Would she say a thing like that just to get even with someone? What’s she like?”
“She’s a snooty conceited bitch.” I kept her there the full ten minutes, but got no further useful information regarding Hester Livsey or anyone or anything else. Gwynne didn’t really put her mind on it. She was too anxious to get back to her work.
CHAPTER Thirty-One
It wasn’t essential to the build-up, I thought, for me to be seen upstairs returning from lunch with Gwynne, so I parted from her down in the lobby of the building. After the elevator door had closed on her I walked past the cigar stand, gave a sign en route to a broad-shouldered man who was standing near by, and continued on out to the sidewalk and around the corner. The broad-shouldered man caught up with me and I greeted him.
“How’s it going, Orrie?” “Tedious as hell,” he grumbled. “She had lunch in an orangeade tavern and then back to work. Trade jobs with me?” “Next week maybe. It may not be so tedious starting at five o’clock. You’re not sleepy?” “I could follow her with my eyes shut. Anything new?” “Nothing, except that tonight’s the night, or maybe tomorrow. If you trip and hurt a finger-” “I know, I know. The name is Gather. Orrie.” “Okay, my brave fellow.” I returned to the building lobby, went to a phone booth, called Wolfe, and told him that the ball was rolling. He had no new suggestions, nothing in fact but a grunt. I took an elevator to the thirty-fourth floor, went to my little room-noting that the units of personnel had decided I was worth looking at again-sat at my desk, and inserted paper and carbons in the typewriter.
The headings were of course routine. I got them down, then considered how to word it. That might or might not be important, depending on whether the hoped-for reaction would come from the thirty-fourth floor or the thirty-sixth.
It should, I thought, be purely factual, without any suggestion of fireworks, to conform to the style of my other reports, but that could be overdone. Finally I tapped the keys: There is a development that looks promising. At 9:40 this morning I called on Hester Livsey in her room. As explained previously, she had refused to go to see Mr. Wolfe again, and he wished to talk with her at length, as he has with others. That has been reported. Miss Livsey was extremely nervous. At first she refused to speak with me, and when I persisted she suddenly blurted out that she didn’t dare to go to talk with Wolfe again because she knows who murdered Waldo Moore. She assumed, I believe, that she was telling me that in confidence, but there was no stated arrangement to that effect. The implication was that she also knows that the same person murdered Naylor. I think I would have got more from her, perhaps much more, if Mr. Sumner Hoff had not suddenly entered the room and ordered me out. There is no reason to think that he knew what she was saying to me, as our voices were not raised and the door was closed.
I went immediately to Mr. Wolfe’s office to report the incident to him. It is his opinion that for the time being this matter should be left entirely to me, but that it would be improper to withhold the information from the client. Any further developments will be reported without delay.
That was the way it finally came out. There were a couple of things about the first draft I didn’t like, so I did some editing and then typed it over. I was still setting my trap in the cabinet with a second carbon of my reports, wiping the folder covers and deploying the tobacco crumbs, not with any strong hope of making a catch but to maintain the tradition. After attending to that and putting the original and first carbon in my pocket, I opened my door wide, placed a chair so as to have a view of the door of Hester’s room across the arena, and sat.
Her door was closed.
Within a minute the several dozen females inhabiting the segment of the arena overlooked from my post were aware of my open door and of me sitting there. Eyes were coming at me, all the way from hasty quickly averted glances to marathon stares. It was an interesting experience, or would have been if I had been in a frame of mind to explore all the possibilities. Under the circumstances nothing came of it. I did not actually expect someone to come rolling down the aisle in a stolen sedan, swerve and head for Hester’s room and run the sedan over her. I would have been surprised if anything at all had happened, but even so, during all the time that I sat there I did not yawn once, and there was no interval of more than three seconds when Hester’s door could have opened without me seeing it.
It did in fact open, seven times. At 2:35 she emerged, went to Rosenbaum’s room, and returned to her own at 2:48. At 3:02 she emerged again, went to the end of the arena where the women’s room was, and returned at 3:19. At 3:41 Sumner Hoff came marching down the far aisle and opened her door and went in, closing it behind him. At 3:55 he came out again and headed straight for me-more about that later. At 4:12 Hester came out-more about that later too. That made the seven.
The first proof that I had used good judgment in picking Gwynne as a repository of confidential information came around three o’clock, when my view of the arena was suddenly obstructed by an object appearing in my door. The object was Rosa Bendini. Her black eyes were shining with excitement, but as she entered and approached all she said was: “This is Monday, Archie.” I nodded. “March thirty-first. Six days till Easter.” “Do you remember last Monday?” “I’ll never forget it. I remember Thursday even better.” “So do I. What are you doing, sitting here?” “Remembering Monday and Thursday. Excuse me. Down in front.” I stretched my neck to see. Hester had emerged from her room. When I was satisfied that she was bound for the restroom I came back to my caller. “What are the eyes all lit up for? Not just for me.” “Shall I shut the door?” “No, ma’am. Not during office hours.” She came a step closer. “Hester’s lying to you,” she said with sudden startling intensity. Her head jerked around for a look at the door and then back to me.
“Didn’t I tell you about her? She may know who killed Wally, that part’s all right, but she’s trying to play a trick on you. I told you about her, didn’t I?”
“You did. Keep your voice down. What makes you think she knows who killed Wally?” “She told you so.” Rosa put a hand on my arm, saw my glance at the open door, and took the hand away. “Don’t let her fool you. Archie. Next she’ll be telling you who it was.
“If she does that will be more than you did. You said you knew who killed him but you wouldn’t get down to a name. Then you said you didn’t know. Is that what you call a trick?” “I-I-” She looked around again. “I’m going to shut the door.” “Why, are you ready to name a name?” “I don’t know any names, Archie. I want you to put your arms around me. I’ll shut-” I got her elbow, stopping her. “No, Rosa, not now, we’ll save it for next time.
Who told you-” She jerked free, her eyes flashing. “There may not be any next time,” she said, and went.
It was satisfactory to know that Gwynne had not failed me, but beyond that it was doubtful what I had got, if anything. Wolfe was expecting some word or gesture or countermove, and my instructions were to keep him posted, but I couldn’t for the life of me see anything helpful in Rosa’s wanting me to embrace her. Why shouldn’t she? It had been four days since Thursday. I was making up my mind whether to go to a phone booth and tell him about it, and had decided to wait at least until Hester had returned from the restroom, when my door was darkened again.