"I doubt it. Why don't you try?"
"For a damn good reason. Because the commissioner and the district attorney are both on the soft pedal."
Wolfe's brows went up. "They are?"
"Yes. Didn't I say it's a hush-hush? It's exactly the kind of thing that makes my guts turn over. I'm a cop. I am paid a salary to go and look at dead people and decide if they died as the result of a crime and, if they did, find the criminal and fasten it on him so it will stick. That's the job I'm paid to do. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred I get official co-operation as required, but once in a while a bunch of politicians or influential citizens will try to rope me off. I don't like being roped off by anyone whatever." He stuck the cigar in his mouth and laid his heavy fists on the chair arms. "I do not like it."
"And you are being roped off from this case?"
"I am. The British Consul phoned the commissioner to express his deep concern at the violent death of a British subject, and his earnest hope and so forth. The commissioner saw him at eleven o'clock last night, and the consul was communicating with London as soon as possible. This morning I ask the commissioner for the dope, and he says the consul can furnish no information regarding Ludlow's activities, but of course it is to be hoped that justice will be done. Like it is to be hoped we'll have a mild winter. Then, a little later, talking with the district attorney, I suggested that he might phone the British embassy in Washington, and he vetoes it and says he doubts if it would be fruitful to pursue an investigation along that line. I damn near went ahead and phoned Washington myself!"
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I'm too old to look for another job. Besides, it wouldn't have been fruitful. But what I did this morning, within five minutes after I got there on 38th Street, I phoned right from that room to the German Consul-General and asked him about Faber, and he had the brass to tell me that he hadn't the faintest notion what Faber was doing in New York! After telling me last evening, in connexion with Ludlow, that he could vouch for Faber absolutely! I phoned-the German embassy in Washington then and there, and got the same run-around. What the hell right have countries got to send guys to other countries to do things they're ashamed to talk about? Even when the guys get murdered?"
Wolfe shook his head.
Cramer glared at him a while in silence and then announced abruptly, "I sent a cable to a place in Yugoslavia called Zagreb."
Wolfe murmured, "Indeed."
"Yes, indeed. That's the town those two girls came from. It's the address on their passports. They say they came over here because America is a land of opportunity. They were asked, in that case, why didn't they enter on the quota instead of visitors' visas? They said they wanted to see what it was like first."
"Cautious." Wolfe grunted. "You cabled, of course, to learn if they might be suspected of a grudge against the British Empire. I doubt if you'll get much. If they're working for the Yugoslav government, of course you won't. If for someone else-Zagreb is the Croatian capital, and the authorities there certainly wouldn't help you any. May I ask why you picked on those two girls especially?"
"I didn't. I picked on everybody. But it isn't surprising if I pick on 'em now, is it? With one of 'em evaporated? And Faber stabbed to death right in their flat? Is Tormic still your client?"
"She is."
"If she's innocent it's a mistake not to let her talk."
"I don't think so."
"I do." Cramer discarded his cigar and leaned back. "I'll tell you frankly, I don't think she did it. Chiefly for two reasons, and one is that she's your client. I admit that's a reason. The other is that Faber's death takes away her alibi for Ludlow. She wouldn't be that dumb. She left headquarters at a quarter past ten this morning and she was tailed. She took a taxi. At Canal Street she suddenly hopped out of the taxi and into the subway. It was so unexpected that the tail lost her in the shuffle because a train was just pulling in and she made it and he didn't. So what did she do between then and the time she got to your office, ten after eleven?"
"What does she say?"
"She says she told the taxi driver to take her to your place, but she suddenly decided that she would have time to go to Miltan's and see Miss Lovchen about something if she took the subway, so she did. Then she decided she wouldn't have time after all, so she got out at Grand Central and phoned Miss Lovchen instead, and then took a taxi here."
"She phoned Miss Lovchen where? Miltan's?"
"Yes. And she did. Miltan answered the phone himself and recognized her voice and called Miss Lovchen. About a quarter to eleven."
"What does she say she phoned Miss Lovchen about?"
"She says it's none of my business."
Wolfe sighed. "Well, disprove it."
"Sure. I know. I said frankly, I don't think she did it."
"Who do you think did? Miss Lovchen?"
"How the hell do I know?" Cramer sat up and made fists again. "Haven't I made it plain that I don't know a damn thing? I can't even put anyone in that room between ten o'clock, the time that Faber left here on his feet, and the time that Goodwin and Miss Tormic were there and found him. We can't find anyone that saw anybody go in or out of the building. We're still trying it, but you know that game."
He banged a fist and demanded, "And what if we do? What if I had stood there on the sidewalk myself and saw her go in with Faber and come out again without him? What good would that do me? When the question comes up, what did she kill him for, or Ludlow either, what do I say then? Huh? Or anybody else! It is customary, before you turn a murder case over to a jury and ask them for a conviction, to give them some slight hint of what the motivation was. They like it better that way. And where it stands now, I could give just as good a motive for Goodwin here, and say he did it with his jackknife when he went there with Miss Tormic, as I could for anybody else."
I protested, "I don't carry a jackknife. A penknife."
"Maybe your field's too narrow," Wolfe suggested. "Have you considered-"
"I haven't got any field. As far as I'm concerned, it's wide-open. Naturally, we're checking up on everyone that was at Miltan's last evening. Young Gill was at his office. One out. Miltan and his wife were at their place. Three out. That leaves six in, of that bunch. Driscoll went for a walk at half past ten and got to his office at eleven-thirty. Donald Barrett says he was at his office, Barrett amp; De Russy, but it hasn't been confirmed yet to make it tight. Lovchen and Tormic and Zorka. Two of those disappeared. Belinda Reade left her apartment shortly after ten o'clock to go shopping and has been located."
"The weapon?"
"Hasn't been found. He was stabbed in the left breast with a blade long enough to reach the heart, and it was withdrawn in a few minutes, but not immediately, judging from the amount of bleeding. He was also struck a severe blow, before he was stabbed, on the left eye. A very hard blow with something blunt and hard, and heavy. Very unlikely that he could have got it falling, and anyway, if it had happened at the moment he was stabbed to death it wouldn't look the way it does. It indicates that there was a struggle-what's the idea?"
I had doubled up my right fist and displayed it in front of his nose.
"Blunt and hard, and heavy," I declared.
"Huh? What-"
"Yes, sir. It was me. He got obnoxious here in this office and I plugged him. I tell it because you may dig up someone who saw him soon after, and I don't want to be accused of withholding evidence."
Cramer's chin slowly sunk to his breastbone. It looked like a slow-motion of Jack Dempsey preparing to wade in. Then, also slowly, he put the tip of a forefinger to his nose and rubbed up and down, gently and rhythmically, meanwhile surveying me through narrowed lids. It was quite a while before he said thoughtfully: