Purley went out at her heels. That cleared the doorway for another man to enter, W. G. Dill. His lips were in a thinner line than ever, and without looking at anybody or saying anything he crossed to a chair by the rear wall and sat down.
“Hello, Wolfe,” Cramer said.
“How do you do, Inspector.” With only two grunts, one under par, Wolfe got to his feet and moved forward. “Come, Archie. We’ll only be in the way.”
“No,” Cramer said meaningly.
“No?” Wolfe halted. “No what?”
“Goodwin won’t be in the way. On the contrary. At least until I get through with him.”
“He’s going to drive me home.”
“Not now he isn’t.”
“May I ask what this is all about?” Hewitt was still displeased. “This surveillance of Miss Tracy? This attitude—”
“Certainly, Mr. Hewitt. Sit down.” Cramer waved at chairs, of which there were plenty. “Everybody sit down. This is going to be — ah, Miss Tracy, did you find your father? Good. Pull that chair around for Miss Tracy, Purley. Sit down, Goodwin.”
I attended to the chair for Anne myself, then turned to face the Inspector.
“No, thanks. I’m nervous.”
“You are,” Cramer growled. “The day you’re nervous I’ll shave with a butter knife. How did you know that man had been shot in the top of the head when you called me on the phone?”
Some of them made noises, but Anne didn’t. Her head jerked up and her nostrils tightened, but that was all. I admired her more all the time. Hewitt exclaimed, “Shot!” and Fred Updegraff demanded, “What man?”
“Harry Gould,” I told him. I grinned at Cramer. “As you see, I didn’t blab around. I saved it for you—”
“How did you know?”
“Good heavens,” Hewitt said blankly. He rose half out of his chair and then dropped back again.
“It was nothing to write home about,” I said. “I looked at his face and he looked dead. I smelled cordite. I saw a jagged hole in the moss at the back of his head, and the moss was puffed out. I couldn’t see the top of his head from where I was, but I felt for it, and my finger went in a hole. By the way, don’t build a theory from some blood on the grass about where his knees were. I wiped my finger there.”
I saw Anne gulp.
“Confound you,” Wolfe said angrily, “I might have known.”
“Why did you go to him in the first place?” Cramer demanded. “You climbed the ropes and ran to him. Why did you do that?”
“Because he didn’t move when Miss Tracy threw water on him, and because I had already noticed that his leg and foot were twisted in an unnatural position.”
“Why did you notice that?”
“Ah,” I said, “now you’ve got me. I give up. I’m trapped. Why does anybody notice anything?”
“Especially a nervous man like you,” he said sarcastically. “What were you doing there? Why did you come here?”
“I brought Mr. Wolfe.”
“Did he come here on a case?”
“You know damn well he didn’t. He never goes anywhere on a case. He came to look at flowers.”
“Why were you there at that particular exhibit?”
“For the same reason that other people were. To watch Miss Tracy dabble her feet in the pool.”
“Did you know Miss Tracy? Or Gould?”
“No.”
“Did you, Wolfe?”
“No,” Wolfe said.
Cramer resumed with me. “And smelling the cordite and seeing the hole in the moss and feeling the one in his head, how did you figure someone had shot him? By lying hidden in the bushes and aiming through a crack in the rocks?”
“Now have a heart, Inspector.” I grinned at him. “If you’re not careful you’ll trap me again. At the moment I didn’t do much figuring, but that was over an hour ago and you know what my brain is when it gets started. Gould took his nap at the same hour each day, and he put his head in exactly the same spot—”
“How do you know that?”
“Mr. Wolfe has been sending me here to look at orchids. That’s a matter I’d rather not dwell on. The pile of rocks was only eight or nine inches from his head. Place a gun among the rocks at the right height, wedge it in, aimed the right way, and replace the moss. The rocks and the moss would muffle the report so that no one would notice it in that big noisy room — or what if they did notice it? Fasten a string to the trigger — make it green string so it won’t be seen among the foliage. At the proper time, which will be anywhere between four and four thirty, pull the string.”
“Pull the string how? From where?”
“Oh, suit yourself.” I waved a hand. “Hide in the bushes and after you’ve pulled it sneak out the door at the back of the exhibit that leads to the corridor. Or if the string’s long enough, run it through the crack at the bottom of the door and then you can pull it from the corridor, which would be safer. Or if you want to be fancy, tie the string to the doorknob and it will be pulled by whoever opens the door from the corridor side. Or if you want to be still fancier, run the string around the trunk of a bush and have its end a loop dangling into the pool, and take off your shoes and stockings and swish your feet around in the pool, and catch the loop with your toes and give it a jerk, and who would ever suspect—”
“That’s a lie!”
That blurted insult came from Fred Updegraff. He confronted me, and his chin was not only serious, it was bigoted, and anyone might have thought I was a caterpillar eating his best peony.
“Nonsense!” came another blurt, from W. G. Dill, who didn’t leave his chair.
“It seems to me—” Lewis Hewitt began sarcastically.
“Pooh,” I said. “You cavaliers. I wouldn’t harm a hair of her head. Don’t you suppose the Inspector had thought of that? I know how his mind works—”
“Can it,” Cramer growled. “The way your mind works.” His eyes were narrowed at me. “We’ll discuss that a little later, when I’m through with Miss Tracy. The gun was wedged among the rocks and covered with the moss, and the string was tied to the trigger, and the string was green, so you’re quite a guesser—”
“How long was the string?”
“Long enough to reach. What else do you know?”
I shook my head. “If you can’t tell guessing from logic—”
“What else do you know?”
“Nothing at present.”
“We’ll see.” Cramer looked around. “If there’s a room where I can go with Miss Tracy—”
The man who had been writing at a desk stood up. “Certainly, Inspector. That door there—”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Jim Hawley of the house staff. I don’t think there’s anyone in there — I’ll see—”
But there was an interruption. The door to the anteroom opened, and in came a delegation of four. In front was a dick whom I recognized as a member of the squad, next came a lady, next my friend Pete with unmatched eyes, and bringing up the rear a cop in uniform. The lady wore a gray coat with a squirrel collar and had a blue leather bag under her arm, but I didn’t presume on old acquaintance by speaking to her.
4
Cramer took in the influx with a glance and asked, “What have you got, Murphy?”
“Yes, sir.” The dick stood with his shoulders straight. He was the military type. “At or about half past four o’clock this young woman was seen in the corridor opening the door leading to the Rucker and Dill exhibit.”
“Who saw her?”
“I did,” Pete spoke up.
“Who are you?”
“I am Pete Arango. I work for Updegraff Nurseries. That’s my boss there, Mr. Updegraff. I went through the door at the back of our exhibit, into the corridor, to get some cookies, and I—”