“Ouch.” I made a face. “The court and the DA, sure, but not Cramer. When you’re within a mile of a homicide of his he itches from head to foot. You can imagine what kind of suspicions your walking out under a subpoena would give him. Let’s go home. It will be interesting to see whether he has one dick posted out in front, or two or three. Of course he’ll collar you and you may get no lunch at all, but what the hell.”
“Shut up.”
“Yes, sir. Here comes the car.”
As we emerged from the office the brown sedan rolled to a stop before us and Pete got out and opened the rear door for Wolfe, who refuses to ride in front because when the crash comes the broken glass will carve him up. I climbed in behind the wheel, released the brake and fingered the lever, and fed gas.
At that time of day the West Side Highway wasn’t too crowded, and north of Henry Hudson Bridge, and then on the Sawmill River Parkway, there was nothing to it. I could have let my mind roam if it had had anywhere to roam, but where? I was all for earning a little token of gratitude by jerking Leonard Ashe out from under, but how? It was so damn childish. In his own comfortable chair in his office, Wolfe could usually manage to keep his genius under control, but on the hard courtroom bench, with a perfumed woman crowded against him, knowing he couldn’t get up and go home, he had dropped the reins, and now he was stuck. He couldn’t call it off and go back to court and apologize because he was too darned pigheaded. He couldn’t go home. There was even a chance he couldn’t go to Katonah for a wild goose. When I saw in the rear-view mirror a parkway police car closing in on us from behind, I tightened my lips, and when he passed on by and shot ahead I relaxed and took a deep breath. It would have been pretty extreme to broadcast a general alarm for a mere witness AWOL, but the way Cramer felt about Wolfe it wouldn’t have been fantastic.
As I slowed down for Hawthorne Circle I told Wolfe it was a quarter to two and I was hungry and what about him, and was instructed to stop somewhere and get cheese and crackers and beer, and a little farther on I obeyed. Parked off a side road, he ate the crackers and drank the beer, but rejected the cheese after one taste. I was too hungry to taste.
The dash clock said 2:38 when, having followed Alice Hart’s directions, I turned off a dirt road into a narrow rutted driveway, crawled between thick bushes on both sides, and, reaching an open space, stepped on the brake to keep from rubbing a bright yellow Jaguar. To the left was a gravel walk across some grass that needed mowing, leading to a door in the side of a little white house with blue trim. As I climbed out two people appeared around the corner of the house. The one in front was the right age, the right size, and the right shape, with blue eyes and hair that matched the Jaguar, held back smooth with a yellow ribbon.
She came on. “You’re Archie Goodwin? I’m Helen Weltz. Mr. Wolfe? It’s a pleasure. This is Guy Unger. Come this way. We’ll sit in the shade of the old apple tree.”
In my dim memory of his picture in the paper two months back, and in the snap I had found in Bella Velardi’s drawer, Guy Unger hadn’t looked particularly like a murderer, and in the flesh he didn’t fill the bill any better. He looked too mean, with mean little eyes in a big round face. His gray suit had been cut by someone who knew how, to fit his bulgy shoulders, one a little lower than the other. His mouth, if he had opened it wide, would have been just about big enough to poke his thumb in.
The apple tree was from colonial times, with windfalls of its produce scattered around. Wolfe glowered at the chairs with wooden slats which had been painted white the year before, but it was either that or squat, so he engineered himself into one. Helen Weltz asked what we would like to drink, naming four choices, and Wolfe said no, thank you, with cold courtesy. It didn’t seem to faze her. She took a chair facing him, gave him a bright, friendly smile, and included me with a glance from her lively blue eyes.
“You didn’t give me a chance on the phone,” she said, not complaining. “I didn’t want you to have a trip for nothing. I can’t tell you anything about that awful business, what happened to Marie. I really can’t, because I don’t know anything. I was out on the Sound on a boat. Didn’t she tell you?”
Wolfe grunted. “That’s not the kind of thing I’m after, Miss Weltz. Such routine matters as checking alibis have certainly been handled competently by the police, to the limit of their interest. My own interest has been engaged late — I hope not too late — and my attack must be eccentric. For instance, when did Mr. Unger get here?”
“Why, he just—”
“Now, wait a minute.” Unger had picked up an unfinished highball from a table next to him and was holding it with the fingertips of both hands. His voice wasn’t squeaky, as you would expect, but a thick baritone. “Just forget me. I’m looking on, that’s all. I can’t say I’m an impartial observer, because I’m partial to Miss Weltz, if that’s all right with her.”
Wolfe didn’t even glance at him. “I’ll explain, Miss Weltz, why I ask when Mr. Unger got here. I’ll explain fully. When I went to that place on Sixty-ninth Street and spoke with Miss Hart and Miss Velardi I was insufferable, both in manner and in matter, and they should have flouted me and ordered me out, but they didn’t. Manifestly they were afraid to, and I intend to learn why. I assume that you know why. I assume that, after I left, Miss Hart phoned you again, described the situation, and discussed with you how best to handle me. I surmise that she also phoned Mr. Unger, or you did, and he was enough concerned about me to hurry to get here before I arrived. Naturally I would consider that significant. It would reinforce my suspicion that—”
“Forget it,” Unger cut in. “I heard about you being on your way about ten minutes ago, when I got here. Miss Weltz invited me yesterday to come out this afternoon. I took a train to Katonah, and a taxi.”
Wolfe looked at him. “I can’t challenge that, Mr. Unger, but it doesn’t smother my surmise. On the contrary. I’ll probably finish sooner with Miss Weltz if you’ll withdraw. For twenty minutes, say?”
“I think I’d better stay.”
“Then please don’t prolong it with interruptions.”
“You behave yourself, Guy,” Helen scolded him. She smiled at Wolfe. “I’ll tell you what I think, I think he just wants to show you how smart he is. When I told him Nero Wolfe was coming you should have heard him! He said maybe you’re famous for brains and he isn’t, but he’d like to hear you prove it, something like that. I don’t pretend to have brains. I was just scared!”
“Scared of what, Miss Weltz?”
“Scared of you! Wouldn’t anybody be scared if they knew you were coming to pump them?” She was appealing to him.
“Not enough to send for help.” Wolfe wouldn’t enter into the spirit of it. “Certainly not if they had the alternative of snubbing me, as you have. Why don’t you choose it? Why do you suffer me?”
“Now that’s a question.” She laughed. “I’ll show you why.” She got up and took a step, and reached to pat him on the shoulder and then on top of the head. “I didn’t want to miss a chance to touch the great Nero Wolfe!” She laughed again, moved to the table and poured herself a healthy dose of bourbon, returned to her chair, and swallowed a good half of it. She shook herself and said, “Brrrrr. That’s why!”
Unger was frowning at her. It didn’t need the brains of a Nero Wolfe, or even a Guy Unger, to see that her nerves were teetering on an edge as sharp as a knife blade.
“But,” Wolfe said dryly, “having touched me, you still suffer me. Of course Miss Hart told you that I reject the thesis that Leonard Ashe killed Marie Willis and propose to discredit it. I’m too late to try any of the conventional lines of inquiry, and anyway they have all been fully and competently explored by the police and the District Attorney on one side and Mr. Ashe’s lawyer on the other. Since I can’t expect to prove Mr. Ashe’s innocence, the best I can hope to establish is a reasonable doubt of his guilt. Can you give it to me?”