Rex Stout – Nero Wolfe – Three Doors To Death

Mr. Cramer would tell you if you asked him, evidence in a case of murder

has no respect for confidences.”

He unfolded the paper. “This,” he said, “is a holograph. It is written on two sheets of plain bond paper, and is dated at the top Yellowstone Park, May sixteenth, Nineteen forty-six. It starts, ‘My dearest Cynthia,’ and goes on:

“I’ll send this to Henry, sealed, and tell him not to open it and to give it to you on your twenty-first birthday. That will be June eleventh next year. How I would love to be with you that day! Well, perhaps I will. If I’m not, I think by that time you will know your way around enough to decide for yourself how to look at this. You ought to know about it, but I don’t want you to right now.”

Wolfe looked up. “This is not paragraphed. Evidently Mr. Nieder didn’t believe in paragraphs.” He returned to the paper:

‘Tou are going to get the news that I have killed myself and a farewell note from me. I know that will affect you, because we are fond of each other in spite of all our differences, but it won’t break your heart. I’m not going to kill myself. I hope and expect to be with you again and with the work I love. I’m writing this to explain what I’m doing. I think you know that I loved Helen. You didn’t like her, and that’s one thing I have against you, because she gave me the only warm happiness I have ever known outside of my work. She understood what I—but I don’t want to make this too long, I only want you to know what happened. Jean found out about us and killed her- Just how he did it I don’t know, but out alone with her on the horses it would have been easy tor a man like him, with his will power and cleverness. He intended to kill me too, and he still intends to, and as you know, Jean always does everything he intends to do. That’s why I wouldn’t leave the apartment those three days and nights, and that’s why I came away. I don’t suppose I am very brave, at least not physically brave, and of course you know that Jean has always overwhelmed me. I was in complete terror of him after he killed Helen, and I still am. He will not forget and he will never leave anything undone. I’m surprised that he hasn’t followed me out here, and perhaps he has, but he loves his part of that business nearly as much as I love mine, and the fall line is being assembled, and I think he’ll wait until I get back. I tore myself away only to save my life. Only I’m not coming back, not now. When he gets the news he’ll think I’m dead. I can’t stay away forever, I know that. I’ll see what happens. He might die himself. People do die. But I’m trying to study what I know of his character. I know him pretty well. I think it is possible that if he thinks of me as dead for a long time, perhaps two or three years or even only one year, and then I suddenly return to join him in that business again and do for it what no one else can do, his mind may work in such a way that he will not feel he has to carry out his intention of killing me. That’s one of the possibilities. Anyhow I’ll see what happens. I know I can’t stay away forever. It may be that somehow I’ll be back with you and my work before your twenty-first birthday comes, and if so I’ll get this from Henry and you will never see it. But I’ll send it to him because if I never do get back I want you to know the truth of this. I’m going to tell you in my farewell note that I am depending on you to keep that business at the top because you have a fine talent, a very fine talent that I’m proud of, and that will be the only part of my farewell note that will not be a fake. I mean every word of that. I am very fond of you and proud of you. Your Uncle Paul.”

Wolfe folded the sheets and returned them to his pocket, and looked up. “It is a capital U in Uncle,” he announced. Polly Zarella and Cynthia both had tears in their eyes. Polly jumped to her feet, brushing the tears away without bothering about a handkerchief, and faced Jean Daumery with her eyes blazing. “I quit!” she shrieked. “I give you two weeks’ notice before people! You said I’ll have to put up with you but I won’t! There will be a new business, Zarella and Nieder, and Cynthia and I will show you! You and Ward Roper to compete with us? Phut!”

Her spitting at him seemed to be unintentional, merely coming out with the phut.

“Confound it, madam, sit down,” Wolfe grumbled.

Polly darted to Cynthia and was apparently going to begin arrangements for the new partnership then and there, but the sound of Jean Daumery’s voice sidetracked her.

“I see,” Jean said calmly. He had tightened up. “You got me down here to accuse me of murdering my wife, with that hysterical letter from Paul Nieder to back it up. This is absolutely fantastic!”

Wolfe nodded. “It would be,” he agreed, “so that’s not what I’m doing. I don’t waste time on fantasy. I read that letter only for background. To get down to our real business: when and where did you last see Mr. Nieder?^

Jean shook his head. “From fantasy to fact? Our business? When and where I did this or that is certainly my business, but not yours. You were going to tell me facts.”

“You won’t answer that?”

“Certainly not, why should I? I don’t owe you any answers to anything.” “You’re entirely correct,” Wolfe conceded, “but not very intelligent. I suppose you know that those two gentlemen on the couch are Police Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins. Their presence does not mean that I asked that question with the voice of authority, but surely it makes it obvious that if you don’t answer me you will be given an opportunity to answer them. Suit yourself. I’ll try again. When and where did you last see Mr. Paul Nieder?”

Once more Jean proved himself capable of a swift and sensible decision. “I don’t know the exact date,” he said, “but it was early in May last year, at our place of business, just before he left for a vacation.”

“Aha,” Wolfe murmured in a pleased tone, “that’s more like it. Now, Mr. Daumery, here are a few of the facts I promised. Mr. Nieder did not lull himself a year ago May; you heard that letter I read. He was seen, alive, here in New York, last week, by his niece, disguised with a beard, slick hair parted on the left side, and glasses. He was seen again this morning, by many people, only this dme he was dead. The manner of his death—”

“So that’s what you had!” Inspector Cramer was no longer on the couch but right among us—or at least among Wolfe, at his desk, barking at him. “By God, this dme you’ve asked for it!”

“Pfui,” Wolfe said peevishly. “I’ve got Mr. Daumery here for you, haven’t I? Do you want to take it over now? Are you ready to? Or shall I give him some more facts?”

Cramer’s eyes left Wolfe tor a look around. When they hit Cynthia they must have had a message for her, for she left her seat and walked to one over near Demarest. Cramer went and sat in the red leather chair, which put him in the center of things with a full-face view of Jean Daumery. Purley Stebbins had moved too, quiedy pulling up a chair to Jean’s rear about arm’s length otf.

“Let’s hear your facts,” Cramer growled.

Wolfe’s gaze was back at Jean. “I was about to say,” he resumed, “that the manner of that man’s death—no one but his niece knew it was Mr. Nieder—made it necessary to call in the police. They did what they were supposed to do, and naturally they concentrated on the most important point: who was he? As you see, Mr. Daumery, Mr. Cramer resents not being told by the only people who knew—Miss Nieder, Mr. Goodwin, and me—but that’s really foolish of him. For if he had known who the dead man was he would probably, and reasonably, have focused on the most likely culprit. Miss Nieder, who was known to have been on the spot and who had the excellent modve of wandng to keep her inheritance of a half-share in the business. As it stood, it was vital for the police to idendfy the corpse. I don’t know, Mr. Daumery, whether you are aware of the stupendous resources of the New York police in attacking a problem like that. You may be sure that they employed all of them in trying to trace that man with a beard and slick hair parted on the left side and glasses. That’s one of the facts I ask you to consider. Is it likely that they failed entirely? Is it likely that they found no one, anywhere, who had seen such a man? I am anxious to be quite fair with you. Is it not likely, for instance, that if the bearded man had been seen recendy, on die street or in some other public place, talking with anodier man—say a man whose descripdon tallies well with yours—that the police have learned of it and can produce a witness or witnesses to idendfy die second man?”

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