Death of A Doxy by Rex Stout

Julie: Yes.

Cramer: You had arranged with Nero Wolfe for that protection?

Julie: Yes.

Cramer: When?

Julie: Oh … I guess it was Saturday.

Cramer: Why? Why did you need protection?

Julie: I might as well tell you the truth.

Cramer: Yes, that’s always the best way.

Julie: Between you and me, I didn’t need protection. But one evening, I think it was Tuesday, I had come here because Nero Wolfe wanted to see me, and I met Archie Goodwin. And the next afternoon, Wednesday, I came again, and Archie took me up to show me the orchids, and we had a long talk. Are you sure this is confidential?

Cramer: Yes.

Julie: For God’s sake don’t tell him, but I simply flapped. What a man! I had to have him. So I – well, I made arrangements. He may not want you to know this, but he was there all day Saturday, in my hotel, from ten o’clock on. You may not approve, I suppose you’re a married man, but when I want something I usually get it.

Wolfe was looking at me, and I was shaking my head. I had not suggested that. I was sorry I wasn’t there to see Cramer glaring at her.

Cramer: Do you mean to … are you saying that … you said you made arrangements. What arrangements?

Julie: I told Archie a man was annoying me and I was afraid and I wanted protection day and night. You can understand why I wanted it day and night.

Cramer: What’s the name of the man who was annoying you?

Julie: Aren’t you an inspector?

Cramer: Yes.

Julie: Then you ought to listen better. Nobody was annoying me. I didn’t need protection. I needed Archie.

Cramer: If you didn’t need protection, why did someone shoot at you, try to kill you?

Julie: I’ve been thinking about that. Just because he hit Fred, there by me, that doesn’t prove he was shooting at me. Maybe he was shooting at Fred. Or maybe he was just shooting at anybody. Like that boy in Brooklyn who shot some woman going by in a car. They get a kick –

Cramer: Save it. I don’t believe a word of it. Do you know what the penalty is for giving false information to an officer investigating a crime?

Julie: No. What is it?

Cramer: You can get five years.

Julie: What crime are you investigating? Archie said you were investigating the murder of my friend Isabel Kerr, but you don’t sound like it. You only ask about me being protected and somebody shooting a gun. I must be thick.

Cramer: No, Miss Jaquette, you’re not thick. You’re a damn good liar. Extra good. I hope you know what you’re doing. Do you know that Wolfe and Goodwin are two of the slickest operators in New York?

Julie: I don’t know much about Nero Wolfe. I know a lot about Archie.

Cramer: Well, they are. How much are they paying you?

Julie: Paying me? Well. First I’m a liar, and now what am I?

Cramer: That’s what I’d like to know. Do you still think Orrie Cather killed your friend Isabel Kerr?

Julie: I never said that.

Cramer: You didn’t have to. It was obvious from what you did say and put in your statement. Do you remember what you said?

Julie: Certainly I do. I can say the alphabet backward.

Cramer: Do you want to retract any of it?

Julie: No. It was all true.

Cramer: Then you still think he killed her?

Julie: You ought to listen better. I told you I didn’t say that.

Cramer: You implied it strong enough. Don’t forget we have your signed statement. Don’t forget that.

Five seconds of silence except for a faint sound that could have been Cramer leaving his chair.

Cramer: I warn you again, Miss Jaquette, giving false information to an officer investigating a capital crime is a felony. Do you want to reconsider it?

Julie: No, thanks. You can leave the door open.

Another faint sound, the door opening. I slid off the stool, went to the cupboard and turned the switch, crossed to the door to the hall, and swung it open. Heavy footsteps were coming down the stairs. Cramer appeared, turned left, and passed the office door without looking in. He must have seen me as he was putting his coat on, but he didn’t wave good-by. When he was out and the door shut, I turned and said, “That was ad lib, nothing like it in the script. I enjoyed every minute of it. You’d better start the eggs, Fritz, she must be hungry.” I headed for the stairs and mounted the two flights.

The door was wide open. She was squatting on the floor, looking at the underside of the table. At the sound of my footsteps she turned her head, scrambled up, and said, “I’m looking for the bug.”

“You won’t find it there. It’s not that simple. It came through fine.”

“You heard it?”

“Sure. Why he called you a liar is beyond me. If ever I heard the ring of truth. How soon do you want breakfast?”

“Now. Right now.”

“It’s nearly ready. Get in bed and I’ll bring it.”

Chapter 14

I don’t mention everything, for instance phone calls that have nothing to do with progress or the lack of it. There had been two phone calls from Jill Hardy, one from Dr. Gamm, two from Lon Cohen, and three from Nathaniel Parker. But I mention the one from Parker that Sunday afternoon because what he wanted to do might have helped or hurt. He had decided he should make a habeas corpus play Monday morning to get Orrie bailed out, and it took Wolfe ten minutes to talk him out of it. It wasn’t easy. Wolfe couldn’t very well tell him that we were no longer worried about Orrie, that we now had another fish to fry.

Or maybe we did. When I went to bed Sunday night, after winning $1.25 from Julie at gin, there had been no discussion and no instructions, nothing. The Ten Little Indians was closed Sundays. Julie had had an afternoon nap, and I had had a long walk. Wolfe had had the Times and a book, and probably, while I was out, his weekly battle with television. That may occur almost any evening, when he has got disgusted with a book, but usually it’s a Sunday afternoon, because that’s when TV is supposed to be dressed for company. He turns on one channel after another, getting grimmer and grimmer, until he is completely assured that it’s getting worse instead of better, and quits.

The only time he and Julie were together was at the dinner table, and it was different from any meal at that table I could remember. Ordinarily Wolfe is perfectly willing to do most of the talking, with or without company, but that time, from the Neptune bouchees right through to the chestnut whip, he not only let the guest, a female guest, take over, he egged her on. He asked her questions, dozens of questions, about her work and her background and the people she knew. By the time coffee came, I had settled on the only possible explanation: he had decided that I didn’t understand women as well as he had thought I did, and it was up to him to fill the gap. I could have told him that that kind of approach wouldn’t help much, but apparently I was no longer regarded as an expert.

So I got a surprise when I entered the kitchen Monday morning and Fritz told me I was wanted, and I went up one flight and knocked and entered, and Wolfe said, “Good morning. Can that woman be trusted in a matter that requires adroit execution and full discretion?”

“You ought to know,” I said, “after the quiz you put her through.”

“I don’t. Do you?”

“Yes. Adroit, yes. You heard her with Cramer. It would depend on how well she liked it, whatever it was. The discretion would also depend. She would never spill anything she didn’t want to spill. She wouldn’t talk just to hear herself.”

“How much verity was there in what she told Mr. Cramer?”

“None at all. She couldn’t think I’m what a man because she couldn’t think any man is.”

“Then we’ll risk it. Ask Mr. Ballou to come at eleven o’clock. Tell him I’ll need only ten minutes. Miss Jaquette must not see him. Can you make sure she doesn’t?”

I said I could, and went up one flight to see if there was any sign of life there. It was only a quarter to nine, but she had gone to bed early – for her – and she might have opened the door to enjoy it. She hadn’t. I had told her to buzz either the kitchen or the office on the house phone when she wanted breakfast, and to allow half an hour. I went down to the office and did the chores.

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