“Fred has already told you,” I told Orrie. “You’ve got to take it. We’re not going to turn you in. I don’t have to explain why that wouldn’t—”
“You don’t have to explain anything.”
“Then I won’t. I’ll just tell you what we’re going to do. We’re going to make it impossible for you to live. I’m going to see Jill tomorrow, or Saul is. You’re through with her. You’re through with any kind of work, not only in New York. Anywhere in the world. You’re through with any kind of contact with people that means anything. You know us and you know Nero Wolfe. We know what it will cost us, Nero Wolfe in money and us in time and effort, but that’s what we have to pay for not realizing long ago that someday, somehow, we would be sorry we didn’t cross you off. Exactly how—”
“You didn’t have any reason to cross me off.”
“Certainly we did. For instance, Isabel Kerr. Eight years ago. You got yourself in the can on a murder rap, and it was a job to get you out. And—”
“That was just a bad break. You know damn well it was.”
“Skip it. It isn’t just a bad break that you have killed three people. It isn’t just—”
“You can’t prove it. You can’t prove a damned thing.”
Fred said, “Jesus Christ.” I said, “We don’t have to prove it. We don’t want to prove it. I told you, we’re not going to turn you in, we’re going to make it impossible for you to live. You’ve bought it, and we’re going to deliver it. Actually, we could prove it, but you know what it would mean, especially for Nero Wolfe. We could probably prove the first one, Bassett. As you know, they have got the bullet that killed him, a thirty-eight, and the gun that fired it is probably now in Saul’s pocket. And Pierre—”
“That was self-defense, Archie. Bassett was going to ruin me.”
“Pierre wasn’t going to ruin you.”
“Yes, he was. When he learned about Bassett he remembered about me and the slip of paper. I had been damn fool enough to give him a hundred dollars for the slip of paper. He demanded a thousand dollars. A grand. He came that Sunday, two days after Bassett, and asked for a grand. He said that was all he wanted, he wouldn’t come back, but you know how that is. You said once that all blackmailers ought to be shot.”
“You didn’t shoot him. Sunday? The next day or evening you went to that room at Rusterman’s and put that thing in his coat pocket. Then his daughter was going to ruin you, and you shot her, and they’ve got that bullet too. You had another bomb, probably got two for the price of one, but you couldn’t use it on her because she knew what had killed her father. And you brought it with you here tonight. I thought Saul did a good job with his voice on the phone, but I suppose after killing three people your nerves are on edge. And we are going to ruin you.”
Saul got up and left the room. Sometimes a trip to the bathroom can’t be postponed. But it wasn’t the bathroom; his footsteps on the tiled hall floor went on to the kitchen. Fred rose and stretched his legs and sat down again. Orrie glanced up at him and then sent his eyes back to me. No one spoke. Footsteps again, and Saul was back. Instead of returning to his chair, he joined me and on the couch between us he put what he had gone for: a roll of adhesive tape, a pair of pliers, and a couple of paper towels. He got the Don Pedro cigar tube from his pocket, checked the cap again, gripped it in the middle with the pliers, wiped it good with a paper towel, laid it on the edge of the other paper towel, and rolled the towel around it, tucking in the ends. Then about a yard of adhesive tape, all the way with both ends covered. A very neat wrapping job, with an appreciative audience.
“We’ll keep the gun,” he said. “As you said, Archie, we’re not going to turn him in, but we’ll keep it just in case. But he can have this. Right?”
“Sure,” I said. “Now that you’ve gift-wrapped it. Fred?”
“I guess so.” Fred nodded. “Okay.”
Saul got up and offered it, but Orrie didn’t take it. His hands were on his knees, the curled fingers moving in and out a little as if they couldn’t decide whether to make fists. He hadn’t taken his topcoat off. Saul stepped to him, pulled open his topcoat and jacket, put the tube back where he had found it, in the inside breast pocket, and went to his chair. Orrie’s hand went into the pocket and came out again, empty.
“Dora Bassett came to see us this morning,” I told Orrie. “I took her up to my room, and we had a talk. I’ll see Jill tomorrow, if she’s not on a flight.”
“I’ll go along,” Fred said. “I like Jill.”
“I’ll start with Del Bascom,” Saul said. “Then Pete Vawter.”
Orrie stood up and said, “I’m going to see Nero Wolfe.”
We all stared at him. Fred said, “Jesus Christ.” Saul said, “How are you going to get in?” I said, “He won’t. Of course not. He’s cracked.”
Orrie turned and walked out. Saul got up and followed, and I tagged along, and Fred was right behind me. My mind was on a point of etiquette — should you open the door for a departing guest in whose pocket you have just put a bomb that you hope he’ll use? Saul didn’t; he stayed behind. Orrie not only opened the door, he pulled it shut after him, with us standing there. The spring lock clicked in place, but Saul slid the bolt, which was sensible. Orrie was good with locks, and he just might have ideas. Apparently no one felt like talking; we stood there.
“No bets,” I said. “No bets either way.”
“Me neither,” Saul said. “Not a dime. If it takes a year, it will be a bad year for all of us. And you have a family, Fred.”
“Right here and now,” Fred said, “I’ve got me, and I’m empty. I could swallow some of that salami I turned down, if you can spare it.”
“That’s a bet,” Saul said and headed for the kitchen.
Chapter 17
At a quarter past eleven Thursday morning I pushed the button at the door of the old brownstone for Fritz to come and slide the bolt. Behind my elbows were Saul and Fred. Fred had gone home to his own bed and come back at nine o’clock, but I had slept on the couch in Saul’s living room. I hadn’t overslept, and neither had Saul; we had turned on the radio at six and seven and eight and nine and ten, so we were well informed on current events. A little after ten I had called the Gazette and left word for Lon Cohen that I could be reached at Saul’s place until eleven and then at the office. I hadn’t called Wolfe. I had told him we were going to decide what to do, and let him think we were spending the night at it. For breakfast Saul and I had had two thick slices of broiled ham, six poached eggs, and about a dozen thin slices of buttered toast sprinkled with chives. Saul grows chives in a sixteen-inch box in his kitchen window.
It wouldn’t be accurate reporting to say that Wolfe’s mouth dropped open when he saw us walk in, but it might have, though it never had, if he hadn’t heard our voices in the hall. What he did do, he put on an act. He finished a paragraph in a book he was reading, took his time inserting the thin strip of gold he used for a bookmark, put the book down, and said, “Good morning.”
Saul went to the red leather chair, Fred pulled up a yellow one, and I went to my desk, sat, and said, “I have asked Saul to report. He was the host.”