“It’s Perkins out front, sir,” he rasped. “Sorry to disturb you, but there are two gentlemen here to see you. Named Wolfe and Goodwin... Yes, sir... Yes... All right, I’ll tell them.” He cradled the receiver, swallowed again, and glanced at me, then at Wolfe.
“The reverend’ll be out in a minute,” he wheezed, returning to his paperback and making a point of ignoring us. Wolfe looked at the angular contours of the guest chairs and grimaced, wisely choosing to stay on his feet. I did likewise. In about two minutes, a male silhouette appeared, moving toward us from the shadowy far end of the lobby, his footfalls echoing. Well before he emerged into the light, I knew it was Barnabas Bay.
“Mr. Wolfe. Mr. Goodwin. This is something of a surprise,” Bay said, giving us a weak smile. “We’re in the middle of our staff meeting, so—”
“Sir, I will be blunt,” Wolfe told him. “Mr. Goodwin and I are cognizant of your meeting, and we chose this time to see you and your cadre together. The subject of our visit is Mr. Meade’s death.”
Bay, looking dapper in a brown herringbone sport coat, white shirt, and brown-and-gold-striped tie, puckered his lips and motioned us to move away from the guard’s desk. When we were out of the old buzzard’s earshot, Bay looked earnestly at Wolfe and cleared his throat.
“This is somewhat awkward, to say the least. As I have reiterated to both you and Mr. Goodwin, we all know that the killer — your Mr. Durkin — has long since been identified and charged. I know how much that must pain you, but I see no need for my staff to be put through any further pain by forcing them to relive the terrible tragedy. I feel I already indulged you by allowing Mr. Goodwin to question my people at length.”
Wolfe, who hates conversing on his feet and who was angry to begin with, tapped his rubber-tipped walking stick once on the terrazzo, which for him is an act approaching violence. “Mr. Bay, either I talk to your assembled staff — I will not unduly prolong the session — or you will read what I have to say in tomorrow afternoon’s edition of the Gazette. I assure you it will not be pleasurable reading.”
I don’t know what Bay was thinking, but it probably ran along the lines that he couldn’t afford to take a chance on turning us away. “All right,” he said after studying his tassel loafers. “I would first like to know what your message will be.”
“No, sir, it doesn’t work that way. You will all hear me simultaneously.”
More silence. “This bothers me very much, I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Wolfe. Can you give me some indication of what you’re going to say?”
“I already have. It concerns Mr. Meade’s murder. We are wasting both time and breath.”
“All right.” Bay sighed. “But I reserve the right as chair to cut off the discussion at any time.”
Wolfe, knowing that once he got started nobody was going to cut him off, dipped his chin a fraction of an inch, and we followed Bay down a shadowy hallway.
The minister swung open the door to the conference room, and we were greeted by six shocked expressions. “We have guests,” the minister announced before anyone could recover. “All of you have met Mr. Goodwin. And this is his employer, Mr. Nero Wolfe.”
“What’s all this about, Barney?” Sam Reese rose halfway out of his chair as the others nattered angrily. “These are the last people who ought to be showing their faces around here.”
“Please, if I can explain,” Bay said, holding up a hand. “I concede that this is unexpected, but Mr. Wolfe has asked for a few minutes to discuss... what happened to Roy.”
“What’s to discuss?” Marley Wilkenson barked. “Durkin killed Roy — we all know it, and so do you, Barney.”
“We went to Mr. Wolfe originally, seeking help,” Bay said in a soothing but firm tone. “We owe him the courtesy of hearing what he has to say.” That silenced them, at least for the moment, although nobody around the table looked to be oozing the milk of human kindness.
Bay gestured Wolfe to a chair at one end of the dark, highly polished conference table, and I helped him off with his overcoat. The chair was a couple of sizes smaller than he’s used to, but he gamely wedged himself into it. I took a seat slightly behind and to the left of him. As Wolfe looked down the table, Lloyd Morgan was on his immediate right hand, with Sam Reese next to Morgan, then Carola, and finally Marley Wilkenson. Gillis was closest to Wolfe on the left, with Elise Bay and then her husband farther down that side. The table could seat at least twice the number that were gathered, so the far end was vacant.
Wolfe adjusted his bulk and studied the somber faces before him. “I can appreciate the genuine animosity with which you greet my presence,” he said. “Each of you, save one, is convinced, with apparent good reason, that Mr. Durkin killed your colleague, and the evidence would seem to point in that direction.”
“Amen,” said Morgan, who got a glare from Bay.
Wolfe took a breath and went on. “You all embrace many tenets solely on faith, and for the moment, I ask you to accept something else on faith: My unswerving conviction that Fred Durkin is incapable of committing the crime with which he has been charged. Mr. Durkin is—”
“That’s asking a lot of us,” Carola Reese murmured, brushing a tendril of hair from her cheek.
“It is, madam, but I request your forbearance for only a short time. Mr. Durkin is, after all, innocent until proven guilty in our society.”
“And you’re going to tell us he’s innocent because he was working for you, right?” Reese stuck out his chin belligerently.
Wolfe pursed his lips. “Sir, I intend to prove Mr. Durkin’s innocence — by revealing the identity of the murderer. And to correct you, Mr. Durkin was not in my employ on this particular assignment. Now, does anyone—”
He was cut short by the ringing of the phone at Bay’s elbow. “Yes. What? Here? Well... yes, bring them on back.” Bay scowled and looked accusingly at Wolfe. “Two members of the police department have arrived. They apparently knew that you would be present tonight. You are straining the bounds of our hospitality.” So now I knew how Wolfe had spent part of his time up in his room before we left. He’d called Cramer and didn’t bother to tell me about it. This would be the subject of a future discussion between us.
“A murder has been committed,” Wolfe responded to Bay, turning a palm up. “Although both you and I have vested interests in seeing this crime solved, the interests of the public, as represented by the police, supersede our own.”
As if on cue, the door opened, and Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Purley Stebbins pushed in, making the room seem suddenly smaller. “Inspector,” Bay said, rising with an unsmiling nod, “I had not expected to see you tonight.”
“I’m just as surprised as you are,” Cramer gruffed. “But Sergeant Stebbins and I are here only as spectators.”
“Isn’t that more than a little bit unorthodox?” Roger Gillis asked in a high-pitched voice that barely missed being squeaky.
“Yes, but so’s he.” Cramer jabbed a thumb in Wolfe’s direction. “He usually holds these charades at his place, and I’ve found over the years that it’s a good idea to keep watch on them.”
“So, in effect, Wolfe is calling the shots for the police department,” Reese said, his chin still jutting out like a battering ram.
“He is not!” Cramer’s face turned tomato-red, and a vein popped out in his neck. “He never has, and he never will, as long as I’m in this job.”
“Inspector, our apologies; I know Sam meant no disrespect,” Bay said, shifting to a soothing tone that awakened his southern drawl. “It’s just that we are all on edge, as I’m sure you can understand. You are of course welcome here, as is the sergeant. Please take a seat.”