Rex Stout – Nero Wolfe – Three Doors To Death

I had to hand it to him- He not only wasn’t taking too big a risk, he was taking none at all, since they weren’t on speaking terms.

“How did you find out it was her?” Mrs. Whitten demanded. Her voice was harsh and high-pitched.

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“Oh, that was simple. I’ll tell you presently. But first we should understand one another. I appreciate your reason for not wanting it bruiied, and sympathize with it, but here in private there should be candor. You positively recognized her?”

“Certainly I did.”

“Beyond possibility of doubt?”

“Certainly. I saw her face when I got turned and that was when she tore loose and ran. And she spoke to me.”

“What did she say?”

“I’m not sure of the words, but it was something like ‘I’ll kill you too/ That’s what I thought it was, but later I thought it must be wrong because I thought Pompa had killed my husband and I didn’t realize she could have done it. But now that my daughter remembers about the open door, and I remember it too, I see that must have been it—what she said.”

“That’s a lie!” Julie blurted, not at Mrs. Whitten, since she wasn’t speaking to her, but at Wolfe. She was fully as pale as Mrs. Whitten had been the evening before, but not like a corpse, anything but. She was blurting on. “I didn’t say that! I said Tou killed him and I’ll kill you!’ And I wish I had-oh, I wish I had!”

“You came close to it,” Wolfe growled. He let his eyes come halfway open, now that he had them. “I should explain to both of you that I’ve merely been trying to get started. Please forget each other, as far as possible, and listen to me. If we’re going to work this out together you need to know how I got where I am now.”

The doorbell rang. Under the circumstances it was up to Fritz, but on the other hand we didn’t want any trivial interruptions just then, so I scooted for the hall, closing the office door as I went. One glance through the glass panel showed that my point was well taken. Inspector Cramer was there. He was alone, so I didn’t bother with the chain bolt but put my foot where it would keep the door to a six-inch crack. I spoke through the crack to his big broad shoulders and his round, red, but by no means flabby face.

“Good morning. What have I done now?”

“We sent a man,” he snapped, “to see Mrs. Whitten about something, and he was told she’s here. What’s Wolfe up to? I want to see her.”

“I never know what he’s up to, but I’ll go ask him. He’ll want to know how it stands. Is there a warrant for her?”

“Hell no. A warrant for what?”

“I merely asked. Kindly withdraw your toe.”

I banged the door shut, went to the office, and told Wolfe, “The man about the chair. The one with a gash in it. He learned more or less accidentally that it’s here, and that made him curious, and he wants to talk.

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He has no signed paper and no idea of getting one. Shall I tell him you’re

busy?”

I was sure he would say yes, but he didn’t. Instead, he decoded it. “Is it

Mr. Cramer?” Tes, sir.” He knew darned well it was, since I had started years ago

calling Cramer that. “He wants to speak with Mrs. Whitten?”

“One of his men did, probably about some trifle, and found out she was here. What he really wants is to see if you’re getting up a charade.”

“He’s barely in time. If he engages to let me proceed without interruption until I’ve finished, admit him.”

“I don’t like it. He’s got Pompa.”

“He won’t have him long. We’re waiting for you. I want a record of this.”

I didn’t like it at all, but when Wolfe has broken into a gallop what I like has about the weight of an undersized feather from a chicken’s neck.

I returned to the front and opened to a crack again and told the inspector, “Mrs. Whitten is in the office with him, chatting. So is Miss Julie Alving, toy buyer at Meadow’s, who was formerly on good terms with the late Whitten. You may have heard of her.”

“Yeah, I have. What the hell is he trying to pull?”

“You name it. I’m just the stenographer. You have a choice. Being an inspector, you can go somewhere for lunch and then take in a ball game, or you can give me your sacred word of honor that you’ll absolutely keep your mouth shut until and unless Wolfe hands you the torch. If you choose the latter you’re welcome, and you can have a chair to sit on. After all, you have no ticket even for standing room, since neither of those females is under a charge.”

“I’m a police officer. I’m not going to tie myself—”

“Don’t haggle. You know damn well where you stand. I’m needed in there to take notes. Well?”

“I’m coming in.”

“Under the terms as I stated?”

Tes.”

“Stricdy clam?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Otherwise you’d better bring a bulldozer if you ever want in

again.” I swung the door open.

Wolfe greeted him curtly and left it to me to introduce him to the ladies. It wasn’t surprising that he hadn’t met Mrs. Whitten, since his men had settled on Pompa as a cinch after a few hours’ investigation and therefore there had been no occasion for their superior officer to annoy the widow. He acknowledged the introductions with stingy nods, gave Wolfe a swift

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keen glance that would have liked to go on through his hide to the interior, and indicated that he intended to keep his vow by taking a chair well out of it, to the rear and right of Mrs. Whitten.

Wolfe spoke to him. “Let’s put it this way, Mr. Cramcr. You’re here merely as a caller waiting to see me.”

“That will do,” Cramer growled.

“Good. Then I’ll proceed. I was just starting to explain to these ladies the manner and extent of my progress in an investigation I’m on.”

“Go ahead.”

From there on Wolfe ignored Cramer completely. He looked at Julie and Mrs. Whitten. “What persuaded me,” he said conversationally, “of Mr. Pompa’s innocence, and who engaged me to prove it, are details of no importance. Neither is it important why, when Mr. Goodwin wanted to contrive an entree to Mrs. Whitten, he hit on the stratagem of saying he wished to speak with her on behalf of Miss Alving.”

Julie made a sound.

“Oh, it was a lie,” he told her. “We use a great many of them in this business, sometimes calculated with great care, sometimes quite at random. This one was extremely effective. It got Mr. Goodwin admitted to Mrs. Whitten at once, though she was in bed with a gash in her side, having Just narrowly escaped from an attempt on her life.”

Cramer let out a growl, no doubt involuntary, and stood up. Wolfe ignored him and went on to his female audience.

“That, of course, is news to Mr. Cramer, and there will be more for him, but since he’s merely waiting to see me I’ll finish with you ladies. The success—”

“You not only lie,” Mrs. Whitten said harshly, “you break your promise. You promised that if we answered your questions you wouldn’t report the attack on me to the police.”

“No,” Wolfe said curdy. “I do not break promises. It was implied, not explicit, and it was without term, and assuredly not for eternity. Certainly I could not be expected to keep that information to myself if and when it became necessary evidence for the disclosure of a murderer. It has now become necessary.”

“It has?” She wasn’t so harsh.

“Yes.”

“Then—go on.”

He did. “The success of Mr. Goodwin’s device for getting to Mrs. Whitten was highly suggestive. True, her husband had been intimate with Miss Alving at one time, but he had discarded her before his marriage. Then why should the name of Miss Alving get quick entry to Mrs. Whitten at such a moment? There had to be a good reason, but I could only guess. Among

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my guesses was the possibility that the assault on Mrs. Whitten had been made by Miss Alving, but that’s all it was at the time, one of a string of guesses. However, when Mr. Goodwin reported that detail to me we already had a good deal more. He had, in a keen and rapid stroke, discovered why Mrs. Whitten had been put to bed by a doctor, and, on account of her determination not to let it be known, had provided us with a powerful instrument to use on her. It was indeed powerful. It got her out of bed after midnight and brought her down here to see me, accompanied by her family.”

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