“No.”
“Have you evidence pointing to any other place in this house as the spot where he was killed?”
“No.”
“Have you for any reason, evidential or speculative, excluded any of these people from suspicion?”
“No.”
Boyle cut in from the couch. “How long do you intend to let this go on, Inspector?”
“You could have stopped it before it started,” Wolfe said dryly. “But here’s a comment. It is close to unbelievable that Lewent was killed where he was found. From such a blow he died instantly, and surely it was not struck in that narrow passage, particularly since it was moving upward at the moment of impact. With no sign of any struggle, with no displacement of the rug even, I can’t believe that such a blow could be struck—”
“Skip it,” Cramer growled. “Neither can we.”
“You think he was killed elsewhere?”
“Yes.”
“But you don’t know where?”
“No.”
Mandelbaum exploded, “What do you think this is, Wolfe, twenty questions?”
Wolfe ignored him. “My second comment. If he was killed elsewhere, why was the body moved? Because the murderer didn’t want it found where it was. How was it moved? That’s the real question. For vertical transport there was the elevator, but to and from the elevator, how? Was it dragged? That would leave marks, and of course you have looked for them. Have you found any?”
“No.”
“Then it wasn’t dragged. Carried? By whom? None of these women would be up to it. Lewent was undersized, but he weighed more than a hundred pounds. By Mr. Huck? It has been established that his legs will take him, with no burden, only a few steps. Then Mr. Thayer? He’s all we have left, but why? That’s another question I must ask you, Mr. Cramer. Why did Mr. Thayer kill Mr. Lewent?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you even a decent surmise?”
“At present no.”
“Neither have I. But there’s another reason for excluding him, at least provisionally — that he’s not a lunatic. Only a lunatic would carry the body of a man he had just murdered up and down these halls at that time of day, with so great a probability of being seen. No, I think we may conclude that the body was neither dragged nor carried. It only remains—”
“By God!”
That was me. It popped out. It is not often that I let myself interrupt Wolfe when he has steam up and is rolling, but that time it hit me so hard that I didn’t even know I was speaking. Eyes came to me, and Wolfe turned his head to inquire, “What is it, Archie?”
I shook my head. “I’ll save it.”
“No, we’re through saving. What is it?”
“Nothing much, only that I suddenly realized that I actually saw the murderer in the act of transporting the corpse. I stood and looked straight at him while he was moving it, and we exchanged words. I don’t like to brag, but don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I think it likely—”
“This is one hell of a time to realize it,” Sergeant Stebbins blurted at me.
“I suggest,” Wolfe told him, “that you post yourself near Mr. Huck. He could have almost anything hidden around that chair, especially under that quilt, and I don’t—”
“Just a minute, Wolfe.” Mandelbaum had left the couch and was marching. “If you have any evidence against anyone, including Mr. Huck, we want to hear it or see it first.”
“This is the man,” Huck said in a voice not very steady, “who tried to extort one hundred thousand dollars from me!”
“And succeeded,” Wolfe declared. “I’m by no means sure I couldn’t collect, though—”
He stopped, startled. So was I, and the others. Purley Stebbins, who knew Wolfe from away back, had quietly moved to Huck’s chair, at his right elbow, and all of a sudden Huck had jerked his head around and snarled at him in a spasm of fury, “Get away!” It was such a nasty snarl that Mandelbaum, also startled, forgot about Wolfe to stare at Huck. Purley, who had been snarled at by experts in his day, was unmoved.
“I offered comments, not evidence,” Wolfe reminded them. “Here is one regarding the location and nature of the wound on Mr. Lewent’s head, and the direction of the blow. Suppose I am Mr. Huck; here I am in my wheelchair, in my study. It is shortly before five in the afternoon, and my brother-in-law, Mr. Lewent, is with me. I have decided that he must die because I believe that he is a deadly menace to me. He has engaged Nero Wolfe, a detective who does not waste his time or talent on inanities, to start an investigation in my household on a pretext so absurd that it is manifestly a fake. I not only know that my wife would not have left a sum of money secretly to be given to her brother; I also know that he knows she would not have done that. In addition, Wolfe’s assistant, Goodwin, in talking with my secretary and housekeeper and nurse, has dwelt on the possibility that one of them poisoned my wife, pretending that he is merely being facetious. One of them has told me about it. You might check that detail by inquiry.”
“We have,” Cramer admitted. “It was Miss Riff.”
“Good. So I am convinced that my brother-in-law has become suspicious about his sister’s death and therefore mortally threatens me. For the purpose of this comment, let us say the threat is possible disclosure of the fact that I poisoned his sister — my wife — by putting toxic material into a dish of artichokes. The inducement, which I realized, was inheritance of her wealth, amounting to millions. By the way, I don’t suppose Mr. Huck can prove that Mr. Lewent did not come to his study between four and five o’clock?”
“No. He sent Miss Riff for him about half-past four. He says Lewent was with him about ten minutes and then left.”
“Was Miss Riff present?”
“No. She left the house on an errand.”
Wolfe nodded. “Good again. And in fairness to you, Mr. Cramer and gentlemen, it should be said that I have had one big advantage which you lacked. You haven’t seen Mr. Huck propel himself in that vehicle, have you?”
They said no.
“I haven’t either, but I have heard Mr. Goodwin describe the operation and was impressed. It was my memory of that description that put me on the path of these comments. At present Mr. Huck does not look as if he would care to demonstrate his machine, but you can manage that later. To go back: I am now Mr. Huck, here in my chair in my study, shortly before five o’clock.” Wolfe pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wadded it in his right hand. “This is a paperweight, a heavy ball of green marble with a segment sliced off. Actually it isn’t in my hand, not quite yet; I merely have it ready, here on a shelf of my chair, holding down some papers. Archie, you are Mr. Lewent. Stand there in front of me, please — of course you could be either standing or sitting. A little closer would be more natural. Now I lift the paperweight with my right hand, and with my left pick up a paper to show you, but it slips from my fingers and falls to the floor. It’s quite likely that before sending for you I practiced dropping that paper. Of course you bend over to retrieve it for me — that would be automatic, with me a cripple — and when you do so I strike with the paperweight.”
I bent over, and he tapped me on the nape. I wasn’t in the mood to ham it by dropping dead, but it didn’t seem fitting to straighten up immediately, so I compromised by sinking to a knee.
“God save us,” muttered Mrs. O’Shea, and there was no other sound. Wolfe went on. “In our relative positions, me sitting and you stooping, the impact would be upward on your skull. I must now move as fast as my disability will permit. Twenty seconds is enough to satisfy me that no second blow is needed; you are dead. I am sound and strong from the hips up, and in another twenty seconds I have you lifted and draped over my legs and covered with the shawl that I am never without. I push a button and grasp the lever, and off we go. I must dump you on another floor. It is a risk, certainly, but I must take it.”