He was one of the eight men, not counting me, that Wolfe shook hands with. He declined Wolfe's invitation to be seated, saying that he was an hour and a half late for a dinner appointment. "I stopped in instead of phon- ing," he said, "because I had to deliver this." He took a key from his pocket and handed it to me. "That's the key to Mrs. Hazen's house. Also this." From his inside pocket he took a folded paper. "That's authority from her to enter and get something. What you're to get, if you want to, is an iron box-she said iron but I suppose it's tin or steel-that is under the bottom drawer of the chest in Hazen's bedroom. You remove the drawer and pry up the board that it slides in on, and the box is underneath. She doesn't know what's in it. One day about a year ago Hazen lifted the board and showed her the box, and told her that if he died she was to get the box, have it opened by a locksmith, and bum the con- tents without looking at them. I thought you might want to have a look, and she is willing. You'll be acting for her, through her attorney."
Wolfe grunted. "I'll use my discretion."
"I know you will. If you don't want to tell me what was in it you'll say it was empty. I'd like to be present when it's opened, but I have an appointment. As for her, what did she tell you this morning?"
"Ask her."
"I did. She wouldn't tell me. She said she would disclose it only if you told her to. If she is charged with homicide I'll want to know that or I'll step out. She has been there more than five hours, and they'll probably keep her another five. If she is held as a material witness I can do nothing about bail until morning. I have an appointment with Hazen's lawyer at nine- thirty. He has the will. Anything else now?"
Wolfe said no, and he went. I escorted him out, re- turned to the office, and asked, "Any special instruc- tions?"
"No. Will the police be there?"
"I shouldn't think so. It's only where he lived, he wasn't shot there. Do I wear gloves?"
"No. You have her authority."
Ever since a difficulty I got into some years ago I
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have made it a practice to have a gun along when I am on an errand that may interfere with a murderer's program. I took off my jacket, got a shoulder holster and a Mariey, which I loaded, from the drawer, put them where they belonged, put the jacket back on, checked that Lucy's key was in a pocket and her author- ity in another one, and went to the hall for my coat and hat.
Chapter 5
I stood across the street from the Hazen house, on 37th Street between Park and Lexington, for a look. It was brick, painted gray with green trim, four stories, narrower than Wolfe's brownstone, with the entrance three steps down from the sidewalk. I noted those details just for the record, but they weren't important. What was important was that there was a tiny sliver of light at the lower part of the right edge of one of the three windows on the third floor-a sliver that you might leave if you weren't quite thorough enough when you arranged a drape.
I didn't know where Hazen's room was; that could be it. It could be a Homicide man looking things over, but it wasn't probable; they had had ten hours. It could be the maid who slept in, but why, at 9:30 at night? Her room certainly wasn't third floor front. Whoever it was and whatever he was doing, I decided not to interrupt him by ringing. I crossed over, descended the three steps, used the key, opened the door with care, entered, closed it with more care, and stood and listened while my eyes adjusted to the dark. For half a minute there was no sound from any direction; then there was something like a bump from up above, followed by a voice, male, very faint. Unless he was talking to himself
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there was more than one. Thinking there might be occasion for activity, I took off my overcoat and put it on the floor, and my hat, and then tiptoed along the hall, feeling my way, found the stairs, and started up.
Halfway up I stopped. Had there been another voice, a soprano? There had. There was. Then the baritone again. I went on up, with more care now and slower, keeping to the end of the steps next the wall. In the hall on the second floor there was a little light coming from above, enough to catch outlines. Up the second flight I went even slower, since each step might bring me within range. The voices had stopped, but there were tapping sounds. On the fourth step I could get my eyes to the level of the floor by stretching. The hall was the same as the floor below, and the light was coming from a half-open door at its front end. All I could see inside was a chair and part of a bed and drapes over a window, and the back of a woman's head over the back of the chair, silvery hair under a black pancake hat.
I might have stayed put until the voices came again, and now I could get words, but a staircase is not a good tactical position, the light was on them, not me, and at the top I would be nearly out of range through the opening. I moved. As I put my weight on the next to last step the tapping stopped and the baritone came. "There's no sense in this." I made the landing and across to the wall. The soprano came. "There certainly isn't, Mr. Khoury." I started along the wall toward the door. Another female voice came, pitched lower. "I don't think it's here. It could be in Lucy's room, that would be like him." Then another man's voice, a deeper one. "All right, we'll try it," and the door swung wide and the man was there, on the move.
I'm not proud of the next two seconds. I was alerted and he wasn't, and I think I am fairly fast. My excuse is that I was in the middle of a careful step, putting my toe down, but anyway he was at me before I was set, and he damn near toppled me. When you're thrown off balance by impact you only make it worse if you try to get purchase on your way down, so I let myself go, brought
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my knees up to my chin as I hit the floor, rolled to get my feet at his middle, and let him have it. He was plenty heavy, but it tore him loose and sent him bouncing off the wall. As I sprang to my feet another man was through the door and coming. I sidestepped and ducked, jerking my right back, and hooked him in the kidney. He doubled up and hugged himself, and I kept going to the corner, whirled, had the Marley in my hand, and showed it.
"Come right ahead," I said, "if you want your skull cracked."
The first man, the heavy one, was propped against the wall, panting. The smaller one was trying to straighten up. There was a woman in the doorway, the one who had been in the chair, and another one behind her.
"Also," I said, "this thing is loaded, so don't try reaching for a cigarette. Inside, everybody, and take it easy. I would prefer to get you in the shoulder or leg, but I'm not a very good shot."
The heavy man said, "Who are you?"
"Billy the Kid. Come on, into the room, and no gym- nastics. Go to the far side and face the wall."
They moved. As they approached the door the women backed off, and they entered and I followed. The woman with silvery hair started to chatter at me, but I wiggled the gun and told her to go to the wall. When they were there I went over the men from be- hind, felt no weapons, told them to stay put, and side- stepped to the bed. There were coats and hats on it, and the women's bags. I had the men tagged; the husky one was Ambrose Perdis, the shipping magnate, whose pic- ture I had seen here and there, and I had heard the other one called Khoury; but I needed introductions to the women. As I opened one of the bags and dumped its contents on the bed Perdis turned around and I spoke. "Hold it. I'm giving you a break. Shall I come and slap you with the gun? Turn around."