“Yeah. It’s no fun.”
“It certainly isn’t. Of course they may already have a line on somebody, they may even have the man that did it, there was nothing on the radio about that. But if they haven’t, and if they don’t get him soon, you know what it will be like. They’ll dig everywhere as deep as they can. He was with me five years, and he lived here. They’ll want to know everything about him, and it’s mostly here they’ll expect to get it.”
I was tying a shoelace. “Yeah, they have no respect for privacy, when it’s murder.”
He nodded. “I know they haven’t. And I know the best way to handle it is to tell them anything they want to know, within reason. If they think I’m holding out that will only make it worse, I appreciate that. One thing I want to discuss with you, they’ll ask why I fired Eber and what do I say?”
I had my shoes on now and was on equal terms. Conferring in bare feet with a man who is properly shod may not put you at a disadvantage, but it seems to. It may be because he could step on your toes. With mine now protected, I said, “Just tell them why you fired him. That you suspected him of leaking business secrets.”
He shook his head. “If I do that they’ll want details — what secrets he leaked and who to, all that. That would take them onto ground where I don’t want them. I would rather tell them that Eber was getting careless, he seemed to be losing interest, and I decided to let him go. No matter who else they ask, nobody could contradict that, not even Nora, except one person. You. If they ask you, you can simply say that you don’t know much about it, that you understand that I was dissatisfied with Eber but you don’t know why. Can’t you?”
I was frowning at him. “This must have given you quite a jolt, Mr. Jarrell. You’d better snap out of it. Two of Mr. Wolfe’s oldest and dearest enemies, and mine, are Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins of Homicide. The minute they catch sight of me and learn that I’m here under another name in Eber’s job, the sparks will start flying. No matter what reason you give them for firing him they won’t believe you. They won’t believe me. They won’t believe anybody. The theory they’ll like best will be that you decided that Eber had to be shot and got me in as a technical consultant. That may be stretching it a little, but it gives you an idea.”
“Good God.” He was stunned. “Of course.”
“So I can’t simply say I don’t know much about it.”
“Good God no. My mind wasn’t working.” He leaned forward at me. “Look, Goodwin. The other thing I was going to ask, I was going to ask you to say nothing about what happened Wednesday — about my gun being taken. I’m not afraid that gun was used to shoot Eber, that’s not it, it may not have been that caliber, but when they come here on a murder investigation you know how it will be if they find out that my gun was stolen just the day before. And if it was that caliber it will be a hundred times worse. So I was going to ask you not to mention it. Nobody else knows about it. Horland’s man doesn’t. He left before I found it was gone.”
“I told you I told Mr. Wolfe.”
“They don’t have to get to Wolfe.”
“Maybe they don’t have to but they will, as soon as they see me. I’ll tell you, Mr. Jarrell, it seems to me you’re still jolted. You’re not thinking straight. The way you feel about your daughter-in-law, this may be right in your lap. You want to sink her so bad you can taste it. You hired Mr. Wolfe and gave him ten thousand dollars for a retainer, and then offered me another sixty thousand. If you tell Inspector Cramer all about it — only Cramer, not Stebbins or Rowcliff or any of his gang, and not some squirt of an assistant district attorney — and tell him about the gun, and he starts digging at it and comes up with proof that Susan shot Eber, what better could you ask? You said you knew Susan took the gun, and if so she wanted to use it on someone, and why not Eber? And if you’re afraid Cramer might botch it, keep Mr. Wolfe on the job. He loves to see to it that Cramer doesn’t botch something.”
“No,” he said positively.
“Why not? You’ll soon know if Eber was shot with a thirty-eight. I can find out about that for you within an hour, as soon as I get some breakfast. Why not?”
“I won’t have them— I won’t do it. No. You know damn well I won’t. I won’t tell the police about my personal affairs and have them spread all over. I don’t want you or Wolfe telling them, either. I see now that my idea wouldn’t work, that if they find out you’re here in Eber’s place there’ll be hell to pay. So they won’t find out. You won’t be here, and you’d better leave right now because they might come any minute. If they want to know where my new secretary is I’ll take care of that. He has only been here four days and knew nothing about Eber. You’d better leave now.”
“And go where?”
“Where you belong, damn it!” He gestured, a hand out. “You’ll have to make allowances for me, Goodwin. I’ve had a jolt, certainly I have. If you’re not here and if I account for the absence of my new secretary, they’ll never get to you or Wolfe either. Tell Wolfe I’m still his client and I’ll get in touch with him. He said he was discreet. Tell him there’s no limit to what his discretion may be worth to me.”
He left the chair. “As for you, no limit with you too. I’m a tough operator, but I pay for what I get. Go on, get your necktie on. Leave your stuff here, that won’t matter, you can get it later. We understand each other, don’t we?”
“If we don’t we will.”
“I like you, Goodwin. Get going.”
I moved. He stood and watched me while I got my tie and jacket on, gathered a few items and put them in the small bag, and closed the bag. When I glanced back as I turned the corner at the end of the hall, he was standing in front of the door of my room. I was disappointed not to see Steck in the corridor or reception hall; he must have had morning duties somewhere. Outside, I crossed the avenue, flagged a taxi headed downtown, and at a quarter past nine was mounting the stoop of the old brownstone. Wolfe would be up in the plant rooms for his morning session, from nine to eleven, with the orchids.
The chain bolt was on, so I had to ring, and it was Orrie Cather who opened up. He extended a hand. “Take your bag, sir?”
I let him take it, strode down the hall to the kitchen, and pushed the door.
Fritz, at the sink, turned. “Archie! A pleasure! You’re back?”
“I’m back for breakfast, anyhow. My God, I’m empty! No orange juice even. One dozen pancakes, please.”
I did eat seven.
Chapter 7
I was in the office, refreshed and refueled, in time to get the ten o’clock news. It didn’t add much to what Jarrell had heard two hours earlier, and nothing that I didn’t already know.
Orrie, at ease on the couch, inquired, “Did it help any? I’m ignorant, so I have to ask. What’s hot, the budget?”
“Yeah, I’m underwriting it. I’m also writing a book on criminology and researching it. Excuse me, I’m busy.”
I dialed a number I didn’t have to look up, the Gazette, asked for Lon Cohen’s extension, and in a minute had him.
“Lon? Archie. I’m col—”
“I’m busy.”
“So am I. I’m collecting data for a book. What did you shoot James L. Eber with, an arquebus?”
“No, my arquebus is in hock. I used a flintlock. What is it to you?”
“I’m just curious. If you’ll satisfy my curiosity I’ll satisfy yours someday. Have they found the bullet?”
Lon is a fine guy and a good poker player, but he has the occupational disease of all journalists: before he’ll answer a question he has to ask one. So he did. “Has Wolfe got a thumb in it already?”