Wolfe raised a finger, and suddenly bent it to aim straight at Jean. “I am
fairly warning you. It is nothing against you that you told me you last saw Paul Nieder over a year ago. Nobody likes to be involved in disagreeable matters. But now be careful. If, after what I have just said, you persist in lying, you can’t blame us if we surmise—look at his face, Mr. Cramer! Do you see his face?”
Wolfe let the silence work, and the pairs of eyes all fixed on Jean’s face, with his finger sdll nailing die target, for a full five seconds, and then suddenly snapped, like the snap of a whip.
“When and where did you last see Paul Nieder, Mr. Daumery?”
It was devilish. No man could have stood up under it completely whole. What was Jean going to do about his face? What was he going to say?
He said nothing.
Wolfe leaned back and let his eyes open to more than slits. “It offers,” he said like a lecturer, “a remarkable field for speculadon. What, for instance, made you suspect that his suicide was a fake? Possibly you were as well acquainted with his character as he was widi yours, and you knew it was extremely improbable diat he could jump into a geyser with no clodies on. Indeed, there are few men who could. In any case, he was right about you; you did not forget or abandon your intention. It would have been dangerous to hire someone to find him, and if you undertook it yourself it might have taken years. You decided to coax him out. You went to Florida on a fishing trip with your nephew, and you arranged with him to stage a drowning for you. Anodier speculadon: how much did you tell him? Did you have to let him in~”
“No!”
It was Bernard. He was out of his chair, but not to confront his uncle or to bear down on Wolfe. He had turned to where Cynthia’s new position had put her in his rear, and his explosion was for her.
“Get this straight, Cynthia!” he told her. “I’m not trying any scutde or any sneak, and whatever he has done dial’s up to him with no pushes from me, but this is my part and you’ve got to have it straight!” He wheeled to his uncle. “You told me that someone had it in for you and your life was in danger. You said nothing about Paul Nieder, and of course I thought he was dead. You said diat your supposed death would force dlis person to take certain steps and that the situation would soon be changed so that you could reappear. For all I know, that’s how it really was. I don’t know.” He turned back to Cynthia. “I don’t know anything, except that I’m damned if I’m going to have you listen to insinuations that I’m mixed up in this.” “Shut up and sit down,” his uncle told him.
Bernard wheeled again. Wolfe nodded at him. “Thank you, sir, for relieving us of diat speculation. There are plenty left.” He looked at Jean. “For example, at that encounter with your disguised former partner, wher-
ever it was and however it came about, did you two arrange to meet Tuesday evening at your place o£ business to discuss matters and reach an understanding? It must have been an interesting meeting, with him thinking you dead and you supposedly thinking him dead. Did you persuade him that you hadn’t killed your wife? And why didn’t you kill him somewhere else? Was it bravado, to leave him there, with his mutilated face, on the floor of his own office, or were you afraid to postpone it even for an hour, for fear he would disclose himself to Miss Nieder or Mr. Demarest, and so increase your risk? And why on earth did you jab that thing at him more than a dozen times? Were you hysterical? Surely you didn’t think it necessary to prevent his being identified, with everyone thinking him dead long ago.”
“It was a wolf tearing a carcass into pieces,” Polly Zarella declared emphatically.
“Perhaps.” Wolfe’s shoulders went up a quarter of an inch and down again. “You can have him, Mr. Cramer. I’m through with him.”
Cramer was scowling. “I could use some more facts.”
“Bah.” Wolfe resented it. “What more do you want? You saw his face;
you are seeing it now, with all the time he’s had to arrange it. I phoned you that he would be here for you, and there he is. I’ve done my part and you can do yours. He got into that building last night and out again, and was not invisible. That’s really all you need.”
Cramer arose. Purley Stebbins was already up.
“One thing I need,” said Cramer, stepping to the desk, “is that letter Nieder wrote.” He extended a hand. “There in your breast pocket.”
Wolfe shook his head. “I’ll keep that—or rather, I’ll destroy it. It’s mine.”
“Like hell it isl”
“Certainly it is. It’s in my handwriting. I wrote it while Archie was going for him—with Mr. Demarest’s help. You won’t need it. Just take him out of here and get to work.”
XIV
FOR my own satisfaction I have got to add that that was one time Wolfe outsmarted himself. Not far from the top of the list of the things he abhors is being a witness at a trial, and ordinarily he takes good care to handle things so that he won’t get a subpoena. But only last week I had the pleasure of sitting in the courtroom and watching him—and listening to him—in the witness chair. The District Attorney wasn’t any too sure of his case, and on this one Wolfe couldn’t shake him loose. It was a good thing for Cynthia that Wolfe didn’t know that would happen at the time we sent her a bill, or she might have had to hock her half of the business to pay it. Wolfe got
sore about it all over again just yesterday morning, when the paper informed him that the jury had stayed out only two hours and forty minutes before bringing in a first-degree verdict. That proved, he claimed, that his testimony hadn’t been needed.
The owners of Daumery and Nieder tell me that not only will I be welcome at any of their shows, front row seat, but also that any number I want to pick will be sent with their compliments to any name and address I choose. I thought Cynthia understood me better than that. Women just don’t give a damn. I suppose in a month or so she’ll be lightheartedly sending me an invitation to the wedding. OMIT FLOWERS
IN MY opinion it was one of Nero Wolfe’s neatest jobs, and he never got a nickel for it.
He might or might not have taken it on merely as a favor to his old friend Marko Vukcic, who was one of the only three people who called him by his first name, but there were other factors. Rusterman’s Restaurant was the one place besides home where Wolfe really enjoyed eating, and Marko owned it and ran it, and he put the bee on Wolfe in one of the small private rooms at Rusterman’s as the cheese cart was being wheeled in to us at the end of a specially designed dinner. Furthermore, the man in trouble had at one time been a cook.
“I admit,” Marko said, reaching to give me another hunk of Cremona Gorgonzola, “that he forfeited all claim to professional respect many years ago. But in my youth I worked under him at Mondor’s in Paris, and at the age of thirty he was the best sauce man in France. He had genius, and he had a generous heart. I owe him much. I would choke on this cheese if I sat on my hands while he gets convicted of a murder he did not commit.” Marko gestured with the long thin knife. “But who am I? A Boniface. Whereas you are a great detective, and my friend. I appeal to you to save him.” Marko pointed the knife at me. “And, naturally, to Archie—also, I hope, my friend.”
I nodded with much feeling, having his food and wine all through me. “Absolutely,” I agreed, “but don’t waste any butter on me. All I do is carry things.”
“Ha,” Marko said skeptically. “I know how deep you go, my friend. As for the money that will be required, I shall of course furnish it.”
Wolfe grunted, drawing our eyes to him. His big face, which never looked big on account of the great expanse of the rest of him, was cheerful and a little flushed, as always after a good meal, but the annoyance that had brought forth the grunt showed in his eyes. They were on our host.
“Pfui.” He grunted again. “Is this right, Marko? No. If you want to hire me and pay me, I do business in my office, not at your table. If you want to draw on friendship, why mention money? Do you owe this man—what’s his name?”