Cramer snorted. “A lot you need it. I’ve had enough goes at you without a shield. But this is a new one. You can’t tell me anything because it’s all privileged, huh?”
“No, sir.” Wolfe was a little hurt. “I acquiesced in Mr. Hansen’s subterfuge only to humor him. What I was told under the cloak of privilege may be of help in connection with the contest, but it wouldn’t help you to find the murderer—since you know about the wallet and the paper. The same is true of my conversations with the contestants, except to add that I have not been led to conclude that any one of them did not take the wallet. I think any one of them might have done so, and, as a corollary, might have killed Dahlmann to get it. Beyond that I have nothing but a medley of conjectures which I was sorting out when you interrupted me. None of them is worth discussing—at least not until I look them over. I’ll make this engagement: when I reach an assumption I like you’ll hear from me before I act on it. Meanwhile, it would simplify matters if I knew a few details.”
“Yeah. You haven’t even read the papers?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ll be glad to save you the trouble and maybe throw in a few extras. He was killed between eleven-thirty and three o’clock, shot once from behind, with a cushion for a muffler, with a .32 revolver. That’s from the bullet; we haven’t found the gun. The building has a self-service elevator and no doorman, and we haven’t dug up anyone who saw Dahlmann come home or saw anyone else coming to see him. Do you want all the negatives?”
“I like positives better.”
“So do I, but we haven’t got any, or damn few. No fingerprints that have helped so far, no other clues from the premises, nothing in his papers or other effects, no hackie that took somebody there, no phone call to that number from the hotel, and so on right through the routine. But you already knew that. If routine had got us anywhere I wouldn’t be here keeping you from your work.”
“Your routine is impeccable,” Wolfe said politely.
“Much obliged. As for alibis, nobody is out completely. Getting out of a big hotel, and back in again, without being observed, isn’t hard to do if you’ve got a good reason for it. The Tescher woman says that after the meeting she went to the library of a friend of hers and worked there on the contest until four o’clock, but nobody was in the room with her and everyone in the house was asleep. This leads to the point that really brought me here-the chief point. We’re finding out that there were quite a few people around town who had it in for Louis Dahlmann- three or more women for personal reasons, two or three men for personal reasons, and several of both sexes for business reasons. Even some of his own business associates. We’re looking into them, checking on where they were last night and so on, but the fact that his wallet was taken, and nothing else, may mean that it’s a waste of time and talent. There was no money in the wallet; he carried bills in a roll in another pocket. The wallet was more of a card case, driver’s license and so on.”
Speaking of pockets must have reminded him. He reached to his breast pocket and took out a cigar, and wrapped his fingers around it. “So,” he said, “I thought you might answer a question. Now that you’ve told me what you’re after, I think so even more. Was he killed in order to get the wallet, or not? If so, it was one of the contestants and we can more or less forget the others, for now anyway, and it was on account of the contest, and as I said, you’ve got the inside track on that. I’m not asking for Goodwin’s notes of your talk with your clients and that lawyer. I’m only asking your opinion, if he was killed to get the wallet.”
“I repeat, Mr. Cramer, I am not investigating the murder.”
“Damn it, who said you were? How do you want me to put it?”
Wolfe’s shoulders went up and down. “It doesn’t matter. You only want my opinion. I am strongly inclined to think that your man, the murderer, and my man, the thief, are one and the same. It would seem to follow, therefore, that the answer to your question is yes. Does that satisfy you?”
From the look on Gamer’s face, it didn’t. “I don’t like that ‘strongly inclined,'” he objected. “You know damn well what’s on my mind. And this privileged communication dodge. Why couldn’t it be like this: after the meeting last night Dahlmann’s associates talked it over, and they decided it was dangerous for him to have that paper in his wallet, and one of them went to his place to get it or destroy it. When he got there the door wasn’t locked, and he went in and found Dahlmann on the floor, dead. He took the wallet from his pocket and beat it. Don’t ask me why he didn’t notify the police, ask him; he could have thought he would be suspected. Anyhow he didn’t, but of course he had to tell his associates, and they all got hold of their lawyer and told him, and after talking it over they decided to hire you.”
To do what?”
“To figure out a way of handling it so the contest wouldn’t blow them all sky high. Of course the contestants would learn not only that Dahlmann had been killed but also that the wallet was missing, and they would suspect each other of getting the answers, and it would be a hell of a mess. But I’m not going to try to juggle that around, that’s their lookout, and yours. My lookout is that if it happened that way the contestants are not my meat at all because he wasn’t killed to get the wallet. And can you give me a reason why it couldn’t have happened that way?'”
“No, sir.”
“And the lawyer fixing it so that what he told you was privileged-wouldn’t that fit in?”
“Yes,” Wolfe conceded. “But it is a fact, not an opinion, that if it did happen that way I am not privy to it. I have been told that none of Mr. Dahlmann’s associates went to his apartment last night, and have had no reason to suspect that they were gulling me. If they were they’re a pack of fools.”
“You state that as a fact.”
“I do.”
“Well,” Cramer allowed, “it’s not your kind of a lie.” He was suddenly flustered, realizing that wasn’t the way to keep it clean. He blurted, “You know what I mean.” He stuck the cigar between his teeth and chewed on it. If he couldn’t chew Wolfe the cigar would have to do. I’ve never seen him light one.
“Yes,” Wolfe said indulgently, “I know what you mean.”
Cramer took the cigar from his mouth. “You asked me a while ago if I assumed that whoever killed him took the wallet, and I said yes, but I should have said maybe. This other angle has got a bite. If I got some grounds to believe that one or more of Dahlmann’s associates went to his place last night that would make it a different story entirely, because that would account for the missing wallet, and I could stop concentrating on the contestants. I tell you frankly I have no such grounds. None of them- Buff, O’Garro, Assa, Heery, Hansen the lawyer—no one of that bunch can prove he didn’t go down to Perry Street some time last night, but I haven’t got anything to back up a claim that one of them did. You understand I’m not itching to slap a murder charge on him; as I said, he could have found Dahlmann dead and took the wallet. In that case he would be the one you’re interested in, and I’d have an open field to find the murderer.”
“Satisfactory all around,” Wolfe said drily.
“Yeah. You say if one of them went there last night you know nothing about it, and I believe you, but what if they held that out on you? Wouldn’t they? Naturally?”
“Not if they expected me to earn my fee.” Wolfe looked up at the clock. “It’s midnight. Mr. Cramer. I can only say that I reject your theory utterly. Not only for certain reasons of my own—as you say, I’m on the inside track on the contest—but also from other considerations. If one of those men went there last night and found Dahlmann dead, why was he ass enough to take the wallet, when he knew it would be missed, and that that would make a botch of the contest? He had to have the paper, of course, since if it were left on the corpse it would be seen by policemen, and possibly by reporters too, but why didn’t he just take the paper and leave the wallet?”