Three Witnesses /collection/

VI

“DON’T CALL ME MRS. MEEGAN!” Jewel Jones cried.

Wolfe was in as bad a humor as she was. True, she had been hopelessly cornered, with no weapons within reach, but he had been compelled to tell Fritz to postpone lunch until further notice.

“I was only,” he said crustily, “stressing the fact that your identity is not a matter for discussion. Legally you are Mrs. Richard Meegan. That understood, I’ll call you anything you say. Miss Jones?”

“Yes.” She was on the red leather chair, but not in it. Just on its edge, she looked as if she were set to spring up and scoot any second.

“Very well.” Wolfe regarded her. “You realize, madam, that everything you say will be received skeptically. You are a competent liar. Your offhand denial of acquaintance with Mr. Meegan last night was better than competent. Now. When did Mr. Chaffee tell you that your husband was in town looking for you?”

“I didn’t say Mr. Chaffee told me.”

“Someone did. Who and when?”

She was hanging on. “How do you know someone did?”

He wiggled a finger at her. “I beg you, Miss Jones, to realize the pickle you’re in. It is not credible that Mr. Chaffee couldn’t remember the name of the model for that figure in his picture. The police don’t believe it, and they haven’t the advantage of knowing, as I do, that it was you and that you lived in that house for a year, and that you still see Mr. Chaffee occasionally. When your husband came and asked Mr. Chaffee for the name, and Mr. Chaffee pleaded a faulty memory, and your husband rented an apartment there and made it plain that he intended to persevere, it is preposterous to suppose that Mr. Chaffee didn’t tell you. I don’t envy you your tussles with the police after they learn about you.”

“They don’t have to learn about me, do they?”

“Pfui. I’m surprised they haven’t got to you already, though it’s been only eighteen hours. They soon will, even if not through me. I know this is no frolic for you, here with me, but they will almost make it seem so.”

She was thinking. Her brow was wrinkled and her eyes straight at Wolfe. “Do you know,” she asked, “what I think would be the best thing? I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. You’re a detective, you’re an expert at helping people in trouble, and I’m certainly in trouble. I’ll pay you to help me. I could pay you a little now.”

“Not now or ever, Miss Jones.” Wolfe was blunt. “When did Mr. Chaffee tell you that your husband was here looking for you?”

“You won’t even listen to me,” she complained.

“Talk sense and I will. When?”

She edged back on the chair an inch. “You don’t know my husband. He was jealous about me even before we married, and then he was worse. It got so bad I couldn’t stand it, and that was why I left him. I knew if I stayed in Pittsburgh he would find me and kill me, so I came to New York. A friend of mine had come here-I mean, just a friend. I got a job at a modeling agency and made enough to live on, and I met a lot of people. Ross Chaffee was one of them, and he wanted to use me in a picture, and I let him. Of course he paid me, but that wasn’t so important, because soon after that I met Phil Kampf, and he got me a tryout at a night club, and I made it. About then I had a scare, though. A man from Pittsburgh saw me at a theater and came and spoke to me, but I told him he was wrong, that I had never been in Pittsburgh.”

“That was a year ago,” Wolfe muttered.

“Yes. I was a little leery about the night club, in public like that, but months went by and nothing happened, and then all of a sudden this happened. Ross Chaffee phoned me that my husband had come and asked about the picture, and I asked him for God’s sake not to tell him who it was, and he promised he wouldn’t. You see, you don’t know my husband. I knew he was trying to find me so he could kill me.”

“You’ve said that twice. Has he ever killed anybody?”

“I didn’t say anybody; I said me. I seem to have an effect on men.” She gestured for understanding. “They just go for me. And Dick- Well, I know him, that’s all. I left him a year and a half ago, and he’s still looking for me, and that’s what he’s like. When Ross told me he was here I was scared stiff. I quit working at the club because he might happen to go there and see me, and I didn’t hardly leave my apartment until last night.”

Wolfe nodded. “To meet Mr. Talento. What for?”

“I told you.”

“Yes, but then you were merely Miss Jones. Now you are also Mrs. Meegan. What for?”

“That doesn’t change it any. I had heard on the radio about Phil being killed, and I wanted to know about it. I rang Ross Chaffee and I rang Jerry Aland, but neither of them answered, so I rang Vic Talento. He wouldn’t tell me anything on the phone, but he said he would meet me.”

“Did Mr. Aland and Mr. Talento know you had sat for that picture?”

“Sure they did.”

“And that Mr. Meegan had seen it and recognized you, and was here looking for you?”

“Yes, they knew all about it. Ross had to tell them, because he thought Dick might ask them if they knew who had modeled for the picture, and he had to warn them not to tell. They said they wouldn’t, and they didn’t. They’re all good friends of mine.”

She stopped to do something. She opened her black leather bag on her lap, took out a purse, and fingered its contents, peering into it. She raised her eyes to Wolfe. “I can pay you forty dollars now, to start. I’m not just in trouble, I’m in danger of my life, really I am. I don’t see how you can refuse- You’re not listening!”

Apparently he wasn’t. With his lips pursed, he was watching the tip of his forefinger make little circles on his desk blotter. Her reproach didn’t stop him, but after a moment he moved his eyes to me and said abruptly, “Get Mr. Chaffee.”

“No!” she cried. “I don’t want him to know-”

“Nonsense,” he snapped at her. “Everybody will have to know everything, and why drag it out? Get him, Archie. I’ll speak to him.”

I got at the phone and dialed. I doubted if he would be back from his session with the DA, but he was. His “hello” was enough to recognize his voice by. I pitched mine low so he wouldn’t know it, not caring to start a debate as to whether I had or had not impersonated an officer, and merely told him that Nero Wolfe wished to speak to him.

Wolfe took it at his desk. “Mr. Chaffee? This is Nero Wolfe… I’ve assumed an interest in the murder of Philip Kampf and have done some investigating… Just one moment, please, don’t ring off… Sitting here in my office is Mrs. Richard Meegan, alias Miss Jewel Jones… Please let me finish… I shall of course have to detain her and communicate with the police, since they will want her as a material witness in a murder case, but before I do that I would like to discuss the matter with you and the others who live in that house. Will you undertake to bring them here as soon as possible?… No, I’ll say nothing further on the phone, I want you here, all of you. If Mr. Meegan is balky, you might as well tell him his wife is here. I’ll expect-”

She was across to him in a leap that any young mare might have envied, grabbing for the phone and shrieking at it, “Don’t tell him, Ross! Don’t bring him! Don’t-”

My own leap and dash around the end of the desk was fairly good too. Getting her shoulders, I yanked her back, with enough enthusiasm so that I landed in the red leather chair with her on my lap, and since she was by no means through I wrapped my arms around her, pinning her arms to her sides, whereupon she started kicking my shins with her heels. She kept on kicking until Wolfe finished with Chaffee. When he hung up she suddenly relaxed and was limp, and I realized how warm she felt tight against me.

Wolfe scowled at us. “An affecting sight,” he snorted.