The Red Box

Chapter 19

Inspector Cramer said, “I’d like to have it in the form of a signed statement.” He chewed at his cigar. “It’s the wildest damned stuff I ever heard of. Do you mean to say that was all you had to go on?”

It was five minutes past six, and Wolfe had just come down from the plant rooms. The Frosts and Glenna McNair had long been gone. Calida Frost was gone too. The fuss was over. The chain was on the front door to make it easier for Fritz to keep reporters out. Two windows were wide open and had been for over two hours, but the smell of bitter almonds, from some that had spilled on the floor, was still in the air and seemed to be there to stay.

Wolfe, nodding, poured beer. “That was all, sir. As for signing a statement, I prefer not to. In fact, I refuse. Your noisy indignation this afternoon was outrageous; furthermore, it was silly. I resented it then; I still do.”

He drank. Cramer grunted. Wolfe went on, “God knows where Mr. McNair hid his confounded box. It appeared to me more than likely that it would never be found; and if it wasn’t it seemed fairly certain that the proof of Mrs. Frost’s guilt would at best be tedious and arduous, and at worst impossible. She had had all the luck and might go on having it. So I sent Saul Panzer to a craftsman to get a box constructed of red leather and made to appear old and worn. It was fairly certain that none of the Frosts had ever seen Mr. McNair’s box, so there was little danger of its authenticity being challenged. I calculated that the psychological effect on Mrs. Frost would be appreciable.”

“Yeah. You’re a great calculator.” Cramer chewed his cigar some more. “You took a big chance, and you kindly let me take it with you without explaining it beforehand, but I admit it was a good trick. That’s not the main point. The point is that you bought a bottle of oil of bitter almonds and put it in the box and handed it to her. That’s the farthest north, even for you. And I was here when it happened. I don’t dare put it on the record like that. I’m an inspector, and I don’t dare.”

“As you please, sir.” Wolfe’s shoulders lifted a quarter of an inch and fell again. “It was unfortunate that the outcome was fatal. I did it to impress her. I was thunderstruck, and helpless, when she — er — abused it. I used the poisonous oil instead of a substitute because I thought she might uncork the bottle, and the odor... That too was for the psychological effect—”

“Like hell it was. It was for exactly what she used it for. What are you trying to do, kid me?”

“No, not really. But you began speaking of a signed statement, and I don’t like that. I like to be frank. You know perfectly well I wouldn’t sign a statement.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “The fact is, you’re an ingrate. You wanted the case solved and the criminal punished, didn’t you? It is solved. The law is an envious monster, and you represent it. You can’t tolerate a decent and swift conclusion to a skirmish between an individual and what you call society, as long as you have it in your power to turn it into a ghastly and prolonged struggle; the victim must squirm like a worm in your fingers, not for ten minutes, but for ten months. Pfui! I don’t like the law. It was not I, but a great philosopher, who said that the law is an ass.”

“Well, don’t take it out on me. I’m not the law, I’m just a cop. Where did you buy the oil of bitter almonds?”

“Indeed.” Wolfe’s eyes narrowed. “Do you mean to ask me that?”

Cramer looked uncomfortable. But he stuck to it: “I ask it.”

“You do. Very well, sir. I know, of course, that the sale of that stuff is illegal. The law again! A chemist who is a friend of mine accommodated me. If you are petty enough to attempt to find out who he is, and to take steps to punish him for his infraction of the law, I shall leave this country and go to live in Egypt, where I own a house. If I do that, one out of ten of your murder cases will go unsolved, and I hope to heaven you suffer for it.”

Cramer removed his cigar, looked at Wolfe, and slowly shook his head from side to side. Finally he said, “I’m all right, I’m sitting pretty. I won’t snoop on your friend. I’ll be ready to retire in another ten years. What worries me is this, what’s the police force doing to do, say a hundred years from now, when you’re dead? They’ll have a hell of a time.” He went on hastily, “Now don’t get sore. I know a jack from a deuce. There’s another thing I wanted to ask you. You know I’ve got a room down at headquarters where we keep some curiosities — hatchets and guns and so on that have been used at one time or another. How’s chances to take that red box and add it to the collection? I’d really like to have it. You won’t need it any more.”

“I couldn’t say.” Wolfe leaned forward to pour more beer. “You’ll have to ask Mr. Goodwin. I presented it to him.”

Cramer turned to me. “How about it, Goodwin? Okay?”

“Nope.” I shook my head and grinned at him. “Sorry, Inspector. I’m going to hang onto it. It’s just what I needed to keep postage stamps in.”

I’m still using it. But Cramer got one for his collection too, for about a week later McNair’s own box was found on the family property in Scotland, behind a stone in the chimney. It had enough dope in it for three juries, but by that time Calida Frost was already buried.