“Yeah? Maybe. I'd like to see Nero Wolfe forced into anything. I noticed it happened right after McNair was croaked. All right; Wolfe had got hold of some kind of positive information. Where did he get it from? From that red box. You see, I'm not trying to play foxy, I'm just telling you. His stunt at Glennanne was a cover. Your play with Gebert was a part of it too. I haven't got an iota of proof of anything, but I'm telling you. And I warn you and I warn Wolfe: don't think I'm too dumb to find out eventually what was in that red box, because I'm not.”
I shook my head sadly. “You're all wet, inspector. Honest to God, you're dripping. If you've quit looking for the red box let us know, and well take a shot at it.”
“I haven't given it up. I'm making all the motions. I don't say Wolfe is deliberately covering a murderer, he'd have to get more than his feet tangled before he'd be fool enough to do that, but I do say he's withholding valuable evidence that I want. I don't pretend to know why; I don't pretend to know one damn thing about this lousy case. But I do think it's in the Frost family, because for one thing we haven't been able to uncover any other connection of
McNair's that offers any line at all. We don't get anything from his sister in
Scotland. Nothing in McNair's papers. Nothing from Paris. No trail on the poison. My only definite theory about the Frosts is something I dug up from an old family enemy, some old scandal about Edwin Frost disinheriting his wife because he didn't like her ideas about friendship with a Frenchman, and forcing her to sign away her dower rights by threatening to divorce her. Well, Gebert's a Frenchman, but McNair wasn't, and then what? It looks as if we're licked, huh?
Remember what I said Tuesday in Wolfe's office? But Wolfe is absolutely not a damned fool, and he ought to know better than to try to sit on a lid which sooner or later can be pried off. Will you take him a message from me?”
“Sure. Shall I write it down?”
“You won't need to. Tell him this Gebert is going to have a shadow on him from now on until this case is solved. Tell him that if the red box hasn't been found, or something else just as good, one of my best men will sail for France on the Normandie next Wednesday. And tell him that I know a few things already, for instance that in the past five years $60,000 of his client's money has been paid to this Gebert, and the Lord knows how much before that.”
“Sixty grand?” I raised the brows. “Of Helen Frost's money?”
“Yes. I suppose that's news to you.”
“It certainly is. Shucks, that much is gone where well never see it. How did she give it to him, nickels and dimes?”
“Don't try to be funny. I'm telling you this to tell Wolfe. Gebert opened a bank account in New York five years ago, and since then he has deposited a thousand dollar check every month, signed by Calida Frost. You know banks well enough to be able to guess how easy it was to dig that up.”
“Yeah. Of course, you have influence with the police. May I call your attention to the fact that Calida Frost is not our client?”
“Mother and daughter, what's the difference? The income is the daughter's, but I suppose the mother gets half of it. What's the difference?”
“There might be. For instance, that young lady up in Rhode Island last year that killed her mother. One was dead and the other one alive. That was a slight difference. What was the mother paying Gebert the money for?”
Cramer's eyes narrowed at me. “When you get home, ask Wolfe.”
I laughed. “Oh, come, Inspector. Come, come. The trouble with you is you don't see Wolfe much except when he's got the sawdust in the ring and ready to crack the whip. You ought to see him the way I do sometimes. You think he knows everything. I could tell you at least three things he never will know.”
Cramer socked his teeth into his cigar. “I think he knows where that red box is, and he's probably got it. I think that in the interest of a client, not to mention his own, he's holding back evidence in a murder case. And do you know what he expects to do? He expects to wait until May 7th to spring it, the day
Helen Frost will be twenty-one. How do you think I like that? How do you think they like it at the D.A.'s office?”
I slapped a yawn. “Excuse it, I only had six hours' sleep. I'll swear I don't know what I can say to convince you. Why don't you run up and have a talk with
Wolfe?”
“What for? I can see it. I sit down and explain to him why I think he's a liar.
He says 'indeed' and shuts his eyes and opens them again when he gets ready to ring for beer. He ought to start a brewery. Some great men, when they die, leave their brains to a scientific laboratory. Wolfe ought to leave his stomach.”
“Okay.” I got up. “If you're so sore at him that you even resent his quenching his thirst occasionally every few minutes, I can't expect you to listen to reason. I can only repeat, you're all wet. Wolfe himself says that if he had the red box he could finish up the case”-I snapped my fingers-“like that.”
“I don't believe it. Give him my messages, will you?”
“Right. Best regards?”
“Go to hell.”
I didn't let the elevator take me that far, but got off at the main floor. At the triangle I found the roadster and maneuvered it into Centre Street.
Of course Cramer was funny, but I wasn't violently amused. It was no advantage to have him so cockeyed suspicious that he wouldn't even believe a plain statement of fact. The trouble was that he wasn't broad-minded enough to realize that Wolfe and I were inherently as honest as any man should be unless he's a hermit, and that if McNair had in fact given us the red box or told us where it was, our best line would have been to say so, and to declare that its contents were confidential matters which had nothing to do with any murder, and refuse to produce them. Even I could see that, and I wasn't an inspector and never expected to be.
It was after six when I got home. There was a surprise waiting there for me.
Wolfe was in the office, leaning back in his chair with his fingers laced at the apex of his frontal buttress; and seated in the dunce's chair, with the remains of a highball in a glass he clutched, was Saul Panzer. They nodded greetings to me and Saul went on talking:
“…the first drawing is held on Tuesday, three days before the race, and that eliminates everyone whose number isn't drawn for one or another of the entries.
The horses. But another drawing is held the next day, Wednesday…”
Saul went on with the sweepstakes lesson. I sat down at my desk and looked up the number of the Frost apartment and dialed it. Helen was home, and I told her
I had seen Gebert and he had been rather exhausted with all the questions they had asked him, but that they had let him go. She said she knew it; he had telephoned a little while ago and her mother had gone to the Chesebrough to see him. She started to thank me, and I told her she'd better save it for an emergency. That chore finished, I swiveled and listened to Saul. It sounded as if he had more than theoretical knowledge of the sweep. When Wolfe had got enough about it to satisfy him he stopped Saul with a nod and turned to me:
“Saul needs twenty dollars. There is only ten in the drawer.”
I nodded. “I'll cash a check in the morning.” I pulled out my wallet. Wolfe never carried any money. I handed four fives to Saul and he folded it carefully and tucked it away.