Archie Meets Nero Wolfe (26 page)

“All right, where’s Wolfe?” he demanded as he strode into the office. “I’ve brought my wife, my son, and my whole household staff, just as he had insisted. We had to take two cars, and I’m not sure why all this is—oh, it’s you,” he said, suddenly noticing Cramer.

“Incredible, isn’t it?” the inspector observed. “Wolfe snaps his fingers, and we all jump, like a team of trained seals. He even told me to bring a squad car along. This had better be good.” As he was talking, the Williamson entourage filed in, led by his wife and son.

“Hi, Archie!” Tommie said, breaking into a wide grin when he saw me. “Are we still going to that football game?”

“A week from Saturday,” I answered. “Right, Mr. Williamson?”

“Huh? Oh, yes, yes,” Williamson said, momentarily confused. “Yes, the three of us are going. The Princeton game.”

“If I can get everyone’s attention,” Saul Panzer said as the Williamson staff filed in, filling the room. “Would anyone like a drink?” He gestured toward the rolling cart, with its bottles, glasses, and ice.

“Yes, I’ll take a scotch, rocks,” the hotel baron barked, turning to his wife. “What about you, dear?”

Lillian Williamson declined with a shake of her well-coiffed head, perhaps not wanting to be seen taking a drink in front of her employees.

After handing Williamson his scotch, Saul Panzer efficiently got everyone seated. Cramer took what I now realized was his usual spot, the red leather chair at one end of Wolfe’s desk. The Williamsons—father, mother, and son—were given three yellow chairs in the front row, with their staff arrayed in the row behind them, in no particular order that I could see. Closest to me, as I stood in the rear of the room on the left side facing Wolfe’s desk, was the staid butler, Waverly, who looked uncomfortable away from his surroundings.

Beside him was my old friend the cook, Mrs. Price, who blew me a kiss and winked as she sat. Next, in order, were a nervous young Mary Trent, the belligerent gardener Lloyd Carstens, a sniffing Emily Stratton, a subdued Sylvia Moore, and a scowling Mark Simons. Miss Stratton, Carstens, and Simons all aimed their most disapproving looks in my direction. Since I did not see Gentry, my successor as chauffeur, I assumed he was out in front keeping watch on the valued Williamson automobiles.

Sergeant Purley Stebbins, having declined Panzer’s offer of a chair, stood in the back of the room, with his arms folded across his chest and the bulge formed by the shoulder holster under his suit jacket.

Del Bascom and I found seats on the couch, leaving space for Panzer, who went to Wolfe’s desk and reached under the center drawer for the buzzer. “Mr. Wolfe will be with us shortly,” he said to a chorus of grumbling. About thirty seconds later, Wolfe entered, acknowledging the crowd with a curt nod.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said as he sat. “Has everyone desiring a beverage been served?”

“We’re not here to party, Wolfe,” Cramer said gruffly, pulling out a cigar and jamming it into his mouth.

“Of course not, but I would be remiss as a host if I failed to make the offer. Does anyone other than Mr. Williamson desire something?” He looked at a sea of impassive faces and silence, shrugged, and started to ring for beer. Fritz must have been waiting just outside the office door, however, because within seconds, he placed two bottles and a glass on the desk in front of Wolfe.

After taking a first sip, Wolfe surveyed his audience, and proceeded to pronounce the names, from left to right, of the members of the Williamson household staff. It seemed to me that he was showing off, given that he had never seen any of them, but far be it for me to question the motives of a purported genius. He took a second drink, dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, and resettled his bulk.

“If I may dispel any misconceptions that exist, you all should be aware that I now have no client,” Wolfe said. “Mr. Williamson hired me to safely retrieve his son from kidnappers. Once that task got accomplished, he was satisfied, but I was not.

“I mean no disrespect to my former client,” Wolfe continued, “but I found it execrable that any kidnappers, particularly of a child, should remain at large. I determined, with the help of a group of men including those seated on the couch, to find these scapegraces and apprehend them. This I have done.” He paused to let his words sink in as the room filled with murmurs and exclamations.

“You had damned well better explain yourself!” Cramer roared, pounding his fist on Wolfe’s desktop.

“I shall, sir. Please allow me to continue. From the first, it seemed patently obvious that this was both an outside and an inside operation. Now as to—”

“So you’re saying that Charles Bell really was part of the plot,” Burke Williamson cut in.

Wolfe held up a palm. “If you please, sir, I would like to continue without interruption. There will be ample time later for discussion. Now, to the outside part of the kidnapping plan: as I said a moment ago, through the very able work of operatives in my employ, the men who held Tommie—and also received the ransom money—have been apprehended and are now under this roof and in custody.”

“Not police custody, by God!” Cramer howled. “I want those men, and I want them right now!”

“So you shall have them, Inspector,” Wolfe replied calmly. “Saul, if you please.” Panzer rose and left the room while Cramer fumed and Purley Stebbins slipped a hand inside his suit jacket.

The next scene is one I will never forget. The two glowering Bagleys, with wrists manacled in front of them, were led into the room by a grinning Orrie Cather, who was followed by Fred Durkin and Bill Gore. Mouths dropped open, gasps broke out, and Mrs. Price leaped to her feet, jabbing a fat finger at one of the Bagleys. “That’s him! That’s the one who came into my kitchen with those groceries that I hadn’t ordered! He’s the man, yes he is!” Before Wolfe could introduce the brothers, Stebbins stepped toward them. “I’ll take it from here,” he barked, drawing his revolver.

“Sergeant, these brothers go by several first and last names,” Wolfe said, “although it appears probable that their birth certificates read Chester and Calvin Bagley. It is more than probable that they killed both Barney Haskell and Charles Bell.”

“And just how are we supposed to know that?” Cramer said.

“Who has their guns?” Wolfe asked.

“I do, in here.” It was Fred Durkin, who held up a paper sack.

“Inspector, these weapons were taken from the Bagleys. If you get that Bureau of Forensic Ballistics to run tests on them, I am confident you will find that one or both of these weapons fired the shots that killed Messrs. Haskell and Bell.”

“Don’t try to tell me my business,” Cramer said.

“Far be it for me to do that,” Wolfe said as Stebbins led the Bagleys out, presumably to the waiting squad car. The last we heard from one of them, Chester, I think, was a demand to see his lawyer.

“Well, you have meddled in police business yet again,” Cramer snarled, getting to his feet.

“If you please, sir,” Wolfe said, “I was about to review the inside aspects of the kidnapping and the reasons for the deaths of two men.”

The inspector snorted but sat. “It seems to me the ‘inside aspects,’ as you call them, consist of the chauffeur’s cooperation with those brothers.”

“In part,” Wolfe agreed. “The Bagleys had somehow come to know Mr. Bell. Perhaps your department’s investigation will discover the connection. What likely happened is that the Bagleys approached the Williamson chauffeur and inveigled him into being part of the plot to seize Tommie and hold him for ransom. Then, one of two things almost surely occurred: either the brothers reneged on the deal or Mr. Bell demanded a larger share than originally agreed upon. In either case, he became expendable in the eyes of the Bagleys.”

“Since you claim to be so smart,” Cramer shot back, “why did this Haskell character also find himself on a slab in the morgue?”

“I concede this is conjecture, but it seems likely that Mr. Haskell, a small-time confidence man living on life’s margins, somehow learned of the kidnapping plan through underworld channels and pressed the Bagleys for a share of the proceeds, threatening them with exposure if they did not come across with a substantial emolument. As with Mr. Bell, he had to be disposed of.”

Cramer gnawed on his stogie, eyeing Wolfe from under bushy eyebrows. “Okay, let us move on to what you term these ‘inside aspects’ of yours.”

Wolfe drank beer and set his glass down. “Let us by all means. There is an individual in this room who must bear some of the responsibility for the kidnapping of Tommie Williamson.”

I
f Wolfe’s intent was to further shock his audience, he hit the jackpot. Members of the household staff tensed up and snuck sidelong glances at one another. Lillian Williamson kneaded her hands, and Tommie looked over at me with a grin. “You had better know what you’re talking about,” Burke Williamson said sternly.

“I second that,” Cramer growled. “There’s such a thing as slander, and plenty of witnesses heard you.”

“I am familiar with the statutes,” Wolfe said, clearly pleased with the stir he had generated. “After I have identified the individual in question, I invite anyone to initiate a lawsuit against me.”

I scanned the group, trying to spot someone wearing a guilty or a nervous expression on their mug, but all I saw were shocked faces. We had a very good actor or actress in our midst.

“Not that I necessarily believe you, but who is it?” Williamson demanded, leaning forward and glaring at Wolfe.

“Don’t try to rush him,” Cramer said. “I’ve been a party to these melodramas before, and he moves at his own speed, regardless of how hard he gets pushed.”

“You, an officer of the law, intimidated by this man!”

“I am
not
intimidated,” Cramer flared. “But since we are all here, I am willing to hear him out, Mr. Williamson. I remember that you praised him not so long ago for helping to get your son freed.”

For the moment, that silenced the hotel magnate, who sank back into his chair wearing a scowl.

All eyes focused on Wolfe, who seemed determined to take his time. “The more I learned about the kidnapping, the more I recognized it had to be a complex and well-coordinated operation, one requiring several individuals working in concert,” he said. “Two of these persons, at the very least, had to be members of the Williamson staff. It seemed conclusive to me that Mr. Bell was one of them. In an attempt to determine the identity of others involved, I dispatched Mr. Goodwin here to work among them both as Tommie’s bodyguard and as a chauffeur.”

“He never seemed like a chauffeur to me,” Carstens snorted. “Too doggone young, for one thing. And, of course, we all knew he was there as some sort of detective. Pretty young for that, too.”

“Perhaps,” Wolfe allowed, “although young he has skills, among them a well-developed sense of observation and an ability to repeat extended conversations verbatim. The second of those attributes has been particularly helpful, but more about that later.” He paused to drink beer.

“In reviewing the events leading up to the kidnapping, I became intrigued with the alleged telephone call that drew Miss Moore into the house, leaving Tommie alone in the yard.”

“Oh, there truly was a call,” Waverly attested. “I was in the parlor when I heard the instrument ring. I am prepared to swear to it. Miss Trent answered the instrument and she said something like ‘Oh dear, oh my!’ and then ran to the terrace doors to call to Miss Moore.”

“So noted, sir,” Wolfe told the butler, shifting his attention to Sylvia Moore. “I understand your mother in Virginia has been seriously ill, suffering with a heart condition. Is that correct?”

She nodded somberly. “Yes, sir, it is.”

“What is her medical condition at present?”

“She is much better, thank you.”

“Have you visited her recently?”

Sylvia’s cheeks reddened. “No, not for several months now. But I really should.”

“Yes, you should indeed. Tell us about the telephone call.”

“Mary—Miss Trent here—called out to me from the terrace, saying that a man was on the wire and said he had to talk to me right away, that it was a matter of life and death. Of course I immediately thought of my mother. I became terribly upset, as anyone in that situation would.”

“Understandable,” Wolfe said, turning to Mary Trent. “Can you recall the exact words spoken by the caller?”

The young woman shifted in her chair, clearly uneasy with the attention now focused on her. “It was just as Miss Moore told you,” she said, clearing her throat. “The man sounded very excited and told me that he had to speak to her right away, that it was a matter of life and death. Those are the words he used. I knew about her mother, so I ran onto the terrace and called her to the instrument.”

“Did you recognize the voice?”

“At first I thought maybe I did, but now I don’t believe so.”

“Who did you initially think it was?”

She looked down onto her lap. “I would prefer not to say.”

“Come, come, Miss Trent. We are investigating a kidnapping and two murders. This is not a time to become coy.”

“He’s right,” Cramer said. “Answer the question, or you may find it being asked of you in a far less pleasant environment.”

She took in air and let it out slowly. “The voice sounded somewhat like, well ... like Mr. Simons.”

“This is both ridiculous and slanderous!” the stable master snapped, rising. “I don’t have to sit here and take this.” He started for the door.

“If you like your job, sit back down right now!” Burke Williamson growled at him. Simons sat.

Wolfe turned back to Sylvia Moore. “Tell us exactly what happened when you picked up the receiver.”

“Nothing. That is to say, no one was on the other end. I must have yelled into the mouthpiece several times. I became panicked, and I ... I forgot all about Tommie.” She looked mournfully at the boy as tears welled up in her eyes. He smiled back at her as if to say “no hard feelings.”

“Did it not occur to you, Mr. Waverly, or you, Miss Trent, to look out into the yard to check on Tommie while Miss Moore was at the instrument?”