Murder By The Book

16

AT 8:02 Thursday morning I entered Finch's room at the South Seas. He was up and dressed but hadn't had breakfast, and I had only had orange juice before leaving the Riviera. Hanging my hat and raincoat, which had been sprinkled again, in the rear of the big closet, I gave him my order: griddle cakes, ham and eggs, a jar of honey, and coffee. He relayed it to room service, his own requirements being prunes and toast and coffee, which made me dart a glance at him, but he looked okay. When he was through I went to the phone and called the Glendale number and got an answer after four whirrs.

"Archie Goodwin, Mrs. Potter. Good morning. Did the man come?"

"Yes, he got here ten minutes ago. He'll hide in the kitchen. You know I'm all excited?"

"Sure, that's all right. It won't matter if it shows; Corrigan will think it's the prospect of fifty thousand bucks. Just take it easy. Do you want to ask anything?"

"No, not a thing."

"Good for you. I'm in Finch's room at the South Seas. Ring me if you need to, and of course when he leaves."

She said she would. I hung up and called the airport. The plane from New York, due at eight o'clock, had landed at 7:50, ten minutes early.

The cuisine at the South Seas wasn't as good as the Riviera, but I cleaned up my share. When we had finished we wheeled the breakfast table into the hall and then had a discussion whether to make the bed. Harris, Finch to you, wanted to make it, but my point was that it would be unrealistic because no literary agent would have got up early enough to leave the room free for the chambermaid at that hour, and he had to concede it. He raised the question of whether I would stand in the closet or sit, and I said I would stand because no chair can be trusted not to squeak with a shift of weight. We had just got that settled when the phone rang. I was seated by it, but told Finch to take it and moved. He went and got it.

"Hello - This is Walter Finch speaking - Yes, I talked with Mrs. Potter - That's right - No, I didn't know she had written you, Mr. Corrigan, I only knew she had written for advice - Yes, but may I speak to her, please?" Pause.

"Yes, this is Finch, Mrs. Potter. Mr. Corrigan says he wants to see me, representing you about that manuscript - Oh, I see - Yes, I understand - Certainly, I'll consult you before any agreement is made - Please put him on." Pause.

"Yes, I understand, Mr. Corrigan - No, that's all right, I'm perfectly willing to discuss it - Yes, if you come right away. I have an appointment at eleven - Room Twelve-sixteen, the South Seas - All right, I'll be here."

He hung up and turned to me with a grin. "Got a landing net?"

"No, a gaff. What was the hitch?"

"Nothing serious. He seemed to think he had a client, but she didn't agree. He's coming on his own, to protect the lowly, without prejudice to her."

"If you want me to," I offered, "I'll tell you what's wrong with our civilization."

"I want you to. What?"

"We've quit drinking champagne from ladies' slippers. I would like to drink some from hers."

I sat, bent and untied my laces and took off my shoes, took them to the closet, and put them on the floor out of the way. In my socks I hopped around on the spot where I would be standing, and heard no squeaks.

As I rejoined Finch the phone rang. He got it, spoke, covered the transmitter, and told me, "Mrs. Potter. She wants to know what color slippers you prefer."

I went and took it. "Yes, Mrs. Potter? Archie Goodwin."

"Why, he wasn't here more than ten minutes! He hardly asked me anything! He asked about Mr. Finch, and the letter from my brother, and then he wanted me to say he could represent me as my attorney, and I said what you told me to, but when he spoke to Mr. Finch he tried to make it that he was representing me. I was hoping he would ask more things, the things you said he might ask, but he didn't. There's really nothing to tell you, but I'm calling because I said I would."

"He's gone?"

"Yes, he had his taxi wait for him."

"Well, your part is probably finished, and you can let your bodyguard go if you want to. I was just telling Mr. Finch that I would like to drink champagne from your slipper."

"You what? What did you say?"

"You heard me. Too late. I'll let you know what happens, and you let me know if you hear from him again - immediately."

"I will."

I hung up and turned to Finch. "We've got about twenty minutes. What do you want refreshed?"

"Nothing. I've got it."

"I hope to God you have." I sat. "I could fill you in on Corrigan now, but I still think it's better not to. I'll say this, I am now offering three to one that he's a killer, and if so he's in a damn tight corner with his teeth showing. I don't see how he can possibly jump you under the circumstances, but if he does don't count on me. I won't leave that closet for anything short of murder. If he actually kills you, yell."

"Thanks." He grinned at me. But he slipped his hand inside his coat to his armpit, came out with a gun, and dropped it into his side pocket.

Finch had given Corrigan the room number, and he might phone up from the lobby and might not. Also there was no telling how fast his driver was, and it would be too bad if Corrigan arrived sooner than expected, came straight up to the room, paused at the door, and heard voices. So we stopped talking well ahead of time, I was leaning back, studying the ceiling, when the knock came, and it didn't sound like a chambermaid. I straightened up and left the chair in one motion, and Finch started for the door. Before he reached it I was in the closet, with the door pulled to enough to leave no crack, but unlatched.

The sound of the voice answered one question: it wasn't a ringer, it was the senior partner himself. I heard the door closing and the footsteps passing the closet door, and Finch inviting the visitor to take the armchair. Then Corrigan's voice.

"You understand why I'm here, Mr. Finch. My firm received a letter from Mrs. Potter requesting professional advice."

Finch: "Yes, I understand that."

Corrigan: "According to her, you state that you have in your possession a manuscript of a novel entitled 'Put Not Your Trust,' by Baird Archer, and that the author of it was her deceased brother, Leonard Dykes, who used 'Baird Archer' as a pen name."

I held my breath. Here, right off the bat, was one of the tricky little points I had briefed him on.

Finch: "That's not quite right. I didn't say that I know Dykes was the author. I said I have reason to think he was."

I breathed, not noisily.

Corrigan: "May I ask what reason?"

Finch: "A pretty good one. But frankly, Mr. Corrigan, I don't see why I should let you cross-examine me. You're not representing Mrs. Potter. You heard what she told me on the phone. Naturally I'll tell her anything she wants to know, but why you?"

Corrigan: "Well." A pause. "Other interests than Mrs. Potter's may be involved. I suppose you know that Dykes was an employee of my law firm?"

Finch: "Yes, I know that."

That was a fumble. He did not know that. I bit my lip.

Corrigan: "Just as you have reason to think that Dykes was the author, I have reason to think that other interests are involved. Perhaps we can take a short cut and save time. Let me see the manuscript. Let me go over it now, in your presence. That will settle it."

Finch: "I'm afraid I can't do that. I don't own it, you know."

Corrigan: "But you have it. How did you get it?"

Finch: "Properly and legitimately, in the course of my business as a literary agent."

Corrigan: "You're not listed in the New York phone book. Two agents who were asked have never heard of you."

Finch: "Then you shouldn't be wasting time on me. Really, Mr. Corrigan, this isn't Russia and you're not the MVD. Are you?"

Corrigan: "No". What harm could it possibly do anyone for you to let me look over that manuscript?"

Finch: "It's not a question of harm. It's ordinary business ethics. An agent doesn't show his clients' manuscripts - to just anybody who would like to see them. Of course I'd gladly show it to you, in fact I'd be obliged to, if you were'representing Mrs. Potter, whom I believe to be the owner of it. But as it is, nothing doing. That's final."

Corrigan: "In effect I am representing Mrs. Potter. She wrote my firm for advice. She has complete confidence in me. She refuses to engage me as her attorney only because she fears that a New York law firm would charge her a big fee. We wouldn't. We would charge her nothing."

Finch: "You should tell her that."

Corrigan: "I tried to. People here on the Coast, especially women of her class, have an ingrained suspicion of New York-ees, you know that. It's a stupid prejudice, and Mrs. Potter is a stupid woman."

I thought to myself, brother, you couldn't be wronger. He was going on. "You may wonder why I'm making so much of this little matter, flying out here, and I'll tell you. I said other interests may be involved, and I have good reason to think they are - important interests. I warn you now, for the record, that you may dangerously compromise both yourself and Mrs. Potter. On reliable information I believe that that manuscript is libelous. I believe that even in submitting it for sale you are risking severe penalties. I strongly advise you to get competent legal advice on it, and I assure you that I am qualified to give it. I offer it without charge, not through an impulse of benevolence, but to protect the interests I mentioned. Let me see that manuscript!"

Finch: "If I decide I need legal advice I know where to get it. I never saw you before. I've never heard of you. How do I know what or who you are?"

Corrigan: "You don't. Naturally." Sounds indicated that he was leaving his chair. "Here. This may satisfy you. Here are - What's the matter?"

More sounds. Finch; "I'm polite, that's all. When a visitor stands, I stand. Keep your credentials, Mr. Corrigan. I don't care how good they are. As far as I'm concerned you're a stranger trying to stick his nose into my business, and I'm not having any. Flying out here because you think a manuscript may be libelous - that sounds pretty damn fishy. You'll see no manuscript that's in my care. You'll have to - uuhie!"

That's the best I can do at spelling the sound he made. Other immediate sounds were not spellable at all, though fairly interpretable. One was surely a chair toppling. Another was feet moving heavily and swiftly. Others were grunts. Then came three in a row that were unmistakable: a fist or fists landing, and, right after, something that was heavier than a chair hitting the floor.

Finch: "Get up and try again."

A pause with sound effects.

Corrigan: "I lost my head."

Finch: "Not yet. You may next time. Going?"

That ended the dialogue. Corrigan had no exit line that he cared to use. The only sounds that came were footsteps and the opening and closing of the door, then more footsteps and another opening of the door, and, after a wait, its closing and the lock being turned. I stayed put until the closet door swung open without my touching it.

Finch' stood grinning. "Well?" he demanded.

"You're on the honors list," I told him. "This is my lucky week, first Mrs. Potter and now you. Where did you plug him?"

"Two body jabs and one on the side of the neck."

"How did he invite it?"

"He swung first and then tried to lock me. That wasn't much, but the strain of that talk, with you listening - I'm hungry. I want some lunch."

"You won't get any, not now, unless it's a sandwich in a taxi. It's your move. He'll see that manuscript or bust, and one will get you ten he's on his way to Mrs. Potter, who he thinks is stupid. You will get there first, if you step on it, and stay there. The address is twenty-eight-nineteen Whitecrest Avenue, Glendale. I'll phone her. Get going!"

"But what -"

"Scoot, damn it! Write me a letter."

He moved. He got hat and raincoat from the closet and was gone. I uprighted the chair that had toppled, straightened a rug, went to the closet for my shoes, and put them on. Then I sat in the armchair by the phone and called the Glendale number.

"Mrs. Potter? Archie Goo -"

"Did he come?"

"He did. I hid in the closet while Finch talked with him. He would give his diploma from law school to see that manuscript. When he saw there was nothing doing he tried to lay Finch out and got knocked down. He left in a hurry, and I'm giving ten to one that he's on his way to you, so I sent Finch and I'm hoping he'll get there before Corrigan does. What -"

"Really, Mr. Goodwin, I'm not afraid!"

"Don't I know it. But Corrigan will bear down hard for you to name him your counsel, and it will take most of the pressure off if Finch is there. Anyway, I think you'll like Finch, he's not coarse and crude like me. You may have to give him some lunch. If you make Corrigan your attorney, no matter what he says, I'll come and throw rocks through your windows."

"That would be coarse and crude, wouldn't it? I honestly think you have no confidence in me at all."

"Little you know. If Corrigan gets there first, stall him until Finch comes, and don't forget Finch has been there before."

"I won't."

We hung up.

Going to a window and seeing with pleasure that it was raining only about half as hard as it had been, I opened it a good four inches to get some air. I raised the question whether to phone Wolfe and decided to await further developments.

Having had no opportunity for a look at the morning papers, I phoned down for some, and, when they came, got comfortable. The papers were no damn good, except the sports pages, but I gave them enough of a play to make sure that nothing had happened which required my immediate attention and then picked up Finch's book, Twilight of the Absolute, and gave it a try. I got the impression that it probably made sense, but I ran across nothing that convinced me that I had been wrong in trying to get along without it.

The phone rang. It was Finch. He was calling from Mrs. Potter's. He began by reminding me that he had not accepted my offer of ten to one. I agreed. "I know you didn't. He came, did he?"

"Yes. I was in ahead by five minutes. He was surprised to see me and not delighted. He insisted on talking with Mrs. Potter alone, but I listened in from the kitchen with her knowledge and consent. He poured it on about the danger of libel and how it wouldn't cost her anything for him to read the manuscript and give her his professional advice, and the way he put it, it was hard for her to handle. She couldn't brush him off as a stranger, as I had. You should have heard her."

"I would have liked to. What was her line?"

"Simple. She said if there was libel in the manuscript she didn't want to know it and didn't want me to, because then it wouldn't be right to sell it to the movies, but if we just go ahead and sell it, it will be up to the movie people and surely they have good lawyers. He couldn't get it into her head that even so she would be responsible."

"I'll bet he couldn't. Kiss her for me."

"I wouldn't mind a bit. She is sitting here. Frankly, it was a waste of taxi fare to send me out here."

"No. Of course Corrigan has left?"

"Yes. He kept his taxi."

"He may be back. He came to get his hands on that manuscript and he intends to. If he does go back there's no telling what he'll try. Stick around. Stay until you hear from me."

"I think Mrs. Potter feels that her husband doesn't like the idea of men in the house while he's away, especially one at a time."

"He wouldn't, the bubblehead. You stay and do the housework for her. While you're at it, straighten up that tree that's just been planted in the back. It's crooked. I'll see that you get away before Bubblehead gets home."

He said I'd better.

I stretched out my legs, clasped my hands behind my head, and frowned at my toes. It seemed that a call to Wolfe was in order. As far as I could see it was Corrigan's move, but Wolfe might have something to suggest besides sitting on my prat waiting for it. On the other hand, I still had room within the framework of my instructions, and if I could think up one that would be worthy of Mrs. Potter I ought to do it. So I sat and invented bright ideas, but none that really shone, and was working away at the fourth or fifth when I became aware of a noise at the door. A key had been inserted and was being turned. As I was shaping the thought that chambermaids should be trained always to knock before entering a room, the door swung open, and there, facing me, was James A. Corrigan.

He saw me, of course, but I wasn't quick-witted enough to realize instantly that with the light from the window at my back he hadn't recognized me, so when he said something like, "Oh, I beg your pardon, the wrong room," I thought he was showing enough presence of mind for both of us, with some left over. But then he did recognize me and he goggled. Also he gaped.

I arose and spoke. "No, this is it. Come on in."

He stood, frozen.

"Shut the door and come on in," I insisted. "You might as well. I was expecting you. Did you think Finch would be fool enough to run off to Glendale and leave the manuscript here in a drawer unguarded?" He moved, and I added quickly, "If you dash off I won't chase you. I'll call downstairs, and if necessary I'll call the cops, and we'll not only find you but also find out how you got that key. I don't think it's breaking and entering, but by God it's something, and I'll hang it on you."

He hooked his elbow on the edge of the door and swung it. It didn't quite close, and he backed against it until it did. Then he walked on in and stopped at arm's length.

"So you followed me here," he stated. He was a little hoarse. With his jockey's physique and prizefighter's jaw and hungry eyes, he was certainly not imposing. The top of his head was a good inch below my eye level.

He repeated it, this time as a question. "You followed me here?"

I shook my head. "I can't think of a single question you could ask that I would feel like answering. Nor do I want to ask any, except maybe one: why don't you call Nero Wolfe and talk it over with him? Reverse the charge. There's a phone."

He sat down, not to be sociable. It was probably his knees. "This is persecution," he said.

"Not in the statutes," I objected. "But what you just did is, getting a key to another man's hotel room, whether by bribery or just asking for it. Have you anything to say?"

"No."

"Absolutely nothing?"

"No."

"Are you going to call Mr. Wolfe?"

"No."

"Then I'll use the phone myself. Excuse me." I got the phone book, looked up a number, lifted the receiver, and asked for it. A female voice answered, and I gave my name and asked to speak to Mr. Dolman. In a moment he was on.

"Dolman? Archie Goodwin. I'm in Room Twelve-sixteen at the South Seas Hotel. A man named James A. Corrigan is here with me, but will soon be leaving, and I want him tailed right. Send me three good men at once, and have three more ready to take over as required. He'll prob -"

"What the hell, is he there hearing you?"

"Yes, so don't send Gibson. He'll probably be moving around, so they should have a car. Step on it, will you?"

I hung up, because I was through and also because Corrigan had already started to move around. He was heading for the door. I got to him, gripped a shoulder and hauled him back, and faced him.

He didn't lose his head. "This is assault," he stated.

"Persecution and assault," I agreed. "How can I prove you entered this room illegally if I let you leave it? Shall I get the house dick up here?"

He stood, breathing, his hungry eyes on me. I was between him and the door. He turned, went to a chair, and sat. I stayed on my feet.

"They can't get here in less than a quarter of an hour," I told him. "Why not say something?"

Not a word. His big jaw was clamped. I leaned against the closet door and contemplated him.

It was nearer half an hour than a quarter before there was a knock on the door. I went and opened it and invited them to enter, and they filed in past me, and I'll be damned if the third of the trio wasn't Gibson. He grinned at me as he went by. Leaving the door open, I detoured around them and took a look. One of them, a wiry little guy with a crooked nose, spoke.

"I'm Phil Buratti. I'm in charge."

"Good," I told him. "It's a straight tailing job." I jerked a thumb. "This is James A. Corrigan, a lawyer from New York. He'll be leaving any minute. Since he knows you, keep as close as you like. Report direct to me, here."

Buratti stared at me. "He's the subject?"

"Right. Don't lose him."

Gibson let out a guffaw that rattled the windows. Corrigan got up and marched. His direct route to the door was between the trio and me, and he took it. He went on out. The trio didn't move.

"Are you," I demanded, "waiting for the hounds?"

"Loony," Buratti said. "Come on, boys."

He led the way, and they followed.

I shut the door and went to the armchair and sat. Before I phoned Wolfe I wanted to make up my mind how thick I had been to sit there and let Corrigan walk in on me. I looked at my watch and saw 12:20, which meant 3:20 in New York. I decided that I had probably not been brilliant but there was no point in advertising it, and put in a call. The circuits were busy. Of course it was the worst time of day for it, with Los Angeles and Hollywood wanting to get New York before lunch and New York wanting to get the coast on returning from lunch. I sat, walked back and forth, and sat some more. Every ten or fifteen minutes the operator called to say the circuits were still busy. One o'clock came, and a quarter after. Finally my call got through, and I had Wolfe's voice.

I reported with details. I told him about Corrigan's visit with Mrs. Potter, his call on Finch at the hotel ending in a little mild violence, his second trip to Glendale, finding Finch there ahead of him, and Finch's phone call to me. I continued, "When Finch phoned me that Corrigan had left, licked, naturally I figured him to come back to the hotel to get into Finch's room to look for the manuscript. Covering the door of the room from the outside wasn't feasible, since he knew me. I decided to sit tight and welcome him if he came. He did so, with a key. His seeing me here jolted him, as expected. I invited him to talk, but he wanted to be alone, and nothing was said that would help you any. I phoned Dolman, and he sent two men and an ape with a sense of humor, and when Corrigan left, an hour and ten minutes ago, the three were on his tail. That's the status quo."

"There's man with Mrs. Potter?"

"Yes, I thought I said so. Finch."

"Then there are no new instructions. Stay there."

"I would like to stick another pin in him."

"You have none to stick. How is the albacore?"

"Marvelous."

"It should be. Call me as necessary."

"Yes, sir."

He hung up. That shows that everything is relative. If I had admitted that Corrigan's walking in on me had been a surprise he might have made remarks. Going to the window for a look at the rain, I was reflecting on that point when the phone rang.

It was Buratti. "We're at the airport," he reported. "He came straight here. You said we could keep close, so I was standing right by him when he asked for a seat on the first plane to New York. The best he could do was the TWA that leaves at five o'clock, and he bought a ticket. He's in a phone booth now, making a call. Do we go to New York with him?"

"No, I guess not. I'd like to take Gibson along, but he's probably needed here. Get me a seat on the same plane and wait there for me. I have some errands to do, so don't get impatient. There's a faint chance he's pulling something, so keep an eye on him."

I hung up and then called the Glendale number. Apparently I wouldn't get to see Mrs. Potter again, but at least I could chat with her on the phone.