Wolfe was scowling at him. “Are you aware,” he demanded, “of what you’re saying? Are your wits working?”
“You’re damned right they are.”
“Nonsense. You had previously stolen the box from the safe and had it in your possession. How could you have been looking for it in that office last evening?”
“I didn’t have it in my possession.”
“Oh, come. Don’t be ass enough—”
“I say I didn’t have it. I had had it. I didn’t have it then. He went to my place and found it and took it.”
“Who did? When?”
“My half-brother. Arthur Tingley. He went to my flat yesterday afternoon — I don’t know how he got in — and found it.”
So that, I thought, turning a page of my notebook, was the errand that had called Tingley away from his office when I had gone there to interview him about quinine.
Wolfe asked, “How do you know that?”
“Because he told me. He had the box there in the safe yesterday afternoon.”
“Are you telling me that at five o’clock yesterday afternoon that box was in Tingley’s safe in his office?”
“I am.”
“And when you returned two hours later, at seven-forty, it was gone?”
“It was. Judd had been there. Judd had taken it. And if the lousy ape thinks he can—”
“Be quiet, please,” Wolfe said testily. He closed his eyes.
We sat. Wolfe’s lips were moving, pushing out and then drawing in again. Judd started to say something, and Cramer shushed him. The inspector knew the signs as well as I did.
Wolfe’s eyes opened, but they were directed, not at Judd or Philip, but at me. “What time,” he asked, “did it begin raining yesterday?”
“I said, “Seven P.M.”
“Seven precisely?”
“Maybe a little after. Not much.”
“Not even a drizzle before that?”
“No.”
“Good.” He wiggled a finger at Sergeant Foster. “Let me have that box.”
Foster handed him the box.
Wolfe looked at Philip Tingley: “When you stole this from the safe you had no key for it. So you had to pry it open?”
“No,” Philip denied, “I didn’t pry it open.”
“The metal is gouged and twisted—”
“I can’t help that. I didn’t do it. I suppose Judd did. I took it to a locksmith and told him I had lost my key, and had him make one that would open it.”
“Then it was locked yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” Wolfe looked pleased with himself. “That settles it, I think. Let’s see.” Whereupon he grasped the box firmly in both hands and shook it violently from side to side. His attitude suggested that he was listening for something, but the banging of the shoes against the metal sides of the box was all there was to hear. He nodded with satisfaction. “That’s fine,” he declared.
“Nuts,” Cramer said.
“By no means. Some day, Mr. Cramer — but no, I suppose never. I would like a few words with you and Archie. If your men will take these gentlemen to the front room?”
When they were shut off by the sound-proofed door Cramer advanced on Wolfe with his jaw leading the way. “Look here—”
“No,” Wolfe said decisively. “I tolerate your presence here and that’s all. Take a guest from my house with a warrant, will you? I want to know what has been removed from Mr. Tingley’s office.”
“But if Judd—”
“No. Take them if you want to, get them out of here, and I’ll proceed alone.”
“Do you know who killed Tingley?”
“Certainly. I know all about it. But I need something. What has been removed from that office?”
Cramer heaved a sigh. “Damn you, anyway. The corpse. Two bloody towels. The knife and the weight. Five small jars with some stuff in them which we found in a drawer of Tingley’s desk. We had the stuff analyzed and it contained no quinine. We were told they were routine samples.”
“That’s all?”
“Yes.”
“No other sample jars were found?”
“No.”
“Then it’s still there. It ought to be. It must be... Archie, go and get it. Find it and bring it here. Mr. Cramer will telephone his men there to help you.”
“Huh,” Cramer grunted. “I will?”
“Certainly you will.”
“As for me,” I put in, “I’m a wonder at finding things, but I get better results when I know what I’m looking for.”
“Pfui! What was it I spit out yesterday at lunch?”
“Oh, is that it? Okay.” I beat it, then.
It was only a three-minute ride to Tingley’s, and I figured it might take longer than that for Wolfe to get Cramer to make the phone call, so I took a taxi to East 29th Street and picked up the roadster and drove it on from there. The entrance door at the top of the stone steps was locked, but just as I was lifting my fist to beat a tattoo I heard the clatter of feet inside, and in a moment the door opened and a towering specimen looked down at me.
“You Goodwin?” he demanded.
“I am Mr. Goodwin. Old Lady Cramer—”
“Yeah. You sound like what I’ve heard of you. Enter.”
I did so, and preceded him up the stairs. In Tingley’s office an affair with a thin little mouth in a big face was awaiting us, seated at a table littered with newspapers.
“You fellows are to help me,” I stated.
“Okay,” the one at the table said superciliously. “We’d just as soon have the exercise. But Bowen did this room. If you think you can find a button after Bowen—”
“That will do, my man,” I said graciously. “Bowen’s all right as far as he goes, but he lacks subtlety. He’s too scientific. He uses rules and calipers, whereas I use my brain. For instance, since he did that desk, it’s a hundred to one that there’s not an inch of it unaccounted for, but what if he neglected to look in that hat?” I pointed to Tingley’s hat still there on the hook. “He might have, because there’s nothing scientific about searching a hat; you just take it down and look at it.”
“That’s wonderful,” Thin Mouth said. “Explain some more.”
“Sure; glad to.” I walked across. “Do you ask why Tingley would put an object in his hat? It was the logical place for it. He wanted to take it home with him, and meanwhile he wanted to keep it hidden from someone who might have gone snooping around his desk and other obvious places. He was not an obvious man. Neither am I.” I reached up and took the hat from the hook.
And it was in the hat!
That made up for all the bad breaks that had come my way over a period of years. Nothing like that will ever happen again. It was so utterly unexpected that I nearly dropped it when it rolled out of the hat, but I grabbed and caught it and had it — a midget-sized jar, the kind they used for samples in the factory. It was about two-thirds full with a label on it marked in pencil, “11-14-Y.”
“You see,” I said, trying my damnedest not to let my voice tremble with excitement, “it’s a question of brains.”
They were gawking at me, absolutely speechless. I got out my penknife and, with a tip of a blade, dug out a bit of the stuff in the jar and conveyed it to my mouth. My God, it tasted sweet — I mean bitter!
I spat it out. “I’m going to promote you boys,” I said indulgently. “And raise your pay. And give you a month’s vacation.”
I departed. I hadn’t even taken off my coat and hat...
It was too bad dinner had to be delayed the first day that Fritz was back on the job after his grippe, but it couldn’t be helped. While we were waiting for Carrie Murphy to come, I went to the kitchen and had a glass of milk and tried to cheer Fritz up by telling him that grippe often leaves people so that they can’t taste anything.