That is why I told the police, they will find it was suicide.” “The man was crazy!” This was a croak from Dudley Frost. “I’ve told you what he did yesterday! He instructed his lawyer to demand an accounting on Edwin’s estate! On what grounds? On the ground that he is Helen’s godfather? Absolutely fantastic and illegal] I always thought he was crazy—” That started a general rumpus. Mrs. Frost expostulated with some spirit, Llewellyn with respectful irritation, and Helen with a nervous outburst. Perren Gebert looked around at them, nodded at me as if he and I shared an entertaining secret, and got out a cigarette. I didn’t try to put it all down, but just surveyed the scene and listened. Dudley Frost was surrendering no ground: “…crazy as a loonl Why shouldn’t he commit suicide? Helen, my dear, I adore you, you know damned well I do, but I refuse to assume respect for your liking for that nincompoop merely because he is no longer alive! He had no use for me and I had none for himl So what’s the use pretending about it? As far as your dragging this man in here is concerned—” “Dad! Now, Dad! Cut it out—” Perren Gebert said to no one, “And half a bottle gone.” Mrs. Frost, sitting with her lips tight and patient, glanced at him. I leaned forward to get closer to Dudley Frost and practically yelled at him: “What is it? Where does it hurt?” He jerked back and glared at me. “Where does what hurt?” I grinned. “Nothing. I just wanted to see if you could hear. I gather you would just as soon I’d go. The best way to manage that, for all of you, is to let me ask a few foolish questions, and you answer them briefly and maybe honestly.” “We’ve already answered them. All the foolish questions there are. We’ve been doing that all day. All because that nincompoop McNair—” “Okay. I’ve already got it down that he was a nincompoop. You’ve made remarks about suicide. What reason did McNair have for killing himself?” “How the devil do I know?” “Then you can’t think one up offhand?” “I don’t have to think one up. The man was crazy. I’ve always said so. I said so over twenty years ago, in Paris, when he used to paint rows of eggs strung on wires and call it The Cosmos.” Helen started to burst, “Uncle Boyd was never—” She was seated at my right, and I reached and tapped her sleeve with the tips of my fingers and told her, “Swallow it. You can’t crack every nut in the bag.” I turned to Perren Gebert: “You mentioned suicide first. What reason did McNair have for killing himself?” Gebert shrugged. “A specific reason? I don’t know. He was very bad in his nerves.” “Yeah. He had a headache. How about you, Mrs. Frost? Have you got a reason?” She looked at me. You couldn’t take that woman’s eyes casually; you had to make an effort. She said, “You make your question a little provocative. Don’t you? If you mean, do I know a concrete motive for Boyden to commit suicide, I don’t.” “Do you think he did?” She frowned. “I don’t know what to think. If I think of suicide, it is only because I knew him quite intimately, and it is even more difficult to believe that there was anyone who…that someone killed him.” I started to sigh, then realized that I was imitating Nero Wolfe, and choked it off. I looked around at them. “Of course, you all know that McNair died in Nero Wolfe’s office. You know that Wolfe and I were there, and naturally we know what he had been telling us about and how he was feeling. I don’t know how careful the police are with their conclusions, but Mr. Wolfe is very snooty about his.
He has already made one or two about this case, and the first one is that McNair didn’t kill himself. Suicide is out. So if you have any idea that that theory will be found acceptable, either now or eventually, obliterate it. Guess again.”
Perren Gebert extended a long arm to crush his cigarette in a tray. “For my part,” he said, “I don’t feel compelled to guess. I made one to be charitable.
Suppose you tell us why it wasn’t suicide.” Mrs. Frost said quietly, “I asked you to sit down in my house, Mr. Goodwin, because my daughter brought you. But I wonder if you know when you are being offensive? We…I have no theory to advance…” Dudley Frost started to croak: “Take no notice of him, Calida. Disregard him. I refuse to speak to him.” He reached for the whiskey bottle.
I said, “If you ask me, I could be even more offensive and still hope to make the grade to heaven.” I got Mrs. Frost’s eyes again. “For instance, I might remark on your phony la-de-da about asking me to sit down in your house. It isn’t your house, it’s your daughter’s, unless she gave it to you—” There was a gasp at my right from the client, and Mrs. Frost’s mouth opened, but I went on ahead of the rush: “Just to show you how offensive I can be if I work at it. What kind of ninnies do you think we are? Even the cops aren’t as thick as you seem to believe. It’s time you folks pinched yourselves and woke up. Boyden McNair gets bumped off, and Helen Frost here happens to have enough regard for him to want to know who did it, and enough gumption to get the right man for the job, and enough jack to pay him. She’s your daughter and niece and cousin and almost fiancee. She brings me here. I already know enough to be aware that you’ve got vital information which you don’t intend to cough up, and you know I know it. And look at the kindergarten stuff you hand me! McNair had a headache, so he went to Nero Wolfe’s office to poison himself 1 You might at least have the politeness to tell me straight that you refuse to discuss the matter because you don’t intend to get involved if you can help it, then we can proceed with the involving.” I pointed my pencil at Perren Gebert’s long thin nose. “For instance, you! Did you know that Dudley Frost might tell us where the red box is?” I concentrated on Gebert, but Mrs. Frost was off line only a little to the left of him, so I was having a glimpse of her too. Gebert fell for it absolutely. His head jerked around to look at Dudley Frost and then back at me. Mrs. Frost jerked too, first at Gebert, then back into steadiness. Dudley Frost was sputtering at me: “What’s that? What red box? That idiotic thing in McNair’s will? Damn you, are you crazy too? Do you dare—” I grinned at him. “Hold it. I just said you might. Yeah, the thing McNair left to Wolfe in his will. Have you got it?” He turned to his son and growled, “I refuse to speak to him.” “Okay. But the truth is, I’m a friend of yours. I’m tipping you off. Did you know that there’s a way for the District Attorney to force an accounting from you of your brother’s estate? And did you ever hear of a search warrant? I suppose when the cops went with one to your apartment this afternoon to look for the red box, there was a maid there to let them in. Didn’t she phone you? And of course in looking for the box they would have occasion to glance at anything that might be around. Or maybe they didn’t get there yet; they may be on the way now. And don’t go blaming your maid, she can’t help it—” Dudley Frost had scrambled to his feet. “They wouldn’t —that would be an outrage—” “Sure it would. I’m not saying they’ve done it, Fm just telling you, in a case of murder they’ll do anything—” Dudley Frost had started across the room. “Come on, Lew—by Gad, we’ll see—” “But, Dad, I don’t—” “Come on, I say! Are you my son?” He had turned at the far end of the room.
“Thank you for the refreshment, Calida, let me know if there is anything I can do. Lew, damn it, come on! Helen, my dear, you are a fool, I’ve always said so.
Lew!” Llewellyn stopped to murmur something to Helen, nodded to his aunt, ignored Gebert, and hurried after his father to assist in the defense of their castle.
There were rumblings from the entrance hall, and then the door opening and closing.
Mrs. Frost stood up and looked down at her daughter. She spoke to her quietly: “This is frightful, Helen. That this should come…and just now, just when you will soon be a woman and ready for your life as you want it. I know what Boyd was to you, and he was a great deal to me, too. Just now you’re holding things against me that time will make you forget…you’re remembering that I thought it wise to temper the affection you had for him. I thought it best; you were a girl, and girls should look to youth. Helen, my dear child…” She bent down and touched her daughter’s shoulder, touched her hair and straightened up again. “You have strong impulses, like your father, and sometimes you don’t quite manage them. I don’t agree with Perren when he sneers at you for trying to buy vengeance. Perren loves to sneer; it’s his favorite pose; he would call it being sardonic…but you know him. I think the impulse that led you to hire this detective was a generous one. Certainly I have every reason to know that you are generous.” Her voice stayed low, but it got more of a ring in it, a music of metal. “I’m your mother, and I don’t believe you really want to bring people here who tell me that I refuse to discuss…this matter…because I don’t intend to get involved. I’m sorry I was brusque with you today on the telephone, but my nerves were on edge. Policemen were here, and you were away, just making more trouble for us to no good purpose.