Murder By The Book

17

SOMEWHERE over New Mexico, or maybe Oklahoma, I decided it hadn't been too brainy to take the same plane as Corrigan. A later one would have done just as well. As it was, with me in Seat Five and him back of me in Fourteen, I would get no sleep. In such a situation logic is not enough. It certainly wouldn't have been logical for him to wander by in that crowded plane and jab a knife in me, especially as I had no briefcase or other receptacle big enough to hold the manuscript of a novel, but I wasn't going to sleep, and I didn't like his being at my rear. I had a notion to ask him to trade seats but voted it down.

It was a long and weary night.

At La Guardia Airport, where we landed in the morning on schedule, he was in a bigger hurry than me. He grabbed his bag and trotted out to a taxi. Before getting my suitcase I went to a booth and phoned Fritz to expect me for breakfast in thirty minutes and mix plenty of batter. As my taxi crossed Queensboro Bridge I saw the sun for the first time in four days.

Wolfe never came downstairs in the morning until after he finished in the plant rooms at eleven o'clock, but Fritz welcomed me home as if I had been gone a year. He met me at the front door, took my suitcase, hung up my hat and coat, escorted me to the kitchen, and put the griddle on. I was perched on a stool drinking orange juice when I heard the elevator, and a moment later Wolfe entered. He was actually breaking a rule. I thought it deserved some recognition and accepted his offer of a handshake. We made appropriate remarks. He sat. The kitchen is the only place on earth where he doesn't mind a chair that lets his fanny lap over the sides. I went to my seat at my breakfast table as Fritz flapped the first cake onto my hot plate.

"He looks skinny," Fritz told Wolfe. Fritz is convinced that without him we would both starve to death in a week.

Wolfe nodded in agreement and told me, "Two flowers are open on a Cypripedium Minos."

"Wonderful," I said with my mouth full. When the bite was down, "I assume you want a report. There's -"

"Eat your breakfast."

"I am. Unlike you, I don't mind business with meals. There's nothing but fill-in to add to what you already know, except that I came on the same plane as Corrigan, as arranged. At the airport he took his bag and scooted. I presume that with what you've collected here we're about ready to jump?"

He snorted. "Where? On whom?"

"I don't know."

"Neither do I. When.Mr. Wellman first came to see me, eighteen days ago, I assumed that Dykes had written that novel, that he and two women were killed on account of their knowledge of it, and that someone in that law office was involved. We have validated that assumption, and that's all. We know nothing new."

I swallowed food. "Then my trip to rainy California was a washout."

"By no means. All we could do was force him or them to become visible by movement. All we can do now is continue the process. We'll contrive it."

"Right after breakfast? I've had no sleep."

"We'll see. Movement once started is hard to stop." He glanced at the wall clock. "I'm late. We'll see. It is satisfactory to have you back." He got up and went.

I finished breakfast and looked through the morning paper and went to the office. I wouldn't have been surprised to see a stack of unopened mail, but apparently he had worked his head off during my absence. Bills and other items, out of their envelopes, were neatly arranged on my desk, and the exposed sheet of my desk calendar said March ninth, today. I was touched. I looked over things a little and then took my suitcase and mounted to my room. It was glad to see me back. When I'm up there I always turn the phone extension on, but that time I forgot to. I had unpacked and stripped and showered, and was using my electric shaver, when Fritz appeared at the bathroom door, panting.

"The phone," he said. "Mr. Corrigan wants to speak to Mr. Wolfe."

"Okay. I forgot to turn it on. I'll get it."

I went and flipped the switch and lifted the receiver. "This is Archie Goodwin."

I expected Mrs. Adams, but it was Corrigan himself. He said curtly that he wished to speak to Wolfe, and I told him Wolfe wouldn't be available until eleven. He said they wanted an appointment with him, and I asked who wanted it.

"I and my associates."

"Would eleven o'clock suit you? Or it could be eleven-thirty."

"We would prefer eleven o'clock. We'll be there."

Before I went to finish shaving I buzzed Wolfe on the house phone and told him, "Right you were. Movement once started is hard to stop. The law firm will be here at eleven."

"Ah," he said. "Contrivance may not be needed."

It was only ten-thirty, and I took my time completing my personal chores. I can dress fast, but I don't like to have to.

When I went downstairs I was ready for anything, including a two-hour nap, but that would have to wait.

They were ten minutes late, so Wolfe was in the office when they arrived. Before any conversation got started I noticed an interesting little item. Off the end of Wolfe's desk, facing it, the big red leather chair is the most convenient spot for a visitor, and when there are two or more visitors that is obviously the seat for whoever has priority. When that group had been there before, Corrigan, the senior partner, had occupied it, but this time who should pop into it but the white-haired blinking Briggs, Helen Troy's Uncle Fred. Apparently no one remarked it but me, and that was equally interesting. As they sat, Emmett Phelps, the long-armed six-foot encyclopedia, was nearest me; Corrigan was next; then the sleepy-eyed slumpy Louis Kustin, successor to Conroy O'Malley as the firm's trial man; and then the disbarred O'Malley with a bitter twist to his mouth.

Wolfe's eyes went from left to right and back again. "Well, gentlemen?"

Three of them spoke at once.

"I can't converse with bedlam," Wolfe said testily.

Frederick Briggs, in the red leather chair, blinking, took the ball. "At our previous visit," he said slowly and distinctly, "I came with my associates under protest. On that occasion you were invited to question us. This time we have questions to ask you. You may remember that I characterized your methods as unethical and reprehensible, and you justified that criticism when you fabricated a notation on Dykes's letter of resignation, imitating the handwriting of one of us, and gave it to the police. What defense do you offer for that action?"

Wolfe's brows were up. "None, Mr. Briggs."

Briggs blinked furiously. "That is not acceptable. I insist - we insist - on an answer."

"Then I'll give you one." Wolfe was not aroused. "As you say, the notation was in Mr. Corrigan's hand. There are three possible explanations of how it was made. One, by Mr. Corrigan himself some time ago. Two, by me recently. Three, by any one of you, including Mr. Corrigan, either before or after I asked to see the letter. The letter was easily accessible, there in your office files. You, sir, can't possibly know which explanation - is correct, unless you made the notation yourself. Questioned by the police, all of you have denied making it. I deny making it." Wolfe flipped a hand. "Surely you don't credit me with a monopoly in mendacity?"

"That's evasive. I insist -"

"Forget it, Fred," Kustin cut in irritably. His sleepy eyes were awake. "I told you, you won't get anywhere with that, and there's no jury to work on even if you knew how to do it. Get to the point."

"He won't." Phelps, the indifferent scholar, was irritated too. "Let Con do it."

O'Malley shook his head. His mouth kept its twist even when he spoke. "Thanks, Emmett, but I'm disbarred. You forget?"

"Go on, Fred," Corrigan told his junior - not in years.

"In my opinion," Briggs maintained, "we should demand an answer on that, but I defer under protest." He blinked at Wolfe. "To proceed. All five of us, including Mr. O'Malley, have a mutual and common interest, to protect the reputation and welfare of our firm. In that interest we are indissolubly joined. Your position, openly stated, has been that a major factor in the death of Leonard Dykes was the manuscript of a novel, presumably written by him under an assumed name; that the manuscript was also a major factor in the deaths of two women; and that one or more members of this firm have guilty knowledge of the manuscript and therefore, inferentially, of the deaths. Is that correct?"

Wolfe nodded. "It's badly put, but I'll pass it."

"Tell your man to take his notebook, and I'll restate it."

"Damn it, Fred," Kustin objected, "he accepted it. What more do you want? Get on."

Briggs blinked at him. "I want to proceed as agreed, without unnecessary interruptions." He went to Wolfe. "Very well, you accept it. Then the contents of that manuscript are a vital element in your investigation. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"And therefore the contents of the manuscript are of vital importance to us, the members of the firm, and Mr. O'Malley. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"And therefore, if we were presented with an opportunity to learn the contents of the manuscript it would be natural and proper for us to make every effort to take advantage of it. Is that true?"

Wolfe rubbed his nose. "I don't want to quibble, but though it would indeed be natural, its propriety might be questioned. If to protect legitimate interests, yes. If to shield a criminal, no."

"There is no question of shielding a criminal."

Wolfe shrugged. "If that is stipulated, what you said is true."

"Very well. It was in furtherance of that effort that Mr. Corrigan went to California. It is in furtherance of that effort that we are here now. We don't know how you managed to anticipate Mr. Corrigan's effort, but you did. Your man not only got there but got inside of him. Since he succeeded in preventing Mr, Corrigan from seeing the manuscript, it may fairly be assumed that he himself did see it, and that therefore you and he are now acquainted with its contents. It was you who involved our firm in this affair. It was you who persuaded the police that we were involved. It was you who forged a notation on a letter we sent you -"

"Withdraw that," Wolfe snapped.

"That won't help, Fred," O'Malley advised him. "Don't drag it in."

Briggs blinked at him and then at Wolfe. "On consideration I withdraw that remark pro tempore, without prejudice. But that doesn't affect my conclusion, that our demand is justified, to be told the substance of that manuscript. You involved us. We demand that you warrant that involvement."

Briggs blinked around. "Well?" he challenged. "Is that clear and cogent?"

They agreed that it was.

Wolfe grunted. "Clear enough," he assented, "but it took you long enough to say it. You gentlemen are making an extraordinary pother, coming here in a body like this. Why the devil didn't one of you merely phone me and ask me to tell you what's in that manuscript? It would have taken you five seconds to ask it and me two seconds to answer it."

"What would you have answered?" Kustin demanded.

"That I'm not quite ready."

"Not quite ready for what?"

"To act."

To appreciate the full effect of those two little words you would have had to hear Wolfe pronounce them. He didn't snarl them or snap them, his voice kept its normal pitch, but if anyone present had anything to fear the full menace of it was in those two calm, precise syllables. They looked at one another.

Briggs asked indignantly, "Do you mean you refuse to tell us anything about it?"

Wolfe nodded. "At the moment, yes. I'm not quite ready. As practicing attorneys, you gentlemen know that the potency of knowledge depends on how and when it is used. I went to some trouble to get this and I intend to get full value from it."

Emmett Phelps stood up. "I told you fellows, didn't I? We're wasting time on him."

"Mr. Phelps is bored," Wolfe said dryly.

"Buy it from him," O'Malley suggested. "Make him an offer. It can be deducted as a legitimate expense, can't it, Emmett?" He left his chair. "Only don't expect me to contribute. I'm broke."

Wolfe spoke up. "I would like to anticipate any future charge of willful malevolence. I take no pleasure in prolonging suspense, either my own or another's. I'm being completely candid when I say that I still need a fact or two before I can act. To move not fully prepared, to disclose myself prematurely, would be folly, and I'm not a fool."

Kustin got to his feet, stepped to the desk, put his hands on it, and leaned forward at Wolfe. "I'll tell you what I think: I think it's a ten-cent bluff. I don't think you know any more about that manuscript than we do. I think you're exactly where you were when we came here a week ago yesterday." He straightened up. "Come on, fellows. He's a goddam four-flusher." He whirled to me. "You too, Goodwin. I wish I'd gone to California instead of Jim Corrigan. You'd have been called."

He marched out. Phelps and O'Malley were at his heels. Corrigan, who had said practically nothing, thought he would speak now, took a step toward the desk, but changed his mind and, with a glance at me, headed for the door. Briggs lifted himself out of the red leather chair, blinked at Wolfe, said, "My appraisal of your methods and tactics has certainly been reinforced here today," and turned and went.

I moseyed to the door to the hall, stood on the sill, and watched them wriggling into their coats. I was perfectly willing to go and let them out, but Phelps got the door open before I moved, and held it for them, so I was saved the trouble. He banged it hard enough to leave no doubt of its closing, and I wheeled, returned to my desk, and permitted myself an all-out yawn. Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes shut.

"Will there be more movement?" I inquired. "Or is it time for a contrivance?"

No reply. I yawned again. "Once in a while," I observed, "you go right to the heart of things and tell a plain unvarnished truth. Like when you said that you still need a fact or two before you can act. It might be objected that you need more than one or two, but that isn't so. The one fact that Phelps, the scholar, is a lover of literature and bumped them off because it was a lousy novel and he couldn't bear it, would do the trick."

No word or sign. Suddenly I blew up. I sprang to my feet and roared, "Goddam it, go to work! Think of something! Do something!"

Without opening his eyes, he muttered, "And I said it was satisfactory to have you back."