She stopped with her mouth open, her body stiffening. Miltan spun on his heel to face the door to the hall. I did the same. The yell that had split the air sounded like something that you might expect but would certainly resent if you found yourself alone in a jungle at night.
When the second yell came all three of us were running for the door. Miltan was ahead, and in the hall he bounded for the stairs with us after him. There were no more yells, but sounds of commotion, steps and voices, came from above, and on the second floor landing we were impeded by people who popped out of doors. Miltan was a kangaroo; I couldn't have caught him for a purse. At the top of the second flight we were brought to a halt by obstructions. A coloured man was wriggling, his arms held by the chinless wonder; Nat Driscoll, in his shirt but no trousers, was jumping up and down; the two Balkans, in fencing costumes, were backed against the wall; Zorka, in gold-leaf undies and that was all, was standing apart and systematically screaming. Before Miltan could make any progress or I could get around him, I felt myself brushed aside and Jeanne Miltan was there.
"What?" she demanded in a tone that would have stopped a hurricane. "Arthur! What is it?"
The coloured man stopped wriggling and rolled his eyes at her and said something I didn't get, but apparently she did, for she started off on a lope down the hall. I was close behind her and there were steps behind me. She went to the last door, the end room. It was standing open and she passed through, taking the curve without slowing down. She jerked to a halt, saw it there on the floor, and walked over to it. I was beside her. It was Percy Ludlow, lying on his side, so tilted that he would have been on his back if he hadn't been propped up by the protruding point of the йpйe which was sticking clear through him.
Chapter Four
Jeanne Miltan said something foreign and then stood and stared down at it with her face frozen. I heard a gasp from Miltan behind me, and other noises, and turned and saw them ganged in the doorway.
"Keep out of here," I said. "All of you."
I stooped over for a quick look and straightened up and told Jeanne Miltan, "He's dead." She said peevishly, "Of course he is." A scream came from the doorway and I yelled in that direction, "Shut up!" and went on to Mrs Miltan, "Somebody must stay here, and the police, of course, and nobody must leave."
She nodded. "You phone the police. In the office. Nikola, you stay here. I'll go down to the hall-"
She was moving, but I stopped her. "I'd rather not. You do the phoning. It's your place and you saw it first. I'll take the street door. Don't let anyone in here, Miltan."
He looked pale as he mumbled. "The col de mart-"
"No, it's not there. The end of the йpйe is bare and blunt."
"It can't be. It wouldn't go through."
"I can't help that, it's not there."
Jeanne Miltan was headed for the door and I followed her. They made way for us. Carla Lovchen was going to say something to me and I shook my head at her. The chinless wonder grabbed at my elbow and I dodged him. People had come up from the floor below and Nat Driscoll came runing down the hall with his shirt-tails flying. At the head of the stairs I wheeled to announce: "Don't go into the end room, anybody. Ludlow's in there dead. Nobody is to leave the building." I saw Donald Barrett moving in my direction and the chinless wonder behind him. "If you two guys would herd everyone downstairs into the office it might simplify matters."
I disregarded the chatter that broke out and beat it down the steps, with Mrs Miltan following me. On the ground floor she went to the rear, to the office, and I went to the front, to the door to the street vestibule. I was tempted to keep on going, right on through, and get to a phone and call up Nero Wolfe, but I decided it would be a bad move. If I once got out I might not get back in again, or, if I did, it would be under conditions not nearly so favourable as they were now. Guarding the portal, loyal and true, was the best bet.
From where I stood I could see the inmates straggling down the stairs. They were mostly silent and subdued, but a couple of female dancing teachers were jabbering. Belinda Reade the baby doll with a new silk dress, came along to me instead of turning towards the office and said in a determined voice that she had a very important appointment to keep. I told her I had one too, so we were in the same boat. Donald Barrett, who was hovering in the background, approached.
"See here," he said, "I know I'm caught in this God-awful mess. Frightful stink and I'm helpless just because I'm here. But Miss Reade-after all-are you a cop?"
"No."
"Then my dear fellow, just turn your back and talk to me a moment-and she can just slip out and go to her appointment-"
"And before long a dozen dicks will slip out and trace her and haul her back. Don't be silly. Have you ever been intimate with a murder before? I guess you haven't. The worst thing you can do is make them start looking for you. They get upset. Take my advice and-just a minute, Miss Tormic."
The two Balkans were there, three paces off. The glances that passed back and forth among the four of them, in one second, obviously meant something to them but not to me. Belinda Reade said, "Come on, Don," and he followed her in the direction of the office. I surveyed the pair of girls. Carla had put a long loose thing with buttons over her fencing costume. Neya had on the green robe, carelessly closed as before, with one hand inside its folds apparently clinging to it.
"There is no time to talk," I snapped. "You may be a couple of goons. I don't know. But I'm asking you a damn straight question, and maybe your life depends on giving me a straight answer." I took Neva's eyes with mine. "You. Did you kill that man?"
"No."
"Say it again. You didn't?"
"No."
I switched to Carla. "Did you?"
"No. But I must tell you-"
"There's no time to tell me anything. That's the hell of it. But anyhow you can-there they are! Beat it! Quick, damn it!"
They scampered down the hall towards the office and were gone by the time the cops got through the vestibule. It was a pair of flatfeet. I opened the glass-panelled door and when they were in the hall let it close again.
"Hello. Precinct?"
"No. Radio patrol. Who are you?"
"Archie Goodwin, private detective from Nero Wolfe's office, happened to be here. I was sitting on the lid. I'll keep." I pointed. "Back in the office is Mrs Miltan and others, and two flights up is a corpse."
"God, you're snappy. Sit on the lid a little longer, will you? Come on, Bill."
They tramped to the rear. I stood and played with my fingers. In about two minutes one of them tramped down the hall again and went upstairs. In another two minutes there were fresh arrivals in the vestibule, three dicks in plain clothes, but one glance was enough to tell that they were precinct men, not homicide squad. I gave them a brief picture of it. One of them relieved me at the door, another went for the stairs, and the third went to the office and took me with him.
The radio flatfoot was there, holding his tongue between his teeth while he wrote down names in a notebook. The precinct dick spoke with him a moment and then started in on Mrs Miltan. I sidled off and made myself unobtrusive alongside the coat rack, resisting a temptation to edge around and get in a few words of advice to the Montenegrin females before the homicide squad arrived, which was when the real fun would start. I decided not to take a chance on starting a mental process even in a precinct man. The clients and employees were scattered all around the office, some sitting, some standing, with no sound coming from them except an occasional muttering. While I was making the round of their faces, without any real expectation of seeing anything interesting or significant, I suddenly saw something right in front of my eyes that struck me as being both interesting and significant. My coat was there on the rack where I had left it, so close my elbow was touching it, and what I saw was that the flap of the lefthand pocket had been pushed inside and the pocket was gaping on account of something in it. That was wrong. I didn't patronize the kind of tailors Percy Ludlow had, but I was born neat and I don't go around with my pocket flaps pushed in; and besides, that pocket had been empty.