It was ten past nine when I buzzed the kitchen on the house phone to tell Wolfe they were all there, and in a minute he entered, circled around Whipple to his desk, and stood while I pronounced names. To each one he nodded, his usual eighth-of-an-inch nod, then turned to me and demanded, “The refreshments, Archie?”
“Offered,” I said, “and declined.”
“Indeed. Beer for me, please.” As I rose he turned to the client. “Mr. Whipple, that evening at Upshur Pavilion you took ginger ale.”
Whipple’s eyes widened. “You remember that?”
“Certainly. But the other day you had a martini. Will it be ginger ale now? I’m having beer and invite you to join me — to your taste.”
“All right, I will. Scotch and soda.”
“Mr. Henchy?”
The executive director objected. “It takes time.”
“Come, sir, is time really so precious? Mine isn’t. If yours is, all the more tempting to steal a little.”
Henchy’s eyes smiled, but he wouldn’t let his mouth chip in. “It’s a point,” he conceded. “Bourbon on the rocks.”
With the boss sold, the others came along. Rae Kallman offered to help, and that reduced the loss of time. The only holdout was Maud Jordan, and when the others had been served she made it unanimous by asking for a glass of water. I took gin and tonic because Miss Tiger did. I believe in fellowship.
Wolfe put his glass down, half empty, and sent his eyes left, then right. “I suppose all of you know that I am proceeding on the premise that Dunbar Whipple was not implicated in the murder of Susan Brooke. That needs no discussion unless one or more of you challenge it. Do you?”
Some shook their heads and some said no.
“Let’s make it clear. Will all of you who agree with me on that point please raise your hands?”
As Miss Tiger raised hers, her head turned right. Checking. Two of them, Cass Faison and Rae Kallman, were a little slow. Henchy moved only his forearm, to a forty-five degree angle. “But we’re not the jury and you’re not the judge,” Adam Ewing said.
“The intention, Mr. Ewing, is that it shall never get to a judge and jury.” Wolfe’s eyes went left and right. “Of course all of you have been questioned separately by the police, except Mr. Oster. For our joint purpose, to clear Mr. Whipple, this joint discussion was preferable, but to avoid confusion let’s start with each of you singly. But attend, please; if any of you hear a statement made by another that you challenge or question, say so at once. Intervene. Don’t let it pass. Is that understood?”
No one said it wasn’t.
“Very well. Mr. Goodwin reports that all of you knew of that apartment, and I am assuming that all of you knew where it was, again excepting Mr. Oster. Any comment?”
“I did.” Beth Tiger.
“I didn’t.” Maud Jordan. “I knew the phone number, I knew it was in Harlem, but I didn’t know the address.”
“Nevertheless, I am assuming that you did. You, Miss Jordan, knowing the phone number, could easily have learned the address. Actually, Mr. Oster, I am not excepting even you. However unlikely it may be that one of you went there and killed Susan Brooke, it is by no means unthinkable. The possibility is in my mind, naturally, but at the back. The police have questioned you regarding your whereabouts that evening, but I won’t. If later something points to one of you, we’ll see. An alibi is rarely unimpeachable. What I—”
“Just a minute,” Henchy cut in. “When you asked if we agreed that Whipple didn’t kill her I put my hand up. If you ask if we think no one in this room killed her, I’ll put it up again.” He jerked forward and hit his knee with a fist. “If you want to clear Whipple, all right, I hope you do, but you’re not going to do it by putting it on one of us!”
“I’m not going to ‘put it on’ anybody, Mr. Henchy. I’m going to find the man who ‘put it on’ himself a week ago. I’ll begin with you, Miss Jordan.”
“Me?” Her mouth stayed open.
“Yes. A vital point is the telephone call by Miss Brooke and the message Mr. Whipple found on his desk shortly before six o’clock. Did you put the message on his desk?”
“Yes. I have told the police all about it.”
“Certainly. You received the call by Miss Brooke?”
“Yes. At the switchboard.”
“What time did the call come?”
“At a quarter past five. I put it on the slip, five-fifteen.”
“What did she say?”
“She wanted to speak to Mr. Whipple, and I said he was in a conference, and she told me to tell him that she couldn’t get there until nine o’clock or a little later.”
“Can you give me her exact words?”
She frowned, making her long thin nose look longer. “I have tried to. To the police. When I said, ‘Rights of Citizens Committee,’ she said, ‘This is Susan, Maud. Please give me Mr. Whipple.’ I said, ‘He’s in conference in Mr. Hench’s room, the people from Philadelphia and Chicago,’ and she said, ‘Then will you tell him I won’t be able to get there until nine or a little later?’ I said, ‘I leave at five-thirty. Will it be all right if I leave a message on his desk?’ and she said, ‘Yes, of course.’ She hung up.”
Wolfe glanced at me, saw that I was getting it in the notebook, and returned to her. “On the next point it’s regrettable that you have already been questioned by the police, but it can’t be helped. Probably it is now fixed in your mind, but I must ask anyway. How sure are you that it was Miss Brooke speaking?”
She nodded. “It was her. They wanted to know if I would swear to it on the witness stand, and I told them I couldn’t swear it was her because I didn’t see her, but if it was someone imitating her voice I would have to hear her do it again before I would believe it.”
“Her using your first name was customary?”
“Yes.”
“At the time, as she spoke, you noticed no oddity whatever?”
“No. Of course not.”
“You say ‘of course,’ Miss Jordan, because your mind is now fixed. You have committed yourself. That’s a pity, since I have no ground at present for a demur.” Wolfe looked right and left. “This is patently crucial. If only I had spoken with Miss Jordan before she committed herself to the police. If I assume that Mr. Whipple is innocent, as I do, I must also assume that Miss Brooke did not make that telephone call. Either that or—”
“No,” Oster said, “not necessarily. She might have made it and got there earlier than she expected to. The question is, did she get there before Whipple, and how long before, and on that there is evidence. She was in that neighborhood, at a package store and a delicatessen, before eight o’clock. So she was there before Whipple came, probably about an hour, and that’s the point.”
Wolfe was shaking his head. “That is not the point. Take the murderer. Since he was not Dunbar Whipple, call him X. He knew about the apartment and that Miss Brooke would be there early in the evening, so in all likelihood he knew that Mr. Whipple would be there too. Would he have entered — presumably admitted by Miss Brooke — and clubbed her to death if Whipple might come at any moment? I don’t believe it. He was done for if Whipple arrived, not only while he was in the apartment, but while he was descending two flights of stairs and leaving the building. I reject it. I think X knew that telephone call had been made and that Whipple would not come until later. Either he knew that Miss Brooke had made the call, or he had himself made it, imitating Miss Brooke’s voice — in which case it is she, not he — or he had a confederate who made the call. So, Miss Jordan, we need you for another point. Who besides you knew of that call?”