Where There's a Will

Chapter 9

I laid my pen down and looked at Wolfe in extreme disgust.

“By Jiminy,” I said, with the whine that I knew set his teeth on edge, “you sure are grilling them. Talk about ruthless. It gives me nervous prostration just to see them suffer. And squirm under your merciless thrusts. Lovin’ babe! I don’t think I ever saw you in better form—”

“Archie! Shut up!”

“But who the hell do you think you are, the inquiring reporter?”

“I do not, and I don’t need that. I’m trying to think. I’m trying to think about these people, and in the meantime having another look at them. There’s too many of them. If one of them sneaked through those woods and borrowed the shotgun from Noel Hawthorne and blew his head off, who is going to prove it and how? — Good afternoon, Saul. Good afternoon, Johnny. Come in. Sit down. — Am I a confounded Indian, to go up there and crawl around on my hands and knees, smelling footprints? And do you suppose any of this tribe is going to tell us anything?” He snorted. “Trying to get me interested in a family row about Andy being an actor! Bah!” He shook a finger at me menacingly. “You let me alone! One more whine out of you and — how the devil can I think if there’s nothing to think about?”

I elevated my shoulders and turned my palms up. “Then we might as well go home and look at the atlas.”

“I agree with you.”

He abandoned me. “Did Orrie find you, Saul?”

“Yes, sir.” Saul always pretended he didn’t hear Wolfe and me jawing. “Miss Karn hadn’t appeared when Orrie relieved me at 9:20. At 9:25 I tested her phone and she was in her apartment.”

“You told Orrie to report here?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You need sleep.”

“I’ll manage till tonight.”

“You’re free, are you, Johnny?”

“Yes, sir, I’m always free when you need me.”

His bright eager tones, like little Willie offering to clean the blackboard, always gave me a pain. Johnny Keems was the kind of guy who does exercises every morning and buys gum at every slot vendor he sees for an excuse to look in the mirror. Dozens of times I would have resigned my job if I hadn’t known his tongue was hanging out for it.

“Put this down,” said Wolfe. “Both of you. Dunwoodie, Prescott & Davis, law firm on lower Broadway. Mr. Glenn Prescott. Mr. Eugene Davis. Naomi Karn got a job there as a stenographer in 1934, and after two years became the secretary of Mr. Davis. A year or so later she left to associate herself with Mr. Noel Hawthorne in a private capacity. This is a fishing trip; I want anything you can get. Saul will direct; Johnny, you will consult with him as usual. One detail: the name of the person who did confidential stenographic work for Mr. Prescott on March 7th, 1938. If any approach is made to that person it must be with great circumspection. Johnny will of course canvass the young women with that beauty treatment outfit — what is it, Archie?”

“Nothing.” I had only made a noise. The rhinoceros had the idiotic idea that when Johnny looked at a girl and smiled she melted like ice cream in the summer sun. The fact is — oh, what’s the difference. He’ll marry a pickpocket’s daughter for her money.

They asked some questions, especially Saul, and got answers. After they had gone Wolfe went into a trance. I overlooked it and didn’t try any prodding, because it was one o’clock and I knew what he was expecting. Pretty soon it arrived. The butler himself brought one tray and a maid in uniform with a split in the nail of her right index finger followed him with the other one. I saw the split when she nearly stuck the finger in my milk. Her intention was to stay and arrange things for us, but Wolfe sent her away.

He lifted the covers from the servers with a sanguine hope and a stern misgiving fighting for the mastery in his expression. When no steam came out he looked so disconcerted I could have wept. He bent over the server and glared into it incredulously.

“This is dandy,” I asserted, rubbing my hands with pleasure. “Jellied consommé and a good big Waldorf salad and iced tea and these cute little wafer things—”

“Good God,” he muttered, stupefied.

It was from purely selfish motives that I went downstairs myself and found somebody and requisitioned a pair of lamb chops and a pot of coffee.

The trays were empty, and Wolfe was sipping the last of the coffee, which I admit wasn’t hot enough, in gloomy dissatisfaction, when the door opened and Inspector Cramer entered.

“How-do-you-do, sir,” Wolfe snapped. “I’m busy.”

“So I hear.” Cramer crossed to a chair and sat down, got out a cigar and stuck it in his mouth and took it out again. His big phiz was redder even than usual, from the heat.

He observed, as if passing the time of day, “I understand you’re working for Mr. Dunn.”

Wolfe grunted offensively.

“He had a rotten lunch,” I explained.

Cramer nodded. “So did I. At a drugstore counter.” He surveyed Wolfe. “You look about the way I feel. I hate these damn high-life mix-ups. The lousy politicians. Every time you turn around you see a stop sign. I’ve got a message for you from the commissioner.”

Wolfe just grunted again.

Cramer put his cigar between his teeth and said, “Maybe you’ve heard of him, Police Commissioner Hombert. He wants you to understand that there’s to be no publicity on this thing until he says so. He also says that you’re so intelligent it will be easy for you to appreciate the necessity for a lot of discretion in a case like this, involving the people it does, and that naturally you’ll co-operate with me. For instance, if you were to tell me what that mob was doing in your office yesterday, we’d call that co-operation.”

“Ask them,” Wolfe suggested.

“I have. They’re pretty remarkable. Most of them seem to be nearly as eccentric as you are. Except Mrs. Dunn, she’s fairly levelheaded, and Prescott the lawyer. Prescott told me about the will. They say they went to ask you to take it up with Miss Karn and come to an understanding with her. Since when have you been a board of arbitration?”

Wolfe muttered, “Go ahead. Come to the point.”

“I will. Is that what they went to your office for? To get you to make a deal with Miss Karn?”

“Yes.”

“But you had Miss Karn right there, didn’t you? By the way, you might have told me who she was when I asked you, but I suppose that would be too much to expect. Anyway, these people have all got tongues in their heads, and they had their lawyer along. What was it they wanted you to do that they couldn’t do themselves?”

Wolfe shrugged. “They had been informed that I am able, astute, discreet and unscrupulous.”

“Hell, I could have told them that.” Cramer removed his cigar from his mouth and studied the tip of it. “I’ve been trying to figure out what they needed you for when they already had a good lawyer. I like things to be plausible. What if they suspected Miss Karn had murdered Hawthorne, and they wanted you to sort of collect evidence and put it in shape? That would be a good job for a detective. Then Miss Karn could sign an agreement to let them have the dough, or most of it, and you could decide the evidence wasn’t good enough to justify accusing her of murder. So everybody would be satisfied, except maybe Hawthorne, but he was dead. How do you like that way of figuring it?”

“I think it’s clumsy,” said Wolfe judiciously. “If they regarded me as capable of compromising with a murderer, they would also have thought it likely that I would retain the evidence and blackmail them the rest of their lives. Not to mention the detail that they weren’t aware Hawthorne had been murdered. You saw their shock and surprise when you told them he had.”

“Yeah, I saw that. They certainly were shocked.”

“Indeed they were.” Wolfe frowned. “Then aren’t you supporting the theory that Hawthorne was killed because he had ruined Mr. Dunn’s career with that Argentina loan business? I thought you fellows had that all cooked and ready to serve.”

“I’m not a cook, I’m a cop. If anybody uses this murder to grease someone’s pants, it won’t be me. I’m supposed to be looking for a murderer. From what Dunn tells me, so are you.”

“I am.”

“Okay. Let’s find him or her. I’m going to be frank with you. I like the idea of Miss Karn. Personally. You don’t need to tell Skinner that. She inherits seven million dollars, and there have been plenty of murders for a hell of a lot less than that. Since she was intimate with Hawthorne, of course she knew where he was going that day and who would be there. She drives a car. She went there to get him, probably with a gun. She went there to do it because she knew there were a dozen people there who would be good suspects for one reason or another. She had a piece of luck and saw him from the road, there by the edge of the woods, with a shotgun. She walked across the field and chinned with him, maneuvered him around to the corner of the woods that can’t be seen from the road, made some excuse to get hold of the shotgun, and killed him. She didn’t even have to use her own weapon. Then she wiped the shotgun with a bunch of grass, put his prints on it, and beat it.”

Wolfe grumbled, “Anyone of a million people could have done all that.”

“Uh-huh. But it only took one to do it. I’m enthusiastic about the idea of Miss Karn, especially after the talk I had with her this morning. Of course I’m not subtle like you, but I know a two-legged female tiger when I see one. She’s a dangerous baby, that Karn woman is. It’s in her eyes. Incidentally, you can have this for nothing, she has no alibi for Tuesday afternoon. She thinks she has, but that kind is two for a nickel.”

The inspector lowered his chin and elevated his cigar. “Now just suppose. Andy Dunn and the Fleet girl, and Dunn himself and that Stauffer, were the first ones at the scene when the body was found. Suppose they looked around out of curiosity and one of them found something. A lady’s compact or a pack of cigarettes or a handkerchief — anything. Maybe they knew it belonged to Miss Karn and maybe not. Maybe Stauffer did — he knows her. Maybe they just decided to ditch it on general principles, thinking no lady should be involved. Then they got a sock in the eye when the will was read. The whole pile, except a measly half million, to Miss Karn! So they put their heads together, and if you ask me, Prescott was in it too. But it was too ticklish for him to handle it himself. They went to you and showed you the compact or whatever it was. Maybe they already knew it belonged to Miss Karn, or maybe it was part of your job to prove that. Anyhow you were to put the screws on her.

“And now that the murder’s out, where are they and where are you? They can’t open the bag even if they wanted to, without admitting that they concealed knowledge of a crime and evidence of it. And they wouldn’t want to even if they could, because if she was tried and convicted the estate would be divided by the court, and if she was tried and acquitted it would all be hers and they could whistle. Don’t you think that’s logical?”

Wolfe nodded. “Perfect,” he declared. “I congratulate you. I don’t see a loophole in it anywhere. Did you suppose all that without any help?”

“I did. For help I’m coming to you. Here I am and there it is. I’m making you a proposition. Cough it up, and get them to do the same, and I guarantee no trouble and no publicity on that angle of it for anybody concerned. I guarantee to handle Skinner. I realize you’ll have to consult them first, and I’ll give you until nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”

Wolfe said in a silky voice, “It’s regrettable. Nearly every order you place with me is something I haven’t in stock. Good day, sir, Archie—”

“Wait a minute.” Cramer’s eyes had narrowed. “This time you’re going to lose. This time, thank God, I’ve got more than you to work on. I can crack one or more of that outfit wide open, and I’m going to. Then you know where you’ll be. I’ve come to you with an absolutely fair offer—”

“You’ve charged me,” Wolfe snapped, “with being a knave and a nincompoop. Good day, sir.”

I’ll give you until—”

“Don’t give me anything. I don’t want it.”

“You’re a damn bullheaded boob.”

Inspector Cramer got up and walked out of the room. Wolfe winced when the door slammed.

“It’s a funny thing and a sad thing,” I observed, “that the purer our motives are, the worse insults we get. Do you remember the time—”

“That will do, Archie. Get Mrs. Hawthorne.”

I groaned. “I don’t want her.”

“I do. Get her.”

I departed. In the hall I met the maid coming to get our trays, and she informed me that Mrs. Hawthorne’s apartments were on the floor above, so I sought the stairs and mounted another flight. I knocked on the right door if the maid knew what she was talking about, the third time good and loud, but with no result. Ordinarily I would have opened the door for a look, but I didn’t like the errand I was on anyway, so I moved on to the next one and tried that. No go. I ventured across the hall and tapped on another one, beyond which there seemed to be faint hum of voices, received an invitation to come in, pushed it open and entered.

I had interrupted a conference. They stopped it to look at me. Andy Dunn and Celia Fleet were side by side on a sofa, holding hands, and seated next to them was May Hawthorne, in a faded old blue house gown, with her hair making for her right eye. I’d hate to say what she looked like. Standing in front of them was Glenn Prescott, spruce and cool-looking in a white linen suit with a yellow flower in his buttonhole that was no dianthus superbus; but beyond that I wouldn’t say. On a chair at his right was Daisy Hawthorne, in the same gray outfit, including veil, she had worn for her now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t in the living room that morning.

I bowed gracefully. “Excuse me, Mrs. Hawthorne. Mr. Wolfe asks if you will kindly come to the library.”

Prescott frowned. “I would like to have a talk with Mr. Wolfe myself. Mr. Dunn tells me he has engaged him—”

“Yes, sir. I’ll tell him you’re here. Right now he wants to see Mrs. Hawthorne — If you please?”

She got up and moved.

“Very well,” Prescott conceded. “I’ll be here or below in the music room with Mr. Dunn.”

I opened the door for Daisy to precede me, and followed her downstairs and let her into the library. Wolfe, greeting her, made his customary excuse for failing to arise as she crossed to the chair Cramer had vacated. She said, in her high-pitched voice with a distortion too faint to be called an impediment of speech:

“I don’t know what you expect to learn from me. Do you think I can tell you anything?”

“No, Mrs. Hawthorne, I don’t,” Wolfe told her politely. “I doubt if anyone here is going to tell me anything. I’m just shuffling around in the dark with my hand in front of my face. If you will tell me briefly—” He frowned, turning. “Come in!”

It was the butler. “A man to see you, sir. Durkin.”

“Please send him up at once.”

I expected this to be diverting enough to take my mind off the veil, for more than three hours had passed since I had phoned Fred to come to 67th Street at once. But as it turned out, the diversion came from another quarter. Fred started talking loud and fast as he came through the door:

“The reason I’m late, Mr. Wolfe, after Archie phoned I thought I’d just lie there a minute and get things straight in my mind, and after the night I’ve had I wouldn’t have been much good anyway, and now I’m—”

“You went to sleep again,” said Wolfe ominously.

“Yes, sir, and the missus should of woke me but she didn’t. Anyhow, now my head’s on my shoulders and I’m strung like a lyre. As I just told Orrie, I can do more—”

“Who told who?”

“Orrie Gather. I told him I can—”

“Where did you see Orrie?”

“Down at the corner just now. I—”

“What corner?”

“Out front. Across the street. I told him—”

“Be quiet.” Wolfe looked at me and snapped, “Go and find out.”

I hopped for the hall, trotted downstairs and on out to the street, crossed to the other side, and turned left. He was there at the exit of an areaway. As I passed I gave him a sign, and then went on and turned the corner. I waited, and he joined me.

“What do you mean,” I demanded, “chinning with Fred when you’re solo?”

“Chin yourself,” he retorted. “I wasn’t chinning, he was. I chased him.”

“And what are you doing here? Got a date with a governess?”

“No, Colonel, I’m working. You baboon, what do you think I’m doing? She’s in there.”

“Where?”

“The house you came out of.”

“I’ll be damned. How long ago?”

“We arrived at 2:28. Twenty-seven minutes ago.”

“I am damned. Okay, sit on it.”

I trotted back the way I had come, pushed the button and was admitted by the butler. I stopped in the entrance hall to consider things, and he stood and looked at me until I waved him away. The point was that knowing Wolfe as I did, I was aware that if I went up to him and reported that Naomi Karn was somewhere in the house, he would immediately ask, “Where?” So I called the butler back and inquired, “Could you tell me where Miss Karn is? The lady who arrived about half an hour ago.”

“Yes, sir. She is in the living room with Mrs. Hawthorne.”

It sounded goofy to me. I decided that eyesight was better than hearsay, made for the wide doorway to the living room, and went on through; and saw at a glance that sight was just as goofy as sound. On one of the chairs toward the far end was Naomi Karn, in the same blue linen thing she had worn to Wolfe’s the day before, and on another one, directly facing her, was Daisy Hawthorne. They both looked at me, at least Naomi did, and the veil turned my way.

I said, “Excuse me,” and beat it for the hall and the stairs. There would be nothing to tell Wolfe, since of course it was in his presence that Daisy had been informed of the caller who had arrived.

But, opening the library door and entering, I saw that was wrong. There certainly was something to tell him. He was talking to Fred, who stood twisting his hat and looking uncomfortable, and Daisy Hawthorne was sitting there in her chair.