Curtains For Three (14 page)

At three minutes past six Wolfe, down from the plant rooms, joined us in the office. By the time Dorothy and I had got there she had made it perfectly plain that as far as I was concerned she was all talked out, our conversation during the ride downtown having consisted of her saying at one point, “Look out for that truck,” and me replying, “I’m driving,” so during the hour’s wait I hadn’t even asked her if she wanted a drink. And when Wolfe had entered and greeted her, and got his bulk adjusted in his chair behind his desk, the first thing she said was, “I want to speak to you privately.” Wolfe shook his head. “Mr. Goodwin is my confidential assistant, and if he didn’t hear it from you he soon would from me. What is it?”

“But this is very - personal.”

“Most things said in this room by visitors are. What is it?”

“There is no one I can go to but you.” Dorothy was in one of the yellow chairs,

facing him, leaning forward to him. “I don’t know where I stand, and I’ve got to find out. A man is going to tell the police that I forged my father’s name to a check. Tomorrow morning.”

Her face was human again, with her eyes pinched.

“Did you?” Wolfe asked.

“Forge the check'Yes.”

I lifted my brows.

“Tell me about it,” Wolfe said.

It came out, and was really quite simple. Her father hadn’t given her enough money for the style to which she wanted to accustom herself. A year ago she had forged a check for three thousand dollars, and he had of course discovered it and had received her promise that she would never repeat. Recently she had forged another one, this time for five thousand dollars, and her father had been very difficult about it, but there had been no thought in his head of anything so drastic as having his daughter arrested.

Two days after his discovery of this second offense he had been killed. He had left everything to his daughter, but had made a lawyer named Donaldson executor of the estate, not knowing, according to Dorothy, that Donaldson hated her. And now Donaldson had found the forged check among Keyes’ papers, with a memorandum attached to it in Keyes’ handwriting, and had called on Dorothy that afternoon to tell her that it was his duty, both as a citizen and as a lawyer, considering the manner of Keyes’ death, to give the facts to the police. It was an extremely painful duty, he had asserted, but he would just have to grin and bear it.

I will not say that I smirked as I got these sordid facts scratched into my notebook, but I admit that I had no difficulty in keeping back the tears.

Wolfe, having got answers to all the questions that had occurred to him, leaned back and heaved a sigh. “I can understand,” he murmured, “that you felt impelled to get rid of this nettle by passing it on to someone. But even if I grasped it for you, what then'What do I do with it?”

“I don’t know.” It is supposed to make people feel better to tell their troubles, but apparently it made Dorothy feel worse. She sounded as forlorn as she looked.

“Moreover,” Wolfe went on, “what are you afraid of'The property, including the bank balance, now belongs to you. It would be a waste of time and money for the District Attorney’s office to try to get you indicted and brought to trial, and it wouldn’t even be considered. Unless Mr. Donaldson is an idiot he knows that.

Tell him so. Tell him I say he’s a nincompoop.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at her.

“Unless he thinks you killed your father and wants to help get you electrocuted.

Does he hate you that much?”

“He hates me,” Dorothy said harshly, “all he can.”

“Why?”

“Because once I let him think I might marry him, and he announced it, and then I changed my mind. He has strong feelings. It was strong when he loved me, and it is just as strong now when he hates me. Anyway he can use that check to hurt me,

he’ll do it.”

“Then you can’t stop him, and neither can I. The forged check and your father’s memorandum are legally in his possession, and nothing can keep him from showing them to the police. Does he ride horseback?”

“Oh, my God,” Dorothy said hopelessly. She stood up. “I thought you were clever!

I thought you would know what to do!” She made for the door, but at the sill she turned. “You’re just a cheap shyster too! I’ll handle the dirty little rat myself!”

I got up and went to the hall to let her out, to make sure that the door was properly closed behind her. When I was back in the office I sat down and tossed the notebook into a drawer and remarked, “Now she’s got us all tagged. I’m a coward, you’re a shyster, and the executor of her father’s estate is a rat. That poor kid needs some fresh contacts.”

Wolfe merely grunted, but it was a good-humored grunt, for the dinner hour was near, and he never permits himself to get irritated just before a meal.

“So,” I said, “unless she does some fancy handling in a hurry she will be gathered in before noon tomorrow, and she was the last we had. All five of them,

and also the suspect we were supposed to pin it on. I hope Saul and Orrie are doing better than we are. I have a date for dinner and a show with a friend, but I can break it if there’s anything I can be doing - “

“Nothing, thank you.”

I glared at him. “Oh, Saul and Orrie are doing it?”

“There’s nothing for this evening, for you. I’ll be here, attending to matters.”

Yes, he would. He would be here, reading books, drinking beer, and having Fritz tell anyone who called that he was engaged. It wasn’t the first time he had decided that a case wasn’t worth the effort and to hell with it. On such occasions my mission was to keep after him until I had him jarred loose, but this time my position was that if Orrie Cather could spend the afternoon in my chair he could damn well do my work. So I let it lay and went up to my room to redecorate for the evening out.

It was a very nice evening on all counts. Dinner at Lily Rowan’s, while not up to the standard Fritz had got my palate trained to, was always good. So was the show, and so was the dance band at the Flamingo Club, where we went afterward to get better acquainted, since I had only known her seven years. What with this and that I didn’t get home until after three o’clock, and, following routine,

looked in at the office to jiggle the handle of the safe and glance around. If there was a message for me Wolfe always left it on my desk under a paperweight,

and there one was, on a sheet from his pad, in his small thin handwriting that was as easy to read as type.

I ran through it.

ag: Your work on the Keyes case has been quite satisfactory. Now that it is solved, you may proceed as arranged and go to Mr. Hewitt’s place on Long Island in the morning to get those plants. Theodore will have the cartons ready for you. Don’t forget to watch the ventilation.

NW I read it through again and turned it over to look at the back, to see if there was another installment, but it was blank.

I sat at my desk and dialed a number. None of my closest friends or enemies was there, but I got a sergeant I knew named Rowley, and asked him, “On the Keyes case, do you need anything you haven’t got?”

“Huh?” He always sounded hoarse. “We need everything. Send it C.O.D.”

“A guy told me you had it on ice.”

“Aw, go to bed.”

He was gone. I sat a moment and then dialed again, the number of the Gazette office. Lon Cohen had gone home, but one of the journalists told me that as far as they knew the Keyes case was still back on a shelf, collecting dust.

I crumpled Wolfe’s message and tossed it in the wastebasket, muttered, “The damn fat faker,” and went up to bed.

In the Thursday morning papers there wasn’t a single word in the coverage of the Keyes case to indicate that anyone had advanced even an inch in the hot pursuit of the murderer.

And I spent the whole day, from ten to six, driving to Lewis Hewitt’s place on Long Island, helping to select and clean and pack ten dozen yearling plants, and driving back again. I did no visible fuming, but you can imagine my state of mind, and on my way home, when a cop stopped me as I was approaching Queensboro Bridge, and actually went so low as to ask me where the fire was, I had to get my tongue between my teeth to keep myself from going witty on him.

While I was lugging the last carton of plants up the stoop I had a surprise. A car I had often seen before, with PD on it, rolled up to the curb and stopped behind the sedan, and Inspector Cramer emerged from it.

“What has Wolfe got now?” he demanded, coming up the steps to me.

“A dozen zygopetalum,” I told him coldly, “a dozen renanthera, a dozen odontoglossum - “

“Let me by,” he said rudely.

I did so.

What I should have done, to drive it in that I was now a delivery boy and not a detective, was to go on helping Theodore get the orchids upstairs, and I set my teeth and started to do that, but it wasn’t long before Wolfe’s bellow came from the office. “Archie!”

I went on in. Cramer was in the red leather chair with an unlighted cigar tilted toward the ceiling by the grip of his teeth. Wolfe, his tightened lips showing that he was enjoying a quiet subdued rage, was frowning at him.

“I’m doing important work,” I said curtly.

“It can wait. Get Mr. Skinner on the phone. If he has left his office, get him at home.”

I would have gone to much greater lengths if Cramer hadn’t been there. As it was, all I did was snort as I crossed to my desk and sat down and started to dial.

“Cut it!” Cramer barked savagely.

I went on dialing.

“I said stop it!”

“That will do, Archie,” Wolfe told me. I turned from the phone and saw he was still frowning at the inspector but his lips had relaxed. He used them for speech. “I don’t see, Mr. Cramer, what better you can ask than the choice I offer. As I told you on the phone, give me your word that you’ll cooperate with me on my terms, and I shall at once tell you about it in full detail, including of course the justification for it. Or refuse to give me your word, that’s the alternative, and I shall ask Mr. Skinner if the District Attorney’s office would like to cooperate with me. I guarantee only that no harm will be done, but my expectation is that the case will be closed. Isn’t that fair enough?”

Cramer growled like a tiger in a cage having a chair poked at him.

“I don’t understand,” Wolfe declared, “why the devil I bother with you. Mr.

Skinner would jump at it.”

Cramer’s growl became words. “When would it be - tonight?”

“I said you’d get details after I get your promise, but you may have that much.

It would be early tomorrow morning, contingent upon delivery of a package I’m expecting - by the way, Archie, you didn’t put the car in the garage?”

“No, sir.”

“Good. You’ll have to go later, probably around midnight, to meet an airplane.

It depends on the airplane, Mr. Cramer. If it arrives tomorrow instead of tonight, we’d have to postpone it until Saturday morning.”

“Where'Here in your office?”

Wolfe shook his head. “That’s one of the details you’ll get. Confound it, do I mean what I say?”

“Search me. I never know. You say you’ll take my word. Why not take my word that I’ll either do it or forget I ever heard it?”

“No. Archie, get Mr. Skinner.”

Cramer uttered a word that was for men only. “You and your goddam charades,” he said bitterly. “Why do you bother with me'You know damn well I’m not going to let you slip it to the D.A.’s office, because you may really have it. You have before. Okay. On your terms.”

Wolfe nodded. The gleam in his eye came and went so fast that it nearly escaped even me.

“Your notebook, Archie. This is rather elaborate, and I doubt if we can finish before dinner.”

“I’ll explain gladly,” I told Officer Hefferan, “if you’ll descend from that horse and get level with me. That’s the democratic way to do it. Do you want me to get a stiff neck, slanting up at you?”

I yawned wide without covering it, since there was nothing there but nature and a mounted cop. Being up and dressed and breakfasted and outdoors working at seven in the morning was not an all-time record for me, but it was unusual, and I had been up late three nights in a row: Tuesday the congregation of clients,

Wednesday the festivities with Lily Rowan, and Thursday the drive to La Guardia to meet the airplane, which had been on schedule.

Hefferan came off his high horse and was even with me. We were posted on top of the little knoll in Central Park to which he had led me the day I had made his acquaintance. It promised to be another warm October day. A little breeze was having fun with the leaves on the trees and bushes, and birds were darting and hopping around, discussing their plans for the morning.

“All I’m doing,” Hefferan said to make it plain, “is obeying orders. I was told to meet you here and listen to you.”

I nodded. “And you don’t care for it. Neither do I, you stiff-backed Cossack,

but I’ve got orders too. The setup is like this. As you know, down there behind that forest” - I pointed - “is a tool shed. Outside the shed Keyes’ chestnut horse, saddled and bridled, is being held by one of your colleagues. Inside the shed there are two women named Keyes and Rooney, and four men named Pohl,

Talbott, Safford, and Broadyke. Also Inspector Cramer is there with a detachment from his squad. One of the six civilians, chosen by secret ballot, is at this moment changing his or her clothes, putting on bright yellow breeches and a blue jacket, just like the outfit Keyes wore. Between you and me and your horse, the choosing was a put-up job, handled by Inspector Cramer. Dressed like Keyes, the chosen one is going to mount Keyes’ horse and ride along that stretch of the bridle path, with shoulders hunched and stirrups too long, catch sight of you,

and lift his or her crop to you in greeting. Your part is to be an honest man.

Pretend it’s not me telling you this, but someone you dearly love like the Police Commissioner. You are asked to remember that what you were interested in seeing was the horse, not the rider, and to put the question to yourself, did you actually recognize Keyes that morning, or just the horse and the getup?”

I appealed to him earnestly. “And for God’s sake don’t say a word to me. You wouldn’t admit anything whatever to me, so keep your trap shut and save it for later, for your superiors. A lot depends on you, which may be regrettable, but it can’t be helped now.

“If it won’t offend you for me to explain the theory of it, it’s this: The murderer, dressed like Keyes but covered with a topcoat, was waiting in the park uptown behind that thicket at half-past six, when Keyes first rode into the park and got onto the bridle path. If he had shot Keyes out of the saddle from a distance, even a short one, the horse would have bolted, so he stepped out and stopped Keyes, and got hold of the bridle before he pulled the trigger. One bullet for one. Then he dragged the body behind the thicket so it couldn’t be seen from the bridle path, since another early-morning rider might come along,

took off his topcoat - or maybe a thin raincoat - and stuffed it under his jacket, mounted the horse, and went for a ride through the park. He took his time so as to keep to Keyes’ customary schedule. Thirty minutes later,

approaching that spot” - I pointed to where the bridle path emerged from behind the trees - “he either saw you up here or waited until he did see you up here,

and then he rode on along that stretch, giving you the usual salute by lifting his crop. But the second he got out of sight at the other end of the stretch he acted fast. He got off the horse and just left it there, knowing it would make its way back to its own exit from the park, and he beat it in a hurry, either to a Fifth Avenue bus or the subway, depending on where he was headed for. The idea was to turn the alibi on as soon as possible, since he couldn’t be sure how soon the horse would be seen and the search for Keyes would be started. But at the worst he had established Keyes as still alive at ten minutes past seven, down here on the stretch, and the body would be found way uptown.”

“I believe,” Hefferan said stiffly, “I am on record as saying I saw Keyes.”

“Scratch it,” I urged him. “Blot it out. Make your mind a blank, which shouldn’t - ” I bit if off, deciding it would be undiplomatic, and glanced at my wrist.

“It’s nine minutes past seven. Where were you that morning, on your horse or off?”

“On.”

“Then you’d better mount, to have it the same. Let’s be particular - jump on!

There he comes!”

I admit the Cossack knew how to get on top of a horse. He was erect in the saddle quicker than I would have had a foot in a stirrup, and had his gaze directed at the end of the stretch on the bridle path where it came out of the trees. I also admit the chestnut horse looked fine from up there. It was rangy but not gangly, with a proud curve to its neck, and, as Hefferan had said, it had a good set of springs. I strained my eyes to take in the details of the rider’s face, but at that distance it couldn’t be done. The blue of the jacket,

yes, and the yellow of the breeches, and the hunched shoulders, but not the face.

No sound came from Hefferan. As the rider on the bridle path neared the end of the open stretch I strained my eyes again, hoping something would happen,

knowing as I did what he would find confronting him when he rounded the sharp bend at the finish of the stretch - namely, four mounted cops abreast.

Something happened all right, fast, and not on my list of expectations. The chestnut was out of sight around the bend not more than half a second, and then here he came back, on the jump, the curve gone out of his neck. But he or his rider had had enough of the bridle path. Ten strides this side of the bend the horse swerved sharp and darted off to the left, off onto the grass in one beautiful leap, and then dead ahead, due east toward Fifth Avenue, showing us his tail. Simultaneously here came the quartet of mounted cops, like a cavalry charge. When they saw what the chestnut had done their horses’ legs suddenly went stiff, slid ten feet in the loose dirt, and then sashayed for the bound onto the grass, to follow.

Yells were coming from a small mob that had run out of the forest which hid the tool shed. And Hefferan left me. His horse’s ham jostled my shoulder as it sprang into action, and divots of turf flew through the air as it bounded down the slope to join the chase. The sound of gunshots came from the east, and that finished me. I would have given a year’s pay, anything up to a kingdom, for a horse, but, having none, I lit out anyway.

Down the slope to the bridle path I broke records, but on the other side it was upgrade, and also I had to dodge trees and bushes and jump railings. I was making no detours to find crossings, but heading on a bee-line for the noises coming from the east, including another round of shots. One funny thing, even busy as I was trying to cover ground, I was hoping they wouldn’t hit that chestnut horse. Finally the border of the park was in sight, but I could see nothing moving, though the noises seemed to be louder and closer.

Straight ahead was the stone wall enclosing the park, and, unsure which way to turn for the nearest entrance, I made for the wall, climbed it, stood panting,

and surveyed.

I was at Sixty-fifth and Fifth Avenue. One block up, outside a park entrance,

the avenue was so cluttered that it was blocked. Cars, mostly taxis, were collecting at both fringes of the intersection, and the pedestrians who hadn’t already arrived were on their way, from all directions. A bus had stopped and passengers were piling out. The tallest things there were the horses. I got the impression that there were a hell of a lot of horses, but probably it wasn’t more than six or seven. They were all bays but one, the chestnut, and I was glad to see that it looked healthy as I cantered up the pavement toward the throng.

The chestnut’s saddle was empty.

I was pushing my way through to the center when one in uniform grabbed my arm,

and I’ll be damned if Officer Hefferan didn’t sing out, “Let him come, that’s Nero Wolfe’s man Goodwin!” I would have been glad to thank him cordially, but didn’t have enough breath yet to speak. So I merely pushed on and, using only my eyes, got my curiosity satisfied.

Victor Talbott, in blue jacket and yellow breeches, apparently as unhurt as the chestnut, was standing there with a city employee hanging onto each arm. His face was dirty and he looked very tired.