Poison à la Carte

VI

Of course I was a monkey. If it had been Stebbins who had made a monkey of me I suppose I would have leaped for a window and dived through. Hitting the pavement from a four-story window should be enough to finish a monkey, and life wouldn’t be worth living if I had been bamboozled by Purley Stebbins. But obviously it hadn’t been him; it had been Peggy Choate or Nora Jaret, or both; Purley had merely accepted an invitation to come and listen in.

So I kept my face. To say I was jaunty would be stretching it, but I didn’t scream or tear my hair. “Greetings,” I said heartily. “And welcome. I’ve been wondering why you didn’t join us instead of skulking in there in the dark.”

“I’ll bet you have.” He had come to arm’s length and stopped. He turned. “You can relax, ladies.” Back to me: “You’re under arrest for obstructing justice. Come along.”

“In a minute. You’ve got all night.” I moved my head. “Of course Peggy and Nora knew this hero was in there, but I’d—”

“I said come along!” he barked.

“And I said in a minute. I intend to ask a couple of questions. I wouldn’t dream of resisting arrest, but I’ve got leg cramp from kneeling too long and if you’re in a hurry you’ll have to carry me.” I moved my eyes. “I’d like to know if you all knew. Did you, Miss Iacono?”

“Of course not.”

“Miss Morgan?”

“No.”

“Miss Annis?”

“No, I didn’t, but I think you did.” She tossed her head and the corn silk fluttered. “That was contemptible. Saying you wanted to help us, so we would talk, with a policeman listening.”

“And then he arrests me?”

“That’s just an act.”

“I wish it were. Ask your friends Peggy and Nora if I knew — only I suppose you wouldn’t believe them. They knew, and they didn’t tell you. You’d better all think over everything you said. Okay, Sergeant, the leg cramp’s gone.”

He actually started a hand for my elbow, but I was moving and it wasn’t there. I opened the door to the hall. Of course he had me go first down the three flights; no cop in his senses would descend stairs in front of a dangerous criminal in custody. When we emerged to the sidewalk and he told me to turn left I asked him, “Why not cuffs?”

“Clown if you want to,” he croaked.

He flagged a taxi on Amsterdam Avenue, and when we were in and rolling I spoke. “I’ve been thinking, about laws and liberties and so on. Take false arrest, for instance. And take obstructing justice. If a man is arrested for obstructing justice, and it turns out that he didn’t obstruct any justice, does that make the arrest false? I wish I knew more about law. I guess I’ll have to ask a lawyer. Nathaniel Parker would know.”

It was the mention of Parker, the lawyer Wolfe uses when the occasion calls for one, that got him. He had seen Parker in action.

“They heard you,” he said, “and I heard you, and I took some notes. You interfered in a homicide investigation. You quoted the police to them, you said so. You told them what the police think, and what they’re doing and are going to do. You played a game with those pieces of paper to show them exactly how it figures. You tried to get them to tell you things instead of telling the police, and you were going to take them to Nero Wolfe so he could pry it out of them. And you haven’t even got the excuse that Wolfe is representing a client. He hasn’t got a client.”

“Wrong. He has.”

“Like hell he has. Name her.”

“Not her, him. Fritz Brenner. He is seeing red because food cooked by him was poisoned and killed a man. It’s convenient to have the client living right in the house. You admit that a licensed detective has a right to investigate on behalf of a client.”

“I admit nothing.”

“That’s sensible,” I said approvingly. “You shouldn’t. When you’re on the stand, being sued for false arrest, it would be bad to have it thrown up to you, and it would be two against one because the hackie could testify. Can you hear us, driver?”

“Sure I can hear you,” he sang out. “It’s very interesting.”

“So watch your tongue,” I told Purley. “You could get hooked for a year’s pay. As for quoting the police, I merely said that they think it was one of those five, and when Cramer told Mr. Wolfe that he didn’t say it was confidential. As for telling them what the police think, same comment. As for playing that game with them, why not? As for trying to get them to tell me things, I won’t comment on that at all because I don’t want to be rude. That must have been a slip of the tongue. If you ask me why I didn’t balk there at the apartment and bring up these points then and there, what was the use? You had spoiled the party. They wouldn’t have come downtown with me. Also I am saving a buck of Mr. Wolfe’s money, since you had arrested me and therefore the taxi fare is on the city of New York. Am I still under arrest?”

“You’re damn right you are.”

“That may be ill-advised. You heard him, driver?”

“Sure I heard him.”

“Good. Try to remember it.”

We were on Ninth Avenue, stopped at Forty-second Street for a light. When the light changed and we moved, Purley told the hackie to pull over to the curb, and he obeyed. At that time of night there were plenty of gaps. Purley took something from a pocket and showed it to the hackie, and said, “Go get yourself a Coke and come back in ten minutes,” and he climbed out and went. Purley turned his head to glare at me.

“I’ll pay for the Coke,” I offered.

He ignored it. “Lieutenant Rowcliff,” he said, “is expecting us at Twentieth Street.”

“Fine. Even under arrest, one will get you five that I can make him start stuttering in ten minutes.”

“You’re not under arrest.”

I leaned forward to look at the meter. “Ninety cents. From here on we’ll split it.”

“Goddamn it, quit clowning! If you think I’m crawling you’re wrong. I just don’t see any percentage in it. If I deliver you in custody I know damn well what you’ll do. You’ll clam up. We won’t get a peep out of you, and in the morning you’ll make a phone call and Parker will come. What will that get us?”

I could have said, “A suit for false arrest,” but it wouldn’t have been diplomatic, so I made it, “Only the pleasure of my company.”

There was one point of resemblance between Purley and Carol Annis, just one: no sense of humor. “But,” he said, “Lieutenant Rowcliff is expecting you, and you’re a material witness in a homicide case, and you were up there working on the suspects.”

“You could arrest me as a material witness,” I suggested helpfully.

He uttered a word that I was glad the hackie wasn’t there to hear, and added, “You’d clam up and in the morning you’d be out on bail. I know it’s after midnight, but the lieutenant is expecting you.”

He’s a proud man, Purley is, and I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he has nothing to be proud of. He’s not a bad cop, as cops go. It was a temptation to keep him dangling for a while, to see how long it would take him to bring himself to the point of coming right out and asking for it, but it was late and I needed some sleep.

“You realize,” I said, “that it’s a waste of time and energy. You can tell him everything we said, and if he tried to go into other aspects with me I’ll only start making cracks and he’ll start stuttering. It’s perfectly useless.”

“Yeah, I know, but—”

“But the lieutenant expects me.”

He nodded. “It was him Nora Jaret told about it, and he sent me. The inspector wasn’t around.”

“Okay. In the interest of justice. I’ll give him an hour. That’s understood? Exactly one hour.”

“It’s not understood with me.” He was emphatic. “When we get there you’re his and he’s welcome to you. I don’t know if he can stand you for an hour.”