Please Pass the Guilt

18

Amory Browning did something Monday morning that had never been done before. He walked down the aisles of the three plant rooms, clear to the potting room, without seeing an orchid. I didn’t actually see him, since he was behind me, but I’m sure he did. With that blaze of color, right and left and overhead, you’d think he would have to be blind. In a way he was.

It was twenty past ten and I had just returned from a walk crosstown to the bank and back, to deposit the check from the client, when the ring of the doorbell took me to the hall, and there was the next president of CAN. When I went and opened the door, he crossed the sill and went on by and headed for the office, and when I got there he was standing at the end of Wolfe’s desk.

“Where is he?” he demanded.

“Where he always is at this hour, up on the roof. He’ll be down at eleven. You can wait, or maybe I can help.”

“Get him down here. Now.”

The man at the top speaking, but he didn’t look it. I had formerly estimated that he had been pudgy for about five years, but now I would have made it ten.

“It can’t be done,” I said. “With him a rule is a rule. He’s part mule. If it’s really urgent he might talk on the phone.”

“Get him.”

“I’ll try.” I went to the kitchen, sat at the little table where I eat breakfast, reached for the house phone, and pushed the “P” button.

After a two-minute wait, about par, the usual “Yes?”

“Me in the kitchen. Amory Browning is in the office. I once saw a picture somewhere of a dragon snorting fire. That’s him. He ordered me to get you down here now. I told him you might talk on the phone.”

Silence for eight seconds, then: “Bring him.”

“Okay, but have something ready to throw.”

The elevator will take up to 600 pounds, but I thought a little deep breathing would be good for him, so I took him to the stairs, and he surprised me by not stopping to catch up on oxygen at the landings. He wasn’t panting even at the top. As I said, he was behind me down the aisles, but when I opened the door to the potting room I let him by. Wolfe, in his long-sleeved, yellow smock, was at the side bench opening a bale of tree fern. He turned part way and said, “You don’t like to be interrupted at work. Neither do I.”

Browning was standing with his feet apart. “You goddam cheap bully!”

“Not ‘cheap.’ I haven’t earned that reproach. What do you want?”

“Nothing. Calling my secretary a liar. Getting her here on a Saturday morning just to butter your ego by insulting her. I came to tell you that you can tell Mrs. Odell that there will be no more cooperation from anyone at CAN. Tell her if she wants to know why, to call me. Is that plain enough?”

“Yes indeed. Is that what you came for, to tell me that?”

“Yes!”

“Very well, you’ve told me.” Wolfe turned back to the bale of tree fern.

Browning was stuck. Of course with the “Is that plain enough?” he should have whirled and headed for the door. Now what could he do for an exit? He could only just go, and I admit he had sense enough to realize it. He just went, and I followed, and again he didn’t see an orchid. I supposed that on the way down the three flights he would decide on an exit line to use on me, but evidently he was too mad to bother, though I passed him down in the hall and opened the door for him. Not a word. I went to the office and sat to ask myself why I had bothered to deposit the check.

And in three minutes the doorbell rang and I went to the hall and there was Saul Panzer.

It’s moments like that that make life worth living, seeing Saul there on the stoop. If he had just wanted to make a routine report or ask a question or ask for help, he would have phoned. If he had wanted to consult Wolfe, he would have waited until eleven o’clock. And if he had bad news, he would have let his face show it as I came down the hall. So he had something good. I opened the door wide and said, “My god, are you welcome. How good is it?”

“I guess I’m awful obvious,” he said, and stepped in. “I think it’s satisfactory.”

I slammed the door shut. “For a nickel I’d kiss you.” I looked at my wrist: 10:47. “You’d rather tell him, but I don’t want to wait thirteen minutes. Neither do you or you wouldn’t be here yet. We’ll go up.”

It took us about half as long as it had taken Browning and me. I won’t say that we didn’t see an orchid as we passed through the rooms, but we didn’t stop to admire one. Wolfe, still in the yellow smock, was at the sink washing his hands, and Theodore stood there with a paper towel ready for him. Theodore babies him, which is one of the reasons he is not my favorite fellow being.

Wolfe, turning and seeing Saul, was on as quick as I had been. He said, “Indeed,” and ignored the dripping water from his hands. “What?”

“Yes, sir,” Saul said. “Once in a while I do something exactly right and am lucky along with it, and that’s a pleasure. I would enjoy leading up to it, but it’s been a long time since we’ve brought you anything. Dennis Copes’s twin sister, Diana, is the wife of Lieutenant J. M. Rowcliff. They have two children, a boy and a girl. Dennis and Diana see each other quite often — as I said, twins.”

Wolfe took the towel from Theodore, patted with it, dropped it in the bin, took another, rubbed with it, missed the bin. It fluttered to the floor and Theodore picked it up. Wolfe flattened his right palm against his left and made slow circles.

“Are Mr. Rowcliff and Mr. Copes on good terms?”

“No. They see each other very seldom. Apparently never would suit them fine.”

“Mr. Rowcliff and his wife?”

“Three people say they’re happy. I know it’s hard to believe that anybody could stand Rowcliff, but off duty he may be different.”

“Have you caused a stir?”

“No.”

That was Saul. Not “I hope not” or “I don’t think so.” Just “No.”

“More than satisfactory.” Wolfe took the smock off and hung it on a wall hook, got his vest and jacket from a hanger, and put them on. He looked at the clock on the bench: two minutes to eleven. “I want a word with Theodore and I’ll consider this on the way down. Put a bottle of champagne in the refrigerator, Archie — and Saul, we’ll probably need you.”

Saul and I went.

I suppose I shouldn’t include what happened next; it’s just too pat. Who will believe it? But Fred deserves to have it in, and it happened. Saul and I had just got to the office, having stopped at the kitchen on the way, and were discussing how it should be handled, when the doorbell rang and I went. It was Fred. I opened the door, and as he entered he blurted, “Is he down yet?” I said he was on the way and he said, “If I hold it in any longer I’ll bust. Copes’s twin sister is married to that sonofabitch Rowcliff.”

All right, it happened. In nineteen days they had got exactly nothing, and here came two of them, practically simultaneous, with the same beautiful slab of bacon. Saul, who had come to the hall and heard him, said, “So we need two bottles of champagne,” and went to the kitchen. I was telling Fred that Saul had beat him by just sixteen minutes, when the elevator door opened and Wolfe was there, and when he saw the look on Fred’s face, he knew what had happened, so I didn’t have to tell him, but I did. He led the way to the office, and Saul came and he and Fred moved yellow chairs up.

Wolfe sat and said, “Get Mr. Cramer.”

He has been known to rush it, and it had been a long dry spell. “You once made a remark,” I said, “about impetuosity. I could quote it verbatim.”

“So could I. If we discussed it all day there would still be only one way to learn if we have it or not. Get him.”

“If he’s not there do you want Rowcliff?”

“No. Only Mr. Cramer.”

I pulled the phone around and dialed, and got first the switchboard, then a sergeant I knew only by name, Molloy, and then Inspector Cramer, and Wolfe took his phone. I stayed on.

Wolfe: “Good morning.”

“Is it?”

“I think so. I have a problem. I must discuss a matter with Mr. Rowcliff as soon as possible, and it will go better if you are present. It relates to the death of Peter Odell. Could you come now?”

“No. I’ll get Rowcliff on another phone.”

“That wouldn’t do. I have a tape recording both of you should hear.”

“A recording of what?”

“You’ll know when you hear it. You won’t like it, but it may give you a useful hint. It has given me one.”

“I can’t — wait. Maybe I can. Hold it.”

We held it for about two minutes, and then: “Does it have to be Rowcliff?”

“Yes. That’s requisite.”

“I never expected to hear this, you wanting to see Rowcliff. We’ll leave in about ten minutes.”

Click.

We hung up. I asked Wolfe, “The Copes tape?”

He said yes, and I went to the safe for the key to the locked cabinet where we keep various items that would be in the safe if there was room. Wolfe started in on Saul and Fred, asking questions that I thought should have been asked before calling Cramer, but he got nothing that tangled it. Fred had nothing but the bare fact that Copes’s sister was Rowcliff’s wife. Saul, knowing we would need more, had proceeded to get it, but he hadn’t seen Diana herself, only neighbors and a woman who cleaned the Rowcliff apartment once a week, and two men who knew Copes. Almost certainly nothing had got to Rowcliff. However, one problem arose that had to be dealt with; Wolfe rang for beer and had the cap off of the bottle before he remembered that we were probably going to open champagne. He called Fritz in for consultation, and they decided it would be interesting to try eel stewed in stale beer, and Fritz thought he knew where he could get eel the next day. Wolfe told him Saul and Fred would join us for lunch, and it should be a little early if possible — one o’clock.

Lieutenant Rowcliff has it in for all private detectives, but I admit he has a special reason for thinking the world would be better off without me. When he gets hot he stutters, and with me it must be catching, because when he’s working on me and I see that he is getting close to that point, I start to stutter, especially on words that begin with g or t. It’s a misdemeanor to interfere with a police officer in the performance of his duty, but how could he handle that? Wolfe knows about it, and when the doorbell rang at a quarter to twelve and he told Saul to get it, I believe he actually thought I might greet them with “Gu-gu-gu-good morning.”

I was at my desk. Fred was in one of the three yellow chairs facing Wolfe’s desk, the one nearest me. Cramer, leading the way, of course went to the red leather chair, and Rowcliff took the yellow one nearest him, which left the middle one for Saul. As Cramer sat, he said, “Make it snappy. Rowcliff has someone waiting. What’s this about a recording?”

“I’ll have to introduce it,” Wolfe said. “You probably know the name, Dennis Copes.”

“I’ve heard it. One of the CAN bunch.”

“I know him,” Rowcliff said. “He wants Meer’s job.”

Wolfe nodded. “So it is said. As you know, Mrs. Odell’s advertisement appeared last Tuesday, six days ago. Mr. Copes came here Thursday evening and said he had to admit something and that he had information to give me under the conditions stated in the advertisement. He did so. The recording is that conversation. — Archie?”

All I had to do was reach to the far corner of my desk to flip a switch. The playback, which was a honey and had cost $922.50, was on the desk at the back. We knew it was a good tape, since we had listened to it three times.

Copes’s voice came. “That was a good ad. ‘Any person who communicates as a result of this advertisement thereby agrees to the above conditions.’ Very neat. What agency?”

“Agency?”

“Who wrote it?”

“Mr. Goodwin.”

Naturally I watched their faces. The first few minutes they looked at each other a couple of times, but then their eyes stayed mostly on Wolfe. Then Cramer set his jaw and his face got even redder than usual, and Rowcliff started to lick his lips. It has been said that Rowcliff is handsome, and I’ll concede that his six feet of meat is distributed well enough, but his face reminds me of a camel with a built-in sneer. All right, I don’t like him, so allow for it. Of course licking his lips didn’t improve it any.

It got to the end. Wolfe: “You may have to. I can’t tell you how I’ll proceed, Mr. Copes, because I don’t know. If I need you, I’ll know where to find you.” I reached to the switch and flipped it.

“By god,” Cramer said. He was so mad his voice was weak. “Four days ago. Four whole days. And you even told him not to tell anybody anything. And now you get us here and — How in hell you expect—”

“Pfui,” Wolfe said. “You’re not a witling and you know I’m not. If I had believed he was telling the truth, I might or might not have informed you immediately, but I certainly would not have risked telling him not to. I had good reason to suspect that he wasn’t. How could Kenneth Meer possibly have known that Odell intended to put LSD in the whisky? I don’t know how much of an effort you have made to learn if anyone knew, and if so who, but I know how much I have. I thought it extremely doubtful that Meer could have known. But if he didn’t, if Copes was lying, how did Copes know even now? Apparently it had been kept an official secret; it had not been disclosed by you or the District Attorney. And I had to know. I had to know if Copes could possibly have learned about the LSD from any other source. Unless such a source could be found, it would be impossible to challenge his account, and I would have to advise him to tell you without further delay. At ten o’clock Friday morning, five of us gathered here to consider it, and Mr. Panzer, Mr. Durkin, and Mr. Cather were given instructions and proceeded to inquire. The obvious possibil—”

“Three days you kept it. By God, three days and three nights.” Cramer’s voice was not weak.

“The weekend intervened. Anyway I would have kept it as long as there was any hope of finding a probable source. Three weeks or three months. Fortunately a competent performance by Mr. Panzer — and Mr. Durkin — made it only three days. Mr. Panzer brought it a little more than an hour ago, and I telephoned you almost immediately. Copes lied. I know how he learned about the LSD.”

Wolfe looked at Rowcliff and back at Cramer. “There are several ways I could do this, and I’m taking the quickest, which should also be the most effective. As you know, a friend of Mr. Goodwin’s, Mr. Cohen, is in a position of authority and influence at the Gazette.” He turned. “Your notebook, Archie.”

With no idea what was coming, I got it, and a pen, and crossed my legs.

“A suggested draft for an article in tomorrow’s Gazette. ‘In an interview yesterday afternoon Nero Wolfe, comma, the private investigator, comma, stated that an attempt has been made by Dennis Copes, comma, an employee of the Continental Air Network, comma, to get the sixty-five thousand dollars offered in a recent advertisement by Mrs. Peter Odell, comma, by fraud. Period.’ — No. Instead of ‘fraud’ make it ‘by subreption.’ It’s more precise and will add to vocabularies. ‘Paragraph.’

“‘Mr. Wolfe said, comma, quote, “Dennis Copes came to my office last Thursday evening and disclosed that he had knowledge of a certain fact relevant to the explosion of a bomb in the office of a CAN executive on the twentieth of May that caused the death of Peter Odell. Period. It was a fact known to me and to the police but had never been divulged, comma, by them or by me. Period. It was a closely guarded secret. Period. Mr. Copes’s explanation of how and where he had learned it made it highly probable that the bomb had been placed in the drawer by another employee of CAN, comma, named by him. Paragraph.

“‘Quote. “I had reason to suspect that Mr. Copes’s account of how he had learned the fact was false, comma, and I undertook to discover if he might have learned it some other way. Period. This morning I learned that there was indeed another way. Period. Mr. Copes has a twin sister named Diana who is the wife of a police lieutenant named J.M. Rowcliff. Period. I think it highly probable, comma, in fact I am satisfied, comma, that Mr. Rowcliff—”’”

“Why, goddamn you—” Rowcliff was up and moving.

“Back up!” Cramer snapped.

“Let me finish,” Wolfe said.

“I’ll finish you! You—”

“Can it!” Cramer snapped. “Sit down. Sit down and shut your trap.” To Wolfe: “You know damn well you can’t do this. We’d tear your guts out. You’d be done.”

“I doubt it,” Wolfe said. “The spotlight of public interest. I would be a cynosure, a man of mark. And my client’s resources are considerable. I would have handled this differently if it were not Mr. Rowcliff. If it were Mr. Stebbins, for instance, I would have asked him to come and I would have told him that I wanted merely his private acknowledgment that he had told his wife about the LSD. That would have satisfied me that Mr. Copes had learned of the LSD from his sister, and no further proof would have been required. It would not have been necessary even for you to be told, either by him or by me. But with Mr. Rowcliff that would not have been possible. Would it? You know him. You know his animus against me.”

“You could have asked me to come. And discuss it.”

“Certainly. I have. Here we are.”

“Balls. Discuss, my ass. ‘In an interview yesterday afternoon Nero Wolfe, the private investigator.’ That crap. All right, I’ll discuss it with Rowcliff and you’ll hear from me later. Probably today.”

“No.” Emphatic. “That won’t do. It’s urgent. There’s a certain step I intend to take without delay. I’ll postpone it only if I must. If you and Mr. Rowcliff leave without satisfying me, Mr. Goodwin will leave ten minutes later with the suggested draft for that article. It may be possible to get it in the late edition of today’s paper. And of course reporters will be wanting to see Mr. and Mrs. Rowcliff — and you, I suppose. This is probably a resort to coercion, but I make no apology; the fact that I have Mr. Rowcliff to deal with makes it imperative. Actually I don’t ask much. I require only a statement by him, unequivocal, that he told his wife about the LSD found in Peter Odell’s pocket. I don’t need an admission by his wife that she told her brother. That is a plausible assumption that for me will suffice.”

Wolfe turned to Rowcliff. “You may know — or you may not — that there is an understanding between Mr. Cramer and me which he knows I observe. No conversation in this office with him present is recorded without his express consent. This is not being recorded.”

“You goddamn ape,” Rowcliff said.

Cramer asked him, “Did you hear me tell you to shut your trap?”

No reply.

“Say ‘yes, sir,’” Cramer said.

Rowcliff licked his lips. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re a good cop,” Cramer said. “I know what you’re good for and what you’re not good for. I even agree with your opinion of Wolfe up to a point, but only up to a point. That understanding he mentioned, you wouldn’t trust him to keep it, but I do. That’s a flaw you’ve got. Anyway the point right now is not our opinion of Wolfe, it’s what he wants from you. There are aspects of this that you and I can discuss privately, and we will, but if you did tell your wife about the LSD, and you can be damn sure I’m going to know if you did, the best thing you can do is to say so here and now. You don’t have to tell Wolfe, tell me. Did you?”

“Goddam it, Inspector, I’m not—”

“Did you?”

“Yes. I’m not going—”

“Shut up.” Cramer turned to Wolfe. “I call that unequivocal, damn you.”

“So do I,” Wolfe said. “Thank you for coming.”

“You can shove your thanks.” He stood up. “You said something on the phone about a useful hint. You can shove that too. You and your useful hints.” He turned to Rowcliff. “You, move. Move!”

It was an order and Rowcliff obeyed it. Anyone else I could name, I would have felt sorry for him. I knew what he had coming and so did he. Saul followed them to the hall; he had let them in, so he would check them out.

As Saul came back in, Wolfe told me, “Get Mr. Browning.”

He was certainly making up for lost time, but it had worked with Cramer and Rowcliff so it might work with the next president of CAN too, whatever it was, I pulled the phone around and dialed, and told the switchboard I wanted to speak to Mr. Browning’s secretary. When you ask for secretaries usually you aren’t asked who you are, and in a minute I had her.

“Mr. Browning’s office.”

“Miss Lugos, please.”

“This is Miss Lugos.”

“This is Archie Goodwin. Mr. Wolfe would like to speak to Mr. Browning.”

“Nero Wolfe?”

“Yes.”

“What about?”

“I don’t know. It must be important, since Mr. Browning called him a cheap bully only a couple of hours ago.”

“I’ll see. Hold the wire.”

Of course she would tell me either that Mr. Browning was not available or to put Mr. Wolfe on. But she didn’t. After a wait of only a couple of minutes, his voice: “What do you want?”

I didn’t have to answer because Wolfe was on.

“Mr. Browning?”

“Yes.”

“Nero Wolfe. I have just spoken at some length with Inspector Cramer of the police. He left my office five minutes ago. This afternoon, not later than four o’clock, I am going to tell him who put a bomb in a drawer of your desk, and I think it fitting and desirable that I tell you first. I would also like to tell Miss Lugos why I told her that she lied. Will you come, with her, at half past two?”

Silence, a long minute, then, “I think you’re lying.”

“No. A lie that would be exposed in three hours? No.”

“You know who did that? You know now?”

“Yes.”

A shorter silence. “I’ll call you back.”

He hung up. Of course that meant yes. He wouldn’t call Cramer, and even if he did, what would that get him? I looked at Wolfe. Sometimes you can tell pretty well how good his hand is by the way he holds his head, and his mouth. That time I couldn’t. No sign. I asked him, “Must we leave the room while you’re telling them? We’re curious. We’d like to know too.”

“You will.” He looked at the wall clock. 12:25. “Now. Saul, ask Fritz to bring the champagne.”

As Saul left, the doorbell rang, and I went. It was Orrie Cather. I opened the door and said, “Greetings. Go ahead and tell me you know who Dennis Copes’s twin sister’s husband is.”

“Huh?” He stepped in. “I didn’t know he had a sister. I got bounced from the CAN building.”

“Sure. They knew you like champagne. Go right in.”

So Orrie was there for the briefing too.