Where There's a Will

Chapter 12

The two counselors-at-law looked at each other. Prescott, having halted in his stride, advanced and said, “Hello, Gene.” Davis nodded but didn’t speak. I could see both their faces. Davis’s exhibited vigilance and contempt; Preseott’s, vigilance and a sort of exasperated solicitude.

“Relax!” Davis commanded. “Quit looking like the damned Salvation Army! I’m sober. These fellows jolted me sober. They know I was with Miss Karn last evening, and they know my name’s Dawson on 11th Street. So I’ve been answering questions. Nothing indiscreet. Just where I was Tuesday afternoon and things like that.”

Prescott said, “You’re a fool. You were a fool to come here. You could have been kept out of this. It can’t possibly be kept quiet longer than another day. When the papers start on it, and on you as a part of it — where are Dunwoodie, Prescott & Davis going to be?”

“The dear old firm,” Davis sneered.

“Yes, Gene, the dear old firm. We’ve made it, but it made us, too. You were headed for the top, you had it in you. You still have. I’m a pretty good lawyer and a hard worker, but you’re a lot more than that. You’re one of the rare ones, the kind that makes history. I don’t need to tell you that. And now you don’t even — you come here and step into this — oh, my God.”

He turned abruptly to Wolfe. “You’ve got us at your mercy. What are you going to do? Hand it over to the police?”

Wolfe shook his head. “No, sir. I might for a quid pro quo, but the police have nothing I want. Sit down; let’s talk it over. I was just asking Mr. Davis if he advised Miss Karn to come here to negotiate with Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“If he advised—” Prescott gawked. “Why did you ask him that?”

Davis forestalled Wolfe’s answer: “Because she came! She was here!” He was on his feet, confronting his partner. “And now I’m asking you! Did you bring her here?”

“You’re crazy, Gene. For God’s sake, have a little sense. I tell you, this is no time—”

“You brought her here!”

“You’re crazy! Why would I—”

“I’m going to find out,” Davis declared, and tramped from the room.

We all stared at the open door which he had disdained to close. Then Prescott said abruptly, “The damned idiot,” and out he went too. I was out of my chair, asking hopefully:

“Do you want ’em?”

“No, Archie.” Wolfe leaned back and sighed. “No, thank you.” He closed his eyes. “No, thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” I said politely, and sat down again without bothering to close the door. That was merely one more example of my self-control. Inwardly I was in a turmoil. I knew the signs. I knew that tone of his. It was the first symptom of the approach of a relapse. Unless I could bully him out of it, or unless the murderer came in and confessed within an hour, he would have a relapse as sure as ham loves eggs. What made it so ticklish was the fact that we weren’t at home. If we had been at the office I would have stood an even chance of jolting him loose, but there on alien territory I wasn’t so sure of myself. So I don’t know how long I might have sat there trying to decide the best line to take, beyond the ten minutes or so I did sit, if I hadn’t heard footsteps stopping at the doorway. I turned my head and saw it was the butler.

“Speak,” I said listlessly.

“Yes, sir. Mr. Dunn would like to see Mr. Wolfe in the living room.”

“Bring me a derrick.” I waved him away. “You’ve done your share. I’ll get him there if I can.”

He went. I waited a full minute and then demanded, “Did you hear that?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

No answer. I waited another minute. “Look here. You are not in your own home. You came here of your own volition. It’s not Dunn’s fault that this thing is turning into a plate of sour hash, unless he killed Hawthorne himself. He invited you here and you came. Either go down and see what he wants, or let’s go home and starve.”

He stirred, slowly opened his eyes, and pronounced a word in some foreign tongue which I have never bothered to ask him to translate, because it sounds as if it couldn’t be printed anyway. He got out of his chair, and he moved toward the door. I followed.

We found they were having a convention in the living room. The delegates consisted of John Charles Dunn, Glenn Prescott, Osric Stauffer, a wiry little squirt whom I recognized as Detective-Lieutenant Bronson of the police, and a six-footer in a hot and dignified three-piece suit who looked concentrated and uncomfortable. By the introduction, made by Dunn, he was identified as Mr. Ritchie of the Cosmopolitan Trust Company, executor of Noel Hawthorne’s estate.

Dunn also explained why we had been ousted from the library. The police had asked for permission to inspect the private papers of Hawthorne, most of which were in a safe built into the library wall, and the trust company had granted it, on condition that they should have a representative present. That was Mr. Ritchie. It was also thought desirable that Hawthorne’s personal attorney should be there. That was Mr. Prescott. And to protect, if necessary, the confidential affairs of Daniel Cullen and Company, they wanted a man there too. That was Mr. Stauffer.

Bronson, Stauffer, Prescott and Ritchie marched off upstairs to open the safe. I thought to myself, they’ll find another will as sure as water’s wet, and then we’ll have to solve the damn murder to get any fee at all.

John Charles Dunn was asking Wolfe if he had made any progress, and Wolfe was replying grumpily that he hadn’t. I knew better than to try any badgering in the presence of Dunn, but I thought I might as well try something, so I crossed the room to where the draperies were and pulled them open, thinking to show Wolfe where I had found Stauffer in ambush. But there was more than that there to show him, if he had been beside me, though I nearly missed it. She must have heard me, or seen me through a slit, approaching. All I saw was the back of the gray gown, and the back of her head, as she went through the door in the right rear corner.

I called to Wolfe and Dunn, “Come here a minute!”

“What is it?”

“Come here and I’ll show you.” They crossed to me. I held the curtain open. “I admit it’s her house, but it’s a bad habit to get into anyhow. When I was in here alone this morning, Mrs. Hawthorne suddenly appeared from behind these drapes and then vanished. This is also the ambush I mentioned in that note I gave you while she was in the library. And she was in here just now. When I lifted the curtain she was beating it through that door. Not that it seems to be the answer to anything, but I thought you’d like to know.”

“You saw her leaving just now?”

“Yes, sir. Practicing, do you suppose?”

“I have no idea. As you say, it’s her house. Since she would have been quite welcome — what’s the matter, Mr. Dunn?”

Dunn was looking queer. His jaw was working and his eyes were bulging, though his stare seemed to be directed nowhere in particular, certainly not at us. He muttered something unintelligible and stared around as if he expected to see something. Wolfe asked him again what was the matter.

“It was there!” he said, pointing to the chair the counterfeit Daisy had been sitting on when I found her with Naomi Karn. “We were right there!”

“Who were? When?”

“I was! With two men. To settle that Argentina loan. I came up from Washington to meet them, and wanted to keep the meeting secret. Noel was in Europe. I telephoned Daisy, and she said she wouldn’t be at home that evening — she would instruct Turner to let us in. It’s incredible! She didn’t know who I was meeting or what it was about! Good God!”

“A chronic eavesdropper doesn’t require any special inducement,” said Wolfe dryly.

“She hid here and listened! She must have! And she told Noel — and he—” Dunn choked it off abruptly. In a moment he went on. “No, I’m wrong. I remember now. Daria — one of the men mentioned these curtains, and I got up and parted them and looked in here. It was empty. There wasn’t much light, only what came from the opening in the curtains, but it was empty.”

“Wait a minute,” I told him. “I like this idea, let’s hang onto it. She could have entered by that door after you looked behind the curtains. Better yet, she could have simply ducked behind the bar when she heard one of you mention the curtains.”

Wolfe objected, “There’s not enough room.”

“Sure there’s enough room.” I was all for it. “Don’t judge other people by yourself. Hell, I could hide there easily. Look, I’ll give you a demonstration.”

I stepped to the open end of the bar.

But the demonstration was never made. Sliding behind the bar, I stumbled on something and nearly fell. I looked to see what it was, and a mouse ran up my spine. I stooped to see better, but the light was too dim, and I said, “There’s a light switch on the wall. Turn it on.”

Dunn did so. Wolfe, hearing my tone, inquired sharply, “What’s the matter with you?”

I had to brace my knee against the edge of the bottom shelf so as not to kneel on her in that cramped space. After looking and feeling for a few seconds, I scrambled upright and told them, “It’s Naomi Karn. Dead. Strangled with that blue linen wrap she was wearing tied around her throat.”