The stranger was still standing by the bed staring down at her when Doc Vollmer arrived. After feeling her pulse and glancing under her eyelid, Doc said he thought it would be a long time till the funeral and we wouldn’t be needed for a while, so I told the stranger to come on. He left the room with me and kindly permitted me to close the door, but then announced that he was going to stay right there outside the door until the doctor had brought her to.
“You,” I said, “might as well learn to face facts. You know damn’ well I could throw you downstairs. If I do you’ll have to go to bed, too. March!”
He marched, but he sure hated it. I followed him down, and into the office. Wolfe was there at his desk, looking imperturbable, but when he saw us he started rubbing his chin, which meant he was boiling inside.
“Sit down,” I told the stranger. “This is Mr. Nero Wolfe. What’s your name?”
“None of your damned business!” he informed me. “This is the most outrageous—!”
“You bet it is. When you rushed me from behind, you must have come from inside the building. Didn’t you?”
“That’s none of your business, either!”
“You’re wrong, brother. But I’ll try again. Why did you kill Arthur Tingley?”
He gawked at me. “Are you crazy?”
“Not a bit. Stop me if you’ve heard it before. I went there to get Tingley and bring him here to see Mr. Wolfe. Amy Duncan was there on the stairs looking doubtful. She fell and I caught her, and left her on the hall floor while I went up to investigate. Tingley was on the floor of his office with his throat cut. After a brief inspection I returned to Amy and carried her out, and was putting her in the car when you attacked me from behind. You must have come from somewhere. Why not from inside the building? The idea appeals to me.”
The stranger had decided he could use a chair, and sank into one. “You say—” He swallowed. “Are you telling the truth?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tingley — with his throat cut? Dead?”
“Very dead.” I turned to Wolfe: “He pretended to be going on the theory that I was kidnapping Amy. He’s all for Amy. I brought him along because I thought you might need him.”
Wolfe was glaring at me. “And why should I need him?”
“Well, he was there. He must have come out of that building. He probably murdered Tingley—”
“And what if he did?”
“Oh. So that’s how you feel about it.”
“It is. I am under no obligation to catch murderers indiscriminately. Phone the police. Tell them Miss Duncan and this gentleman are here and they can—”
“No!” the stranger blurted.
“No?” Wolfe lifted a brow at him. “Why not?”
“Because it’s — Good God! And Amy— You can’t—”
“Hold it,” I commanded him. “I’m doing this.” I grinned at Wolfe. “Okay, boss; I’ll call the cops. I merely thought you might like to chat with this bird first, since it seemed likely that whoever killed Tingley also put quinine in your food.”
“Ah,” Wolfe murmured. “That abominable—” He wiggled a finger at the victim. “Did you poison that liver pâté?”
“I did not.”
“Who are you? What’s your name?”
“Cliff. Leonard Cliff.”
“Indeed. You’re a vice-president of the Provisions & Beverages Corporation. Mr. Tingley, himself, suspected you of adulterating his product.”
“I know he did. He was wrong. So is this man wrong when he says I must have come out of that building. I wasn’t inside the building at all.”
“Where were you?”
“I was in the driveway. There’s a driveway tunnel near the door. I was in there.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Keeping out of the rain. Look here,” Cliff said appealingly. “I can’t think straight. This is terrible! If Tingley has been murdered the police have to be notified, I know that, but for God’s sake don’t get them here now! With Miss Duncan — Let me get her to a hospital! And get a lawyer—”
Wolfe cut him off: “What were you doing in the driveway?”
He shook his head. “It had no connection—”
“Pfui! Don’t be a fool. If you adulterated Mr. Tingley’s product, or cut his throat, either or both, I advise you to get out of here at once. If you didn’t, I advise you to answer my questions promptly and fully. Not to mention truthfully. Well, sir?... Archie, call police headquarters. I’ll talk.”
I dialed the number, and when I had it, Wolfe took it at his instrument. “Hello... This is Nero Wolfe. Write this down: Arthur Tingley. His office at his place—”
“Wait!” Cliff blurted. “I’ll answer your questions—” He started from his chair, but I got in between him and the desk and he subsided.
Wolfe continued: “—his place of business at Twenty-sixth Street and Tenth Avenue. He’s there dead. Murdered... Let me finish, please. My assistant, Archie Goodwin, was there and saw him. Mr. Goodwin had to leave, but he will be here at my home later... No. I have no idea.”
He pushed the phone away, and regarded Cliff with his eyes half closed. “You had better make it as succinct as possible. What were you doing in the driveway?”
Cliff was on the edge of his chair, straight, rigid, meeting his gaze. “I was waiting for Miss Duncan to come out. I had followed her there.”
“Followed? Without her knowledge?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Cliff’s jaw worked. “I had a dinner engagement with her, and she phoned me at six o’clock and broke it. The reason she gave sounded phony, and I was — damn it, I was jealous! I went to where she lives, on Grove Street, and waited across the street. When she came out it had started to rain, and she took a taxi, and I managed to grab one and follow her. She went straight to Tingley’s and dismissed her cab and went in. I did the same, but I went in the tunnel entrance and waited there. I couldn’t imagine what she was doing there.”
“What time did she arrive?”
“A few minutes after seven. It was one minute to seven when she left her place on Grove Street. When I saw a man drive up and go in, and a little later come out carrying her and start to put her in his car, naturally I went for him.”
“Naturally,” Wolfe said. “Were you in the tunnel while Miss Duncan was inside?”
“Yes. And I saw three men come and go in and leave again. Goodwin was the last one. There were two others before that.”
Wolfe shook his head. “I doubt if that’s a good idea. If you invent a constant stream of visitors, and it develops—”
“I’m not inventing, damn it! I saw them!”
“Tell me about them.”
“The first one was at seven-thirty. A big, gray town car stopped at the curb, and the driver got out and held an umbrella over another man as he crossed the sidewalk to the entrance. In five minutes the man came out again and ran to the car and got in, and the car drove off. The license was GJ88.”
I grunted. They looked at me. “Nothing,” I said, “go ahead.”
“I nearly missed seeing the second one go in, because he was walking. He had on a raincoat. It was seven-forty when he entered, and he was inside seven or eight minutes. When he came out I got a pretty good view of his face by a street light. He walked off to the east.”
“Did you recognize either of the men?”
“No. But that license number—”