The Silent Speaker (Crime Line)

Chapter 23

THERE WAS A LONG silence. I looked at the wall clock. It said two minutes to four. I looked at my wrist watch. It said one minute to four. In spite of the discrepancy it seemed safe to conclude that it would soon be four o’clock. From beyond the closed doors to the front room and the hall came faint suggestions of little noises, just enough to keep reminding us that silence wouldn’t do. Every little noise seemed to be saying, come on, it’s getting late, work it out. The atmosphere there in the office struck me as both discouraged and discouraging. Some buoyancy and backbone were needed.

“Well,” I said brightly, “we’ve taken a big step forward. We have eliminated Winterhoff’s darting and dashing man. I am prepared to go on the stand and swear that he didn’t dash into the hall.”

That got a rise out of nobody, which showed the pathetic condition they were in. All that happened was that the D.A. looked at me as if I reminded him of someone who hadn’t voted for him.

The P.C. spoke. “Winterhoff is a damned liar. He didn’t see a man running away from that stoop. He made that up.”

“For God’s sake,” the D.A. burst out ferociously, “we’re not after a liar! We’re after a murderer!”

“I would like,” Wolfe muttered sulkily, “to go to bed. It’s four o’clock and you’re stuck.”

“Oh, we are.” Cramer glowered at him. “We’re stuck. The way you put it, I suppose you’re not stuck?”

“Me? No, Mr. Cramer. No indeed. But I’m tired and sleepy.”

That might have led to violence if there hadn’t been an interruption. There was a knock on the door and a dick entered, approached Cramer, and reported:

“We’ve got two more taxi drivers, the two that brought Mrs. Boone and O’Neill. I thought you might want to see them, Inspector. One is named-”

He stopped on account of Cramer’s aspect. “This,” Cramer said, “will make you a Deputy Chief Inspector. Easy.” He pointed to the door. “Out that way and find someone to tell it to.” The dick, looked frustrated, turned and went. Cramer said to anyone who cared to listen, “My God. Taxi drivers!”

The P.C. said, “We’ll have to let them go.”

“Yes, sir,” Cramer agreed. “I know we will. Get ‘em in here, Archie.”

So that was the state of mind the Inspector was in. As I proceeded to obey his command I tried to remember another occasion on which he had called me Archie, and couldn’t, in all the years I had known him. Of course after he had got some sleep and had a shower he would feel differently about it, but I put it away for some fitting moment in the future to remind him that he had called me Archie. Meanwhile Purley and I, with plenty of assistance, herded everybody from the front room and dining room into the office.

The strategy council had left their chairs and collected at the far end of Wolfe’s desk, standing. The guests took seats. The city employees, over a dozen of them, scattered around the room and stood looking as alert and intelligent as the facts of the case would permit, under the eye of the big boss, the P.C. himself.

Cramer, on his feet confronting them, spoke:

“We’re letting you people go home. But before you go, this is the situation. The microscopic examination of your hands didn’t show anything. But the microscope got results. On a scarf that was in a pocket of one of your overcoats, hanging in the hall, particles from the pipe were found. The scarf was unquestionably used by the murderer to keep his hand from contact with the pipe. Therefore-”

“Whose coat was it in?” Breslow blurted.

Cramer shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you whose coat it was or who the scarf belongs to, and I think it would be better if the owners didn’t tell, because it would be sure to get to the papers, and you know what the papers-”

“No, you don’t,” Alger Kates piped up. “That would suit your plans, you and Nero Wolfe and the NIA, but you’re not going to put any gag on me! It was my coat! And I’ve never seen the scarf before! This is the most-”

“That’s enough, Kates,” Solomon Dexter rumbled at him.

“Okay.” Cramer did not sound displeased. “So it was found in Mr. Kates’s coat, and he says he never saw the scarf before. That-”

“The scarf,” Winterhoff interposed, his voice heavier and flatter than ever, “belongs to me. It was stolen from my overcoat in this house last Friday night. I haven’t seen it since, until you showed it to me here. Since you have permitted Kates to make insinuations about the plans of the NIA-”

“No,” Cramer said curtly, “that’s out. I’m not interested in insinuations. If you people want to carry on your quarrel you can hire a hall. What I want to say is this, that some hours ago I said that one of you killed Miss Gunther, and Mr. Erskine objected. Now there’s no room for objection. Now there’s no doubt about it. We could take you all down and book you as material witnesses. But being who you are, within a few hours you’d all be out on bail. So we’re letting you go home, including the one who committed a murder here tonight, because we don’t know which one it is. We intend to find out. Meanwhile you may be expected to be called on or sent for any time, day or night. You are not to leave the city, even for an hour, without permission. Your movements may or may not be kept under observation. That’s up to us, and no protests about it will get you anywhere.”

Cramer scanned the faces. “Police cars will take you home. You can go now, but one last word. This isn’t going to let up. It’s bad for all of you, and it will go on being bad until the murderer is caught. So if any of you knows anything that will help, the worst mistake you can make is not to let us have it. Stay now and tell us. The Police Commissioner and the District Attorney and I are right here and you can talk with any of us.”

His invitation wasn’t accepted, at least not on the terms as stated. The Erskine family lingered to exchange words with the D.A., Winterhoff had a point to make with the P.C., Mrs. Boone got Travis of the FBI, whom she apparently knew, to one side, Breslow had something to say to Wolfe, and Dexter confronted Cramer with questions. But before long they had all departed, and it didn’t appear that anything useful had been contributed to the cause.

Wolfe braced his palms against the rim of his desk, pushed his chair back, and got to his feet.

Cramer, on the contrary, sat down. “Go to bed if you want to,” he said grimly, “but I’m having a talk with Goodwin.” Already it was Goodwin again. “I want to know who besides Kates had a chance to put that scarf in his coat.”

“Nonsense.” Wolfe was peevish. “With an ordinary person that might be necessary, but Mr. Goodwin is trained, competent, reliable, and moderately intelligent. If he could help on that he would have told us so. Merely ask him a question. I’ll ask him myself.– Archie. Is your suspicion directed at anyone putting the scarf in the coat, or can you eliminate anyone as totally without opportunity?”

“No sir twice,” I told him. “I’ve thought about it and gone over all of them. I was moving in and out between bell rings, and so were most of them. The trouble is the door to the front room was standing open, and so was the door from the front room to the hall.”

Cramer grunted. “I’d give two bits to know how you would have answered that question if you had been alone with Wolfe, and how you will answer it.”

“If that’s how you feel about it,” I said, “you might as well skip it. My resistance to torture is strongest at dawn, which it is now, and how are you going to drag the truth out of me?”

“I could use a nap,” G. G. Spero said, and he got the votes.

But what with packing the scarf in a box as if it had been a museum piece, which incidentally it now is, and collecting papers and miscellaneous items, it was practically five o’clock before they were finally out.

The house was ours again. Wolfe started for the elevator. I still had to make the rounds to see what was missing and to make sure there were no public servants sleeping under the furniture. I called to Wolfe:

“Instructions for the morning, sir?”

“Yes!” he called back. “Let me alone!”