My seat at the rear permitted me to beat it as soon as I heard the amen. I was the first one out. For having admitted me to the private parlor I offered the aristocrat in the anteroom two bits, which I suppose he took out of noblesse oblige, and sought the sidewalk. Some cur had edged in and parked within three inches of the roadster’s rear bumper, and I had to do a lot of squirming to get out without scraping the fender of Gebert’s convertible. Then I zoomed to Central Park West and headed downtown.
It was nearly ten-thirty when I got home. A glance in at the office door showed me that Wolfe was in his chair with his eyes closed and an awful grimace on his face, listening to the “Pearls of Wisdom Hour” on the radio. In the kitchen Fritz sat at the little table I ate breakfast on, playing solitaire, with his slippers off and his toes hooked over the rungs of another chair. As I poured a glass of milk from a bottle I got from the refrigerator, he asked me:
“How was it? Nice funeral?”
I reproached him. “You ought to be ashamed. I guess all Frenchmen are sardonic.”
“I am not a French! I’m a Swiss.”
“So you say. You read a French newspaper.”
I took a first sip from the glass, carried it into the office, got into my chair, and looked at Wolfe. His grimace appeared even more distorted than when I had glanced in on my way by. I let him go on suffering a while, then took pity on him and went to the radio and turned it off and came back to my chair. I sipped at my milk and watched him. By degrees his face relaxed, and finally I saw his eyelids flicker, and then they came open a little. He heaved a sigh that went clear to the bottom.
I said, “All right, you richly deserve it. What does it mean? Not more than twelve steps altogether. As soon as that hooey started, you could get out of your chair and walk fifteen feet to it and back again makes thirty, and you’d be out of your misery. Or if you honestly believe that would be overdoing, you could get one of those remote control things—”
“I wouldn’t, Archie.” He was in his patient mood. “I really wouldn’t. You are perfectly aware that I have enough enterprise to turn off the radio; you have seen me do it; the exercise is good for me. I purposely dial the station which will later develop into the “Pearls of Wisdom,” and I deliberately bear it. It’s discipline. It fortifies me to put up with ordinary inanities for days. I gladly confess that after listening to the “Pearls of Wisdom” your conversation is an intellectual and esthetic delight. It’s the tops.” He grimaced. “That’s what a Pearl of Wisdom just said that cultured interests are. He said they are the tops.” He grimaced again. “Great heavens, I’m thirsty.” He jerked himself up and leaned forward to press the button for beer.
But it was a little while before he got it. An instant after he pressed the button the doorbell rang, which meant that Fritz would have to attend to that chore first. Since it was nearly eleven o’clock and no one was expected, my heart began to beat, as it always does when we’re on a case with any kick to it and any little surprise turns up. As a matter of fact, I got proof that I had fallen for Wolfe’s showmanship again, for I had a sudden conviction that Saul Panzer was going to walk in with the red box under his arm.
Then I heard a voice in the hall that didn’t belong to Saul. The door opened and swung around and Fritz stepped back to admit the visitor, and Helen Frost walked in. At the look on her face I hopped up and went over and put a hand on her arm, thinking she was about ready to flop.
She shook her head and I dropped the hand. She walked toward Wolfe’s desk and stopped. Wolfe said:
“How do you do, Miss Frost? Sit down.” Sharply: “Archie, put her in a chair.”
I got her arm again and eased her over and got a chair behind her, and she sank into it. She looked at me and said, “Thank you.” She looked at Wolfe: “Something awful has happened. I didn’t want to go home and I... I came here. I’m afraid. I have been all along, really, but... I’m afraid now. Perren is dead. Just now, up on 73rd Street. He died on the sidewalk.”
“Indeed. Mr. Gebert.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “Breathe, Miss Frost. In any event, you need to breathe. — Archie, get a little brandy.”
Chapter 16
Our client shook her head. “I don’t want any brandy. I don’t think I could swallow.” She was querulous and shaky. “I tell you... I’m afraid!”
“Yes.” Wolfe had sat up and got his eyes open. “I heard you. If you don’t pull yourself together, with brandy or without, you’ll have hysterics, and that will be no help at all. Do you want some ammonia? Do you want to lie down? Do you want to talk? Can you talk?”
“Yes.” She put the fingertips of both hands to her temples and caressed them delicately — her forehead, then the temples again. “I can talk. I won’t have hysterics.”
“Good for you. You say Mr. Gebert died on the sidewalk on 73rd Street. What killed him?”
“I don’t know.” She was sitting up straight, with her hands clasped in her lap. “He was getting in his car and he jumped back, and he came running down the sidewalk toward us... and he fell, and then Lew told me he was dead—”
“Wait a minute. Please. It will be better to do this neatly. I presume it happened after you left the chapel where the services were held. Did all of you leave together? Your mother and uncle and cousin and Mr. Gebert?”
She nodded. “Yes. Perren offered to drive mother and me home, but I said I would rather walk, and my uncle said he wanted to have a talk with mother, so they were going to take a taxi. We were all going slow along the sidewalk, deciding that—”
I put in, “East? Toward Gebert’s car?”
“Yes. I didn’t know then... I didn’t know where his car was, but he left us and my uncle and mother and I stood there while Lew stepped into the street to stop a taxi, and I happened to be looking in the direction Perren had gone, and so was my uncle, and we saw him stop and open the door of his car... and then he jumped back and stood a second, and then he yelled and began running toward us... but he only got about halfway when he fell down, and he tried to roll... he tried...”
Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “Less vividly, Miss Frost. You’ve lived through it once, don’t try to do so again. Just tell us about it; it’s history. He fell, he tried to roll, he stopped. People ran to succor him. Did you? Your mother?”
“No. My mother held my arm. My uncle ran to him, and a man that was there, and I called to Lew and he came and ran there too. Then mother told me to stay where I was, and she walked to them, and other people began to come. I stood there, and in about a minute Lew came to me and said they thought Perren was dead and told me to get a taxi and go home and they would stay. The taxi he had stopped was standing there and he put me in it, but after it started I didn’t want to go home and I told the driver to come here. I... I thought perhaps...”
“You couldn’t be expected to think. You were in no condition for it.” Wolfe leaned back. “So. You don’t know what Mr. Gebert died of.”
“No. There was no sound... no anything...”
“Do you know whether he ate or drank anything at the chapel?”
Her head jerked up. She swallowed. “No, I’m sure he didn’t”
“No matter.” Wolfe sighed. “That will be learned. You say that after Mr. Gebert jumped back from his car he yelled. Did he yell anything in particular?”
“Yes... he did. My mother’s name. Like calling for help.”
One of Wolfe’s brows went up. “I trust he yelled it ardently. Forgive me for permitting myself a playful remark; Mr. Gebert would understand it, were he here. So he yelled ‘Calida.’ More than once?”