Trouble at the Brownstone

Chapter 20

After Jason Knowles left, I went to the kitchen and found Wolfe conferring with Fritz about lunch. “Our visitor has departed and you are free to go back to the office,” I told him. He never likes to dismiss people, preferring to exit the office, leaving the good-byes to me.

“Well, what did you think of Mr. Knowles’s report?” I posed when we were resettled in the office.

“I found him to be trustworthy and moderately helpful.”

“Helpful in what way?”

“First, he in essence confirmed that at least one of the two men he encountered on the street that night is a speaker of German. Second, he saw the two men enter the Elmont, which would suggest one or both of them reside in that building.”

“Which would seem to indicate that the place is a hotbed of something or other,” I said, which was hardly being helpful.

“Get Mr. Cramer,” Wolfe ordered. I dialed a number I had memorized years ago as Wolfe picked up his instrument and I stayed on the line.

“Cramer!” came the bark I had come to expect from the homicide inspector.

“This is Nero Wolfe. I have come into the possession of information you may find of interest.”

“Before I ask what that information is, what is its source?”

“No, sir. My source is not germane to this discussion. Are you interested, or not?”

A drawn-out sigh moved across the wire, followed by a silence that lasted several seconds. “All right, shoot, Wolfe. And you had better not be wasting my time.”

“Have I ever wasted your time, sir? Before I move ahead, a question: Has any hospital in Manhattan reported the admission of an individual with a gunshot wound to the leg or ankle in the last few days?”

“They have not — and yes, we’ve been checking.”

“I suggest the person you seek is in the Elmont apartment building on Tenth Avenue near Fifty-Eighth Street.”

“Is this individual of yours a resident of the Elmont?” Cramer asked.

“That is probable but not definite.”

“And I suppose you got this information from one of the people who answered your ad in the Gazette?”

“It is immaterial where and how I received the information, sir. But I felt it my duty to share it with you.”

“Your duty, hah! When have you seen it a duty to do anything to help the department?”

“I believe I am helping the department with what I have told you.”

“I will be the judge of that,” Cramer said.

“As you wish,” Wolfe replied, but he was speaking to no one, as the inspector had hung up.

“It seems our top homicide cop is looking a gift horse in the mouth,” I said.

Wolfe made a face, as he often does in reaction to comments I come out with. “If you insist upon resorting to clichés, I will reply in kind and suggest that Mr. Cramer would be wise to saddle and ride that horse of which you speak. Are you prepared to give odds on whether he orders a search of the Elmont apartments?”

“Sure, I’ll make it three-to-one that homicide cops will be going door-to-door in that tired old building looking for someone with a Marley .38 bullet in his leg. And the reason I say homicide cops will do the sweep is that all this is surely tied to Chester Miller’s murder.”

“For once, I cannot argue either with those odds or with your reasoning.”

“Thanks a lot for the vote of confidence. As you have said in the past, even a stopped clock is correct twice a day.”

Wolfe let that remark pass. “I suggest that you telephone Mr. Cohen.” Whenever Wolfe “suggests” something to me, that is tantamount to an order. “Let me guess what you want me to tell him,” I said. “That the police are conducting a sweep of a certain apartment building on Tenth Avenue near Fifty-Eighth Street, hoping to locate a man with a gunshot wound who may be connected to a murder.”

“Mr. Cohen will of course want to know how we come to have this information.”

“And when Lon asks, as he will, I will reply that we are not at liberty to divulge our sources.”

“Satisfactory,” Wolfe said, opening an orchid catalog that had arrived with the morning mail.

Lon picked up the phone on the first ring. “Cohen!” he snapped.

“And a pleasant good day to you, too.”

“Now what favor are you looking for this time?”

“That is hardly a way to greet a guy who is coming to you with information.”

“Pardon my skepticism, but I always get leery when you tell me that you have information for me. It usually means I have to cough something up for you.”

“I am cut to the quick. Here I am with something you might find interesting.”

“Okay, I’m listening,” Lon said. “What’s the information that you seem to be so proud of?”

I then proceeded to, in essence, give him the same phrasing I read to Wolfe.

“And just where did you learn this tidbit?” was the response.

“We are not at liberty to reveal our resources.”

“How often have we at the Gazette — and every other paper in the country, as well — heard those words? And now I have to listen to them from an old friend and poker-playing buddy, no less.”

“Well, you are hearing them again from this old friend and poker-playing buddy. I thought you would be delighted to get this information, and delivered to you on a platter, no less.”

“Some platter! You’re not going to tell me this came from Inspector Cramer, are you?”

“I am not. And I am also not asking you for something in return for what I consider to be a good news tip.”

“We will be the judge of that. Because of past conversations you and I have had, I assume the building to which you refer on Tenth Avenue is none other than the Elmont.”

“As I’ve often said, you are a fast study.”

That brought a snort on the other end of the line. “Cramer will be madder than a wet hen if one or two of our reporters show up while his men are scouring the Elmont.”

“So what? Surely, you are not about to tell me that the mighty Gazette is going to be intimidated by the growls and scowls of one Lionel T. Cramer of Homicide.”

“At the moment, I am not going to tell you anything,” Lon said. “I believe you have a subscription to our fine product. I will let its pages speak for themselves.”

“Spoken like a staunch representative of the Fourth Estate,” I told him. The response I got was a word his newspaper would never print, followed by a click that told me the conversation had been terminated.