Wolfe shook his head. “Not at this moment, sir, it you please. Patience; my reasons will appear. First, is the chronology clear to all of you? At or about six-thirty-five Mr. Perry killed Mr. Walsh, leaving his body near the telephone, and immediately drove downtown, stopping, perhaps, at the same drug store where Saul Panzer just now demonstrated for us. I think that likely, for that store has a side entrance through which the phone booths can be approached with little exposure to observation. From there he phoned here, disguising his voice, and snapping his rubber band. Two minutes later he was at my door, having established the moment at which Michael Walsh was killed. There was of course the risk that by accident the body had been discovered in the twenty minutes which had elapsed, but it was slight, and in any event there was nothing to point to him. As it happened, he had great luck, for not only was the body not discovered prematurely, it was discovered at precisely the proper moment, and by Lord Clivers himself! I think it highly improbable that Mr. Perry knew that Lord Clivers was expected there at that hour, or indeed at all; that was coincidence. How he must have preened himself last evening—for we are all vainer of our luck than of our merits—when he learned the news! The happy smile of Providence! Isn’t that so, Mr. Perry?”
Perry smiled into Wolfe’s face—a thin tight smile, but he made a go of it. He said, “I’m still listening … but it strikes me you’re about through. As Mr. Skinner says, you’ve made up a good story.” He stopped, and his jaw worked a little, then he went on. “Of course you don’t expect me to reply to it, but I’m going to, only not with words. You’re in a plot to blackmail Lord Clivers, but that’s his business. I’m going back to my office and get my lawyer, and I’m going to come down on you for slander and for conspiracy, and also your man Goodwin. I am also going to swear out a warrant against Clara Fox, and this time there’ll be no nonsense about withdrawing it.” He clamped his jaw, and loosened it again. “You’re done, Wolfe. I’m telling you, you’re done.”
“Oh, no.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “You spoke too soon, sir. I am not done. Let me finish my slander and give you more basis for your action. I’m not boring you, am I? No.”
Wolfe looked at the District Attorney. “I am aware, Mr. Skinner, that I have exasperated you, but in the end I think you will agree that my procedure was well advised. First, on account of the undesirable publicity in connection with Lord Clivers, and the fact that he is soon to sail for home, prompt action was essential. Second, there was the advantage of showing Mr. Perry all at once how many holes he will have to plug up, for he is bound to get frantic about it and make a fool of himself. He was really sanguine enough to expect to keep his connection with this completely concealed. His leaving the directors’ room Monday afternoon and returning; his access to Clara Fox’s car for concealing the money, which is now being investigated by one of my men, Orrie Gather; the visit to him by Michael Walsh; his entrance into, and exit from, the building enclosure last evening; his overcoat, perhaps, which he wrapped around his pistol; his entering the corner drug store to telephone; all these and a dozen other details are capable of inquiry; and, finding himself confronted by so many problems all requiring immediate attention, he is sure to put his foot in it.”
Skinner grunted in disgust. “Do you mean to say you’ve given us all you’ve got? And now you’re letting him know it?”
“But I’ve got all that’s necessary.” Wolfe sighed. “For, since we are all convinced that Mr. Perry did kill Harlan Scovil and Michael Walsh, it is of no consequence whether he can be legally convicted and executed.”
Cramer muttered, “Uh-huh, you’re nuts.” Skinner and Hombert stared, speechless.
“Because,” Wolfe went on, “he is rendered incapable of further mischief anyway; and even if you regard the criminal law as an instrument of barbarous vengeance, he is going to pay. What is it that he has been trying so desperately to preserve, with all his ruthless cunning? His position in society, his high repute among his fellow men, his nimbus as a master biped. Well, he will lose all that, which should be enough for any law.” He extended his hand. “May I have those papers. Lord Clivers?”
Clivers reached to his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope, and I got it and handed it to Wolfe. Wolfe opened the flap and extracted some pieces of paper, and unfolded them, with the usual nicety of his fingers, “I have here,” he said, “a document dated Silver City, Nevada, June second, 1895, in which George Rowley agrees to make a certain future compensation for services rendered. It is signed by him, and attested by Michael Walsh and Rubber Coleman as witnesses. I also have another, same date, headed PLEDGE OF THE RUBBER BAND, containing an agreement signed by various persons. I also have one dated London, England, August eleventh, 1906, which is a receipt for two hundred thousand, seven hundred sixty-one pounds, signed by Rubber Coleman, Gilbert Fox, Harlan Scovil, Turtle-back, Victor Lindquist, and Michael Walsh. After the Turtle-back,’ in parentheses, appears the name William Mollen. I also have a check Јor the same amount, dated September nineteenth, drawn to the order of James N. Coleman and endorsed by him for payment.”
Wolfe looked around at them. “The point here is, gentlemen, that none of those men except Coleman ever saw that receipt. He forged the names of all the others.” He whirled suddenly to Perry, and his voice was a whip.
“Well, sir? Is that slander?”
Perry held himself. But his voice was squeezed in his throat. “It is. They signed it.”
“Ha! They signed it? So at last we have it that you’re Rubber Coleman?”
“Certainly I’m Coleman. They signed it, and they got their share.”
“Oh, no.” Wolfe pointed a finger at him and held it there. “You’ve made a bad mistake, sir; you didn’t kill enough men. Victor Lindquist is still alive and in possession of all his faculties. I talked to him yesterday on the telephone, and I warned him against any tricks that might be tried. His testimony, with the corroboration we already have, will be ample for an English court. Slander? Pfui!” He turned to the others. “So you see, it isn’t really so important to convict Mr. Perry of murder. He is now past sixty. I don’t know the English penalty for forgery, but certainly he will be well over seventy when he emerges from jail, discredited, broken, a pitiable relic—”
Wolfe told me later that his idea was to work Perry into a state where he would then and there sign checks for Clara Fox and Victor Lindquist, and Walsh’s and ScoviTs heirs if any, for their share of the million dollars. I don’t know. Anyhow, the checks didn’t get signed, because dead men can’t write even their names.
It happened like lightning, a bunch of reflexes. Perry jerked out a gun and turned it on Wolfe and pulled the trigger. Hombert yelled and Cramer jumped. I could never have got across in time to topple him, and anyway, as I say, it was reflex. I grabbed my gun and let him have it, but then Cramer was there and I quit. There was a lot of noise. Perry was down, sunk in bis chair, and they were pawing him. I dived around the desk for Wolfe, who was sitting there looking surprised for once in his Ufe, feeling with his right hand at his upper left arm.
Him protesting, I pulled his coat open and the sleeve oS, and the spot of blood on the outside of the arm of the canary-yellow shirt looked better to me than any orchid. I stuck my Bnger in the hole the bullet had made and ripped the sleeve and took a look, and then grinned into the fat devil’s face. “Just the meat, and not much of that. You don’t use that arm much anyhow.”
I heard Cramer behind me, “Dead as a doornail,” and turned to see the major casualty. They had let it come on out of the chair and stretched it on the floor. The inspector was kneeling by it, and the others standing, and Clivers and Skinner were busy putting out a fire. Clivers was pulling and rubbing at the bottom front of one side of his coat, where the bullet and flame had gone through when he pulled the trigger with his hand still in his pocket, and Skinner was helping him. He must have plugged Perry onetenth of a second before I did.