has been found on the premises. The body of Wade Eisler. I have seen it. He was murdered. Miss Rowan is notifying the police and they will soon be here. She asked me to tell you. Of course nobody will leave.”

What broke the silence was not a gasp but a giggle, from Nan Karlin. Then Roger Dunning demanded, “Where is he?” and Laura Jay moved, darting to the door to the terrace and on out, and the faces I had wanted to see turned away as Lily appeared through the arch.

She came on. She raised her voice. “All right, I got you here and we’re in for it. I don’t go much by rules, but now I need one. What does the perfect hostess do when a guest murders another guest? I suppose I ought to apologize, but that doesn’t seem...”

I had stepped down from the chair. It wasn’t up to me to welcome the cops, it was Lily’s house and she was there, and anyway it would only be a pair from a prowl car. The homicide specialists would come later. Circling the crowd, I made for a door at the other side of the room, passed through, and was in what Lily called the kennel because a guest’s dog had once misused the rug there. There were book shelves, and a desk and safe and typewriter, and a phone. I went to the phone and dialed a number I could have dialed with my eyes shut. Since Wolfe’s afternoon session up in the plant rooms with orchids was from four to six, he would have gone down to the office and would answer it himself.

He did. “Yes?”

“Me. Calling from the library in Miss Rowan’s apartment. Regarding Wade Eisler. The one with a pudgy face and a scratch on his cheek. I gathered from your expression when he called you Nero that you thought him objectionable.”

“I did. I do.”

“So did somebody else. His body has been found in a storage room here on the roof. Strangled with a rope. The police are on the way. I’m calling to say that I have no idea when I’ll be home, and I thought you ought to know that you’ll probably be hearing from Cramer. A man getting croaked a few hours after he ate lunch with you — try telling Cramer you know nothing about it.”

“I shall. What do you know about it?”

“The same as you. Nothing.”

“It’s a confounded nuisance, but it was worth it. The grouse was superb. Give Miss Rowan my respects.”

I said I would.

The kennel had a door to the side hall, and I left that way, went to the side terrace, and headed for the shack. As I expected, Cal was not alone. He stood with his back against the door, his arms folded. Laura Jay was against him, gripping his wrists, her head tilted back, talking fast in a voice so low I caught no words. I called sharply, “Break it up!” She whirled on a heel and a toe, her eyes daring me to come any closer. I went closer. “You damn fool,” I said, reaching her. “Snap out of it. Beat it! Get!”

“She thinks I killed him,” Cal said. “I been trying to tell her, but she won’t—”

What stopped him was her hands pressed against his mouth. He got her wrists and pulled them away. “He knows about it,” he said. “I told him.”

“Cal! You didn’t! You mustn’t—”

I got her elbow and jerked her around. “If you want to make it good,” I said, “put your arms around his neck and moan. When I poke you in the ribs that’ll mean a cop’s coming and you’ll moan louder and then turn and let out a scream, and when he’s close enough, say ten feet, you leap at him and start clawing his face. That’ll distract him and Cal can run to the terrace and jump off. Have you got anything at all in your skull besides air? What do you say when they ask you why you dashed out to find Cal when I announced the news? That you wanted to be the first to congratulate him?”

Her teeth were clamped on her lip. She unclamped them. She twisted her neck to look at Cal, twisted back to look at me, and moved. One slow step, and then she was off, and just in time. As she passed the first evergreen the sound came of the back door of the penthouse closing, and heavy feet, and I turned to greet the company. It was a harness bull.