I tossed my notebook on my desk and sat down and sipped at the milk. There was no use trying to explode him off of that book. But after a while he picked up the thin strip of ebony he used for a bookmark, inserted it, closed the book, laid it down, and reached out and rang for beer. Then he leaned back and admitted I was alive.
“Pleasant afternoon, Archie?” I grunted. “That was one hell of a tea. Dudley Frost was the only one who had any, and he wasn’t inclined to divvy so I sent him home. I only got one real hot piece of news, that no one but a fool jests at death. How does that strike you?”
Wolfe grimaced. “Tell me about it.” I read it to him from the notebook, filling in the gaps from memory, though I didn’t need much because I’ve condensed my symbols until I can take down the Constitution of the United States on the back of an old envelope, which might be a good place for it. Wolfe’s beer arrived, and met its fate. Except for time out for swallowing, he listened, as usual, settled back comfortably with his eyes closed.
I tossed the notebook to the back of my desk, swiveled, and pulled the bottom drawer out and got my feet up. “That’s the crop. That one’s in the bag. What shall I start on now?” Wolfe opened his eyes. “Your French is not even ludicrous. We’ll return to that.
Why did you frighten Mr. Frost away by talk of a search warrant? Is there a subtlety there too deep for me?” “No, just momentum. I asked him that question about the red box to get a line on the other two, and as I went along it occurred to me it might be fun to find out if he had anything at home he didn’t want anyone to see, and anyway what good was he? I got rid of him.” “Oh. I was about to credit you with superior finesse. It would have been that, to get him away, on the chance that there might be a remark, a glance, a gesture, not to be expected in his presence. In fact, that is exactly what happened. I congratulate you anyhow. As for Mr. Frost—everyone has something at home they don’t want anyone to see; that is one of the functions of a home, to provide a spot to keep such things. —And you say they haven’t the red box and don’t know where it is.” “I offer that opinion. The look Gebert shot at Frost when I hinted Frost had it, and the look Mrs. Frost gave Gebert, as I told you. It’s a cinch that what they think is in the box means something important to them. It’s a good guess that they haven’t got it and don’t know where it is, or they wouldn’t have been so quick on the trigger when I hinted that. As for Frost, God knows. That’s the advantage a guy has that always explodes no matter what you say, there’s no symptomatic nuances for an observer like me.” “You? Ha! I am impressed. I confess I am surprised that Mrs. Frost didn’t find a pretext as soon as you entered, to take her daughter to some other room. Is the woman immune to trepidation? Even common curiosity…” I shook my head. “If it’s common, she hasn’t got it. That dame has got a steel spine, a governor on her main artery that prevents acceleration, and a patent air-cooling system for her brain. If you wanted to prove she murdered anyone you’d have to see her do it and be sure to have a camera along.” “Dear me.” Wolfe came forward in his chair to pour beer. “Then we must find another culprit, which may be a nuisance.” He watched the foam subside. “Take your book and look at your notes on Mr. Gebert’s vaudeville. Where he quoted Norboisin; read that sentence.” “You’d like some more fun with my French?” “No, indeed; it isn’t fun. Since your shorthand is phonetic, do as well as you can with your symbols. I think I know the quotation, but I want to be sure. It has been years since I read Norboisin, and I haven’t his books.” I read the whole paragraph, beginning “My dear Calida.” I took the French on high and sailed right through it, ludicrous or not, having had three lessons in it altogether: one from Fritz in 1930, and two from a girl I met once when we were working on a forgery case.
“Want to hear it again?” “No, thanks.” Wolfe’s lips were pushing in and out. “And Mrs. Frost calls it babbling. It would have been instructive to be there, for the tone and the eyes.
Mr. Gebert was indeed sardonic, to tell you in so many words who killed Mr.
McNair. Was it a lie, to be provoking? Or the truth, to display his own alertness? Or a conjecture, for a little subtlety of his own? I think, the second. I do indeed. It runs with my surmises, but he could not know that. And granted that we know the murderer, what the devil is to be done about it?
Probably no amount of patience would suffice. If Mr. Cramer gets his hands on the red box and decides to act without me, he is apt to lose the spark entirely and leave both of us with fuel that will not ignite.” He drank his beer, put the glass down, and wiped his lips. “Archie. We need that confounded box.” “Yeah. I’ll go get it in just a minute. First, just to humor me, exactly when did Gebert tell us who killed McNair? You wouldn’t by any chance be talking just to hear yourself?” “Of course not. Isn’t it obvious? But I forget—you don’t know French. Ardemment means ardently. The quotation translates, ‘At least, I die ardently.’” “Really?” I elevated the brows. “The hell you say.” “Yes. And therefore—but I forget again. You don’t know Latin. Do you?” “Not intimately. I’m shy on Chinese too.” I aimed a Bronx cheer in a sort of general direction. “Maybe we ought to turn this case over to the Heinemann School of Languages. Did Gebert’s quotation fix us up on evidence too, or do we have to dig that out for ourselves?” I overplayed it. Wolfe compressed his lips and eyed me without favor. He leaned back. “Some day, Archie, I shall be constrained…but no. I cannot remake the universe, and must therefore put up with this one. What is, is, including you.” He sighed. “Let the Latin go. Information for your records: this afternoon I telephoned Mr. Hitchcock in London; expect it on the bill. I asked him to send a man to Scotland for a talk with Mr. McNair’s sister, and to instruct his agent, either in Barcelona or in Madrid, to examine certain records in the town of Cartagena. That means an expenditure of several hundred dollars. There has been no further report from Saul Panzer. We need that red box. It was already apparent to me who killed Mr. NcNair, and why, before Mr. Gebert permitted himself the amusement of informing you; he really didn’t help us any, and of course he didn’t intend to. But what is known is not necessarily demonstrable.
Pfui! To sit here and wait upon the result of a game of hide-and-seek, when all the difficulties have in fact been surmounted! Please type out a note of that statement of Mr. Gebert’s while it is fresh; conceivably it will be needed.” He picked up his book again, got his elbows on the arms of his chair, opened to his page, and was gone.
He read until dinnertime, but even Seven Pillars of Wisdom did not restrain his promptness in responding to Fritz’s summons to table. During the meal he kindly explained to me the chief reason for Lawrence’s amazing success in keeping the Arabian tribes together for the great revolt. It was because Lawrence’s personal attitude toward women was the same as the classic and traditional Arabian attitude. The central fact about any man, in respect to his activities as a social animal, is his attitude toward women; hence the Arabs felt that essentially Lawrence was one of them, and so accepted him. His native ability for leadership and finesse did the rest. A romantic they would not have understood, a puritan they would have rudely ignored, a sentimentalist they would have laughed at, but the contemptuous realist Lawrence, with his false humility and his fierce secret pride, they took to their bosoms. The goulash was as good as any Fritz had ever made.
It was after nine o’clock when we finished with coffee and went back to the office. Wolfe resumed with his book. I got at my desk with the plant records. I figured that after an hour or so of digestion and this peaceful family scene I would make an effort to extract a little Latin lesson out of Wolfe, and find out whether Gebert really had said anything or if perchance Wolfe was only practicing some fee-faw-fum, but an interruption came before I had even decided on a method of attack. At nine-thirty the phone rang.