“Then instructions for your errand must be brief, and they can be. You will go to Sarah Yare’s address on Thirteenth Street and look at her apartment. Her phone might have been discontinued since that book was issued. I need to know that the instrument is still there and operable before I proceed. If I intend to see that whoever tried to make a fool of me regrets it, I must take care not to make a fool of myself. Have I furnished the light you wanted?”
I told him it was at least a glimmer and departed on the errand. If you think I might have shown fuller appreciation of his dialing display, I beg to differ. There is no point in assuring a man that he is a genius when he already knows it. Besides, I was too busy being sore at me. I should have thought of it myself. I certainly should have caught on when I saw him with the phone book.
It was not my day. At the address of the late Sarah Yare on East Thirteenth Street I stubbed my toe again. One thing I think I’m good at is sizing up people, and I was dead wrong about the janitor of that old walk-up. He looked as if anything would go, so I merely told him to let me into Sarah Yare’s apartment to check the telephone, and the bum insisted on seeing my credentials. So I misjudged him again. I offered him a sawbuck and told him I only wanted two minutes for a look at the phone with him at my elbow, and when he turned me down I showed him a twenty. He just sneered at it. By that time we were bitter enemies, and if I had showed him a C he would probably have spit on it. The upshot was that I went back home for an assortment of keys, returned, posted myself across the street, waited nearly an hour to be sure the enemy was not peeking, and broke and entered, technically.
I won’t describe it; it was too painful. It was a hell of a dump for a Sarah Yare, even for a down-and-outer who had once been Sarah Yare. But the telephone was there, and it was working. I dialed to make sure, and got Fritz, and told him I just wanted to say hello and would be home in fifteen minutes, and he said that would please Mr. Wolfe because Inspector Cramer was there.
“No,” I said.
“Yes,” he said.
“When did he come?”
“Ten minutes ago. At six o’clock. Mr. Wolfe said to admit him and is with him in the office. Hurry home, Archie.”
I did so.
I got a hackie who liked to take advantages, and it took a little less than the fifteen minutes. I ascended the stoop and let myself in, not banging the door, and tiptoed down the hall and stopped short of the office door, thinking to get a sniff of the atmosphere before entering. I got it. Wolfe’s voice came.
“... and I didn’t say I have never known you to be wrong, Mr. Cramer. I said I have never known you to be more wrong. That is putting it charitably, under provocation. You have accused me of duplicity. Pfui!”
“Nuts.” Cramer had worked up to his grittiest rasp. “I have accused you of nothing. I have merely stated facts. The time of the murder was supposed to be established by you and Goodwin hearing it on the phone. Is that a fact? Those five people all have alibis for that time. One of them was here with you. Is that a fact? When I put it to you yesterday that that phone business might have been faked, that she might have been killed earlier, all I got was a runaround. You could challenge it circumstantially but not intrinsically, whatever the hell that means. Is that a fact? So that if you and Goodwin got to the witness stand you might both swear that you were absolutely satisfied that you had heard her get it at exactly half past eleven. Is that a fact? Giving me to understand that you weren’t interested, you weren’t concerned, you had no—”
“No,” Wolfe objected. “That was not broached.”
“Nuts. You know damn well it was implied. You said you had never had any association with any of those people besides what was in your statement, so how could you be concerned, with Bianca Voss dead? Tell me this, did any of them approach you, directly or indirectly, between seven o’clock yesterday and noon today?”
“No.”
“But—” He bore down on the ‘but.’ “But you sent Goodwin there today. He told Stebbins he was on a fishing trip. He talked with Drew, and Gallant, and Miss Prince, and he actually took Miss Throne from under Stebbins’ nose, took her out to talk with her. Is that a fact? And they all refused to tell what Goodwin said to them or what they said to him. That is a fact. They say it was a private matter and had nothing to do with the murder of Bianca Voss. And when I come and ask you what you sent Goodwin there for, ask you plainly and politely, you say that you will — What are you laughing at?”
It wasn’t a laugh, I just barely caught it, it was hardly even a chuckle, but all the same it could get under your skin. I knew.
“It escaped me, Mr. Cramer. Your choice of adverbs. Your conception of politeness. Pray continue.”
“All right, I asked you. And you said you will probably be ready to tell me within twenty-four hours. And what I said was absolutely justified. I did not accuse you of duplicity. You know what I said.”
“I do indeed, Mr. Cramer.” I couldn’t see Wolfe, but I knew he had upturned a palm. “This is childish and futile. If a connection is established between your murder investigation and the topic of Mr. Goodwin’s talks with those people today, it will be only because I formed a conjecture and acted on it. I hope to establish it within twenty-four hours, and meanwhile it will do no harm to give you a hint. Have you any information on the death of a woman named Sarah Yare?”
“Some, yes. Presumed a suicide, but it’s being checked. I have two men on it. What about it?”
“I suggest that you assign more men to it, good ones, and explore it thoroughly. I think we will both find it helpful. I may soon have a more concrete suggestion, but for the present that should serve. You know quite well—”
The doorbell rang. I about-faced and looked through the one-way glass panel of the front door. It wasn’t a visitor on the stoop, it was a mob. All five of them were there: Gallant, his sister, Anita Prince, Emmy Thorne, and Carl Drew. Fritz appeared from the kitchen, saw me, and stopped. I got my notebook and pen from pockets and wrote:
That phone works. The five subjects are outside wanting in.
I told Fritz to stand by, tore out the sheet, entered the office and crossed to Wolfe’s desk, and handed it to him.
Wolfe read it, frowned at it for three seconds, turned his head and called, “Fritz!”
Fritz appeared at the door. “Yes, sir?”
“Put the chain-bolt on and tell those people they will be admitted shortly. Stay there.”
“Yes, sir.” Fritz went.
Wolfe looked at Cramer. “Mr. Gallant, his sister, Miss Prince, Miss Thorne, and Mr. Drew have arrived, uninvited and unexpected. You’ll have to leave without being seen. In the front room until they have entered. I’ll communicate with you later.”
“Like hell I’ll leave.” Cramer was on his feet. “Like hell they’re unexpected.” He was moving, toward the hall, his intention plain — taking over as receptionist.
“Mr. Cramer!” It snapped at his back, turning him. “Would I lie so clumsily? If they had been expected would I have let you in? Would I have sat here bickering with you? Either you leave or I do. If you admit them you’ll have them to yourself, and I wish you luck.”
Cramer was glaring. “You think I’m going to sneak out and sit on your goddam stoop until you whistle?”
“That would be unseemly,” Wolfe conceded. “Very well.” He pointed at a picture on the wall to his left behind him — a pretty waterfall. “You know about that. You may take that station, but only if you engage not to disclose yourself unless you are invited. Unequivocally.”