He said, “So she’s your client, is she?”
“I told you so.”
“You said tentatively. You said you’d decide when you had met her.”
“I have met her.”
“All right, you’ve met her. Is she your client?”
“She is.”
Cramer hesitated, then turned slowly and looked down at Neya. His gaze had concentration, but no acute hostility; and I suppressed a grin. I knew what was eating him. He was well aware that the time had yet to come when he would successfully pin a murder charge on any man, woman or child whom Nero Wolfe had accepted as a client, and he was strongly tempted to call it a day then and there as far as Neya Tormic was concerned and throw in another line. He even, half unconsciously, favored Carla Lovchen with a sidewise suspicious glance, but he returned to Neya and, after a moment, wheeled again to Wolfe.
“Faber gives her an alibi. Okay. But you don’t need to be told that an alibi works both ways. What if Faber thought she needed one and so he provided it? And she thought she needed it to, and accepted it and confirmed it? Without maybe realizing that while Faber was giving her an alibi, what he was really doing was arranging one for himself?”
Wolfe nodded. “An old trick, but still a good one. That’s quite possible, of course. Will you have some beer?”
“No.”
“You, Miss Tormic, Miss Lovchen?”
He got their declinations, pressed the button and went on. “This thing’s messy, Mr. Cramer. It looks as if I’m going to have to find out who killed Mr. Ludlow, unless you do it first yourself. You certainly aren’t going to get anywhere badgering my client. Look at her. I’ll have a little talk with her after you leave, and one thing I shall tell her is to hang onto the Faber alibi, for the present, even if it was fabricated by him. True, it protects Faber, but it also protects her. If and when you can point a suspicion at Faber, especially a motive, let me know and we’ll discuss the alibi business.”
“You suspect her of lying yourself!”
“Not specifically. Anyone would tell a lie, at least by acquiescence, rather than stand trial for murder. By the way, about this Mr. Faber. You are entirely wrong in your suspicion that he wasn’t a stranger to me. I never saw him or heard of him in my life before today. Is he by any chance another confidential government agent?”
Cramer eyed him. “How did you know that if he was such a stranger to you?”
“I didn’t. Mere conjecture. If I had known it I wouldn’t have asked. Not British, is he?”
“No.”
“Of course not. He might as well display an emblem on an arm band. Archie and I don’t like him. It’s a pity my client’s alibi depends on him; I would prefer to establish her innocence without that. Do you suppose the attack on Ludlow was the eagle clawing the lion?”
“I don’t suppose. It was a human being murdering a man.”
“Yes, it was that, all right.” Wolfe glanced up at the clock. “It’s well past midnight, and I want to have a little talk with Miss Tormic. Is there anything else you want to ask her?”
“She’s an alien. I ought to have her under bond.”
“She won’t skip, at least not tonight, and we can arrange for the bond tomorrow if you insist on it.”
Cramer grunted. “She’s important. She had the murder weapon in her possession. I’d like to have her come to my office tomorrow morning at nine o’clock and see Lieutenant Rowcliff.”
Wolfe frowned. “Mr. Rowcliff is the officer who came here once with a warrant and searched my house.”
“Yeah. You don’t forget that, do you?”
“No. Neither do you – Come in … Yes, Fritz?” On account of the barricade of chairs, Fritz had to talk over the top of Neya Tormic’s head. He was stiffly formal, as was his invariable custom when there were ladies present, not from any sense of propriety but from fear. Whenever any female, no matter what her age or appearance, got inside the house, he was apprehensive and ill at ease until she got out again.
“A gentleman to see you, sir. Mr. Stahl. He was here this afternoon.”
Wolfe said to show him in.
Chapter 8
The G-man was wearing the same suit and the same manners, and the only visible change was that he had had his shoes shined. Cramer took one look at him, let out a grunt, and propped himself against the edge of my desk.
The G-man apologized in his educated voice. “I didn’t know you were engaged, Mr. Wolfe … I don’t want to interrupt –”
“I’ll be engaged for some time. Do you need to see me alone?”
That seemed to stump him. He frowned and took a quick survey of the crowd. “Perhaps not,” he decided. “It’s only … about that statute requiring the registration of agents of foreign principals.”
“What about it?”
“Well – it is necessary to make sure that you understand the requirements.”
“I think I do understand them.”
“Perhaps. Section 5 of the Act says, ‘Any person who willfully fails to file any statement required to be filed under this act, or, in complying with the provisions of this act, makes a false statement of a material fact, or willfully omits to state any material fact required to be stated therein, shall, on conviction thereof, be punished by a fine of not more than $1000 or imprisonment for not more than two years, or both.'”
“Yes, I understand that.”
“Perhaps. Another section of the Act defines an agent of a foreign principal to mean any individual, partnership, association or corporation who acts or engages as agent or representative for a foreign principal, and a foreign principal is defined to mean the government of a foreign country, a person domiciled abroad, or any foreign business, partnership, association, corporation, or political organization.”
“Say it again.”
He repeated it.
Wolfe shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think I need to register under the act. I am agent for a young woman named Neya Tormic. She is foreign. But she is not a business, partnership, association, corporation, or political organization, nor is she at present domiciled abroad.”
“Where is she?”
“Right there.”
The G-man looked at Neya; in fact, he studied her. Then he switched to Wolfe and studied him. Finally he slowly shook his head. “I don’t know either,” he declared. “It’s a situation I haven’t met. I’ll have to get an opinion from the attorney general. I’ll let you know.”
He bowed with perfect aplomb, turned, and departed.
I tittered.
Cramer threw up both hands, pawed the air, and headed for the door. Halfway across he turned to announce, “I heard every word of that and I don’t believe it. If I had it on a phonograph record and played it all day I still wouldn’t believe it. And in spite of that, I believe in law enforcement. Come on, Stebbins. Bring that glove and that thing. Miss Tormic, there’ll be a man at your apartment at 8:30 in the morning to bring you to my office. You’ll be there?”
She said she would, and went out with the sergeant at his heels.
Wolfe poured beer and drank. I covered a yawn.
Neya Tormic asked, with her forehead wrinkled, “Was it silly of me to admit it like that? I thought – it seemed to be the only thing I could do.”
Wolfe wiped his lips, leaned back, and looked at her. “Anyhow, it was one thing to do, and you did it. Was it the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Is Faber’s story, which you have confirmed, and which gives you both an alibi, also true?”
“Yes.”
“You realize, I suppose, that without that alibi you would probably now be under arrest, charged with murder.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that Ludlow was an agent of the British government?”
“Yes.”
“And that Faber is an agent of the German government?”
“Yes.”
“Are you a government agent, or is Miss Lovchen?”
“No.”
“Do you know who killed Ludlow?”
“No.”
“Have you any idea?”
“No.”
His eyes darted aside. “Did you kill Ludlow, Miss Lovchen?”
“No, sir.”
“Have you any idea who did?”
“No, sir.”
Wolfe sighed. “Now. Take those orders. Mr. and Mrs. Miltan, Driscoll, Gill, Barrett, Miss Reade, Madame Zorka. Do you know whether they were involved with Ludlow, either politically or personally?”
Neya’s eyes shifted to Carla and then returned to Wolfe. She opened her mouth, closed it, and then spoke. “I don’t know how much involved. They all knew each other. We haven’t been there very long ourselves.”
“Did you first meet Ludlow and Faber at Miltan’s?”
“Yes.”
“How did you learn they were government agents?”
“Why … they told me.”
“Indeed. Just told you to make conversation?”
“They … well, they told me.” She smiled at him. “Under certain conditions – I mean, a man is apt to tell a girl things if the conditions are such that he feels like it.”