I was half expecting to see one of the peony-growers tied up and the other three applying matches to his bare feet, but not at all. We single-filed through twenty thousand orchids in the four plant rooms and entered the potting room, and there they were in the fumigating room, with the lights turned on, chatting away like pals. In the potting room Theodore was sloshing around with a hose, washing old pots.
“Good morning, Mr. Cramer!” Wolfe called. “Come in!”
Theodore was so enthusiastic with the hose that spray was flying around, and we all stepped into the fumigating room. Fred and Dill were there, seated on the lower tier of a staggered bench, and Wolfe was showing Hewitt a sealed joint in the wall. He was leaning on the handle of an osmundine fork, like a giant shepherd boy resting on his staff, and was expounding with childish enthusiasm:
“...so we can stick them in here and close the door, and do the job with a turn of the valve I showed you in the potting room, and go on with our work outside. Twice a year at the most we do the whole place, and we use ciphogene for that too. It’s a tremendous improvement over the old methods. You ought to try it.”
Hewitt nodded. “I think I will. I’ve been tempted to, but I was apprehensive about it, such deadly stuff.”
Wolfe shrugged. “Anything you use is dangerous. You can’t kill bugs and lice and eggs and spores with incense. And the cost of installation is a small item, unless you include a sealed chamber, which I would certainly advise—”
“Excuse me,” Cramer said sarcastically.
Wolfe turned. “Oh, yes, you wanted to speak to me.” He sidled around the end of a bench, sat down on a packing box, gradually giving it his weight, and kept himself upright with nothing to lean against, holding the osmundine fork perpendicular, with the handle-end resting on the floor, like Old King Cole with his scepter. He simpered at the Inspector, if an elephant can simper. “Well, sir?”
Cramer shook his head. “I want you and Goodwin and Miss Tracy. So does the District Attorney. At his office.”
“You don’t mean that, Mr. Cramer.”
“And why the hell — why don’t I mean it?”
“Because you know I rarely leave my home. Because you know that citizens are not obligated to regulate their movements by the caprice of the District Attorney or to dart around frantically at your whim. We’ve had this out before. Have you an order from a court”
“No.”
“Then if you have questions to ask, ask them. Here I am.”
“I can get an order from a court. And the D.A. is sore and probably will.”
“We’ve had that out before too. You know what you’ll get if you try it.” Wolfe shook his head regretfully. “Apparently you’ll never learn. Confound you, you can’t badger me. No one on earth can badger me except Mr. Goodwin. Why the devil do you rile me by trying it? It’s a pity, because I’m inclined to help you. And I could help you. Do you want me to do you a favor?”
If the man who knew Wolfe best was me, next to me came Inspector Cramer. Over and over again through the years, he tried bluster because it was in his system and had to come out, but usually he knew when to drop it. So after narrowing his eyes at Wolfe without answering, he kicked a packing box a couple of feet to where there was more leg room, sat down and said calmly:
“Yeah, I’d love to have you do me a favor.”
“Good. Archie, bring Miss Lasher up here.”
I went. On my way downstairs I thought, so here she goes to the wolves. I didn’t like it. I wasn’t especially fond of her, but my pride was hurt. It wasn’t like Wolfe; it wasn’t like us at all.
She was standing looking out of a window, biting her nails. The minute she saw me she started on a torrent. She couldn’t stand it any longer, cooped up like that, she had to get out of there, she had to use a telephone—
“Okay,” I said, “come up and say good-bye to Wolfe.”
“But where am I going — what am I going—”
“Discuss it with him.”
I steered her up the one flight and through to the potting room. I had left the door to the fumigating room nearly closed so she couldn’t see the assemblage until she was on the threshold, and as I opened it and ushered her in I took a better hold on her arm as a precaution in case she decided to go for Wolfe’s eyes as souvenirs. But the reaction was the opposite of what I expected. She saw Cramer and went stiff. She stood stiff three seconds and then turned her head to me and said between her teeth:
“You lousy bastard.”
They all stared at her.
Especially Cramer. Finally he spoke not to her but to Wolfe, “This is quite a favor. Where did you get her?”
“Sit down, Miss Lasher,” Wolfe said.
“You might as well,” I told her. “It’s a party.”
Her face white and her lips tight, she went and dropped onto a bench. The others were all sitting on benches or packing boxes.
“I told you this morning,” Wolfe said, “that unless you told me what you saw in that corridor I would have to turn you over to the police.”
She didn’t say anything and didn’t look as if she intended to.
“So your name’s Lasher,” Cramer growled. “You might as well—”
“I think,” Wolfe put in, “I can save you some time. Details can be supplied later. Her name is Rose Lasher. Yesterday at the Flower Show she saw Miss Tracy and Mr. Gould in Mr. Dill’s exhibit. She wished to discuss an extremely important matter with Miss Tracy, so—”
“With me?” It popped out of Anne. She looked indignant. “There was nothing she could possibly—”
“Please, Miss Tracy.” Wolfe was peremptory. “This will go better without interruptions. So, to intercept Miss Tracy on her exit, Miss Lasher found her way to the corridor and hid among the shrubs and packing cases along the rear wall opposite the door labeled ‘Rucker and Dill.’ That was at or about half past three. She remained concealed there until after half past four, and she was watching that door. Therefore she must have seen whatever went on there during that hour or more.”
There were stirrings, and sounds, then silence, except for the hissing of Theodore’s hose in the potting room and the slapping and sloshing of the water against the pots. Wolfe told me to shut the door, and I did so, and then sat on the bench next to W. G. Dill.
“Okay,” Cramer said dryly, “details later. What did she see?”
“She prefers not to say. Will you tell us now, Miss Lasher?”
Rose’s eyes moved to him and away again, and that was all.
“Sooner or later you will,” Wolfe declared. “Mr. Cramer will see to that. He can be — persuasive. In the meantime, I’ll tell you what you saw, at least part of it. You saw a man approach that door with a cane in his hand. He was furtive, he kept an eye on the corridor in both directions, and he was in a hurry. You saw him open the door and close it again, and kneel or stoop, doing something with his hands, and when he went away he left the cane there on the floor, its crook against the crack at the bottom of the door. You saw that, didn’t you?”
Rose didn’t even look at him.
“Very well. I don’t know what time that happened, except that it was between four and four-twenty. Probably around four o’clock. The next episode I do know. At twenty minutes past four you saw three men come along the corridor. They saw the cane and spoke about it. One of them picked it up, brushed a loop of green string from the crook, and handed it to one of the others. I don’t know whether you saw the string or not. I’m certain that you didn’t know that it was part of a longer string that had been tied to the trigger of a revolver, and that by picking up the cane the man had fired the revolver and killed Harry Gould. Nor did you know their names, though you do now. Mr. Goodwin picked up the cane and handed it to Mr. Hewitt. The man with them was myself.”