Read Online Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 24 by Three Men Out - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Three Men Out
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Detective and Mystery Stories, Political, New York, New York (State), Westerns, Wolfe; Nero (Fictitious character), Wolfe; Nero (Fictitious character) - Fiction, Private Investigators - New York (State) - New York - Fiction
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cops go into details with me, does my memory fail me anywhere besides my one trip to this room?”
“No. Everything else as it was.”
“Including the way I got up here?”
“Yes. Confound it, go.”
I went.
7
It had been twenty minutes to ten when Wolfe and I had left the gathering in Huck’s room to go and have a talk with our client. It was a quarter past twelve, more than two and a half hours later, that we were in Huck’s room again with a gathering—the same cast of characters with a few additions.
Meanwhile some two dozen highly trained city employees, including a deputy police commissioner and two assistant district attorneys, had put on an expert performance in the house that Herman Lewent’s father had built and that Herman had after all managed to die in. I witnessed very little of the performance, since for most of the 155 minutes I was up in the sewing room answering questions and explaining previous answers, but I knew it was expert because I had seen most of them in action before. In one way at least it was too damn expert to suit me, because at a couple of points I wouldn’t have minded a chance to exchange a few words with Wolfe, but I wasn’t allowed to. We were expertly kept apart, and I had no sight or sound of him between nine-forty-five, when I left him guarding the corpse, and twelve-fifteen, when Sergeant Purley Stebbins, who has called me Archie eight times over the years in fits of absent-mindedness, came up to the sewing room for me and escorted me down to Huck’s room.
It was the same cast of characters, but they were visibly the worse for wear. Huck himself, in his chair, still in the maroon tie and jacket, looked so pooped that I was surprised the official brass wasn’t showing more consideration for a guy in his bracket whose bum legs gave them such a good excuse. It seemed likely that Paul Thayer had shown some temperament which required a little handling, since his tie was crooked and his hair mussed and a dick was standing at his elbow. On the whole the three women were apparently taking it a little better than the men, but they were by no means jaunty. Mrs. O’Shea sat stiff, her coldblue eyes directed at Inspector Cramer, who was seated near Wolfe. She didn’t bother to glance at Purley and me as we entered. And damned if Miss Riff and Miss Marcy weren’t holding hands! They were side by side on a couch, sharing it with Assistant DA Mandelbaum and Deputy Police Commissioner Boyle.
I had to hand it to Wolfe. He had the big chair he had had before, and this time I hadn’t been there to nab it for him. And he didn’t look fagged. As I came into range and caught his eye, I thought, oh-oh, here we go. I knew that look well. He was about to make some fur fly, or thought he was.
He snapped at me, “Archie!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down. I have told Mr. Cramer I want to go home, and as an inducement have offered some comments on this affair, insisting on your presence. You have of course answered all questions and given all the information you have.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So have I. Move your chair—it obstructs my view of Mr. Thayer. That’s better. Mr. Cramer, I could have done this much earlier—indeed, immediately after your arrival—but you were not then ready to listen, and besides, there was the possibility that your men would uncover something that would weaken or even negate my assumptions. I don’t know that they haven’t, so I need to ask a few questions.”
Inspector Cramer’s round red face was not sympathetic. He rasped, “You didn’t say you had questions, you said you had comments. You practically said you know who killed Lewent.”
“I do, unless you know better. That’s all my questions are for. Are you ready to charge anyone?”
“No.”
“Have you found a weapon that satisfies you?”
“No.”
“Have you any evidence that would contradict an assumption that Lewent was killed elsewhere and his body was transported to his room and
“No. Everything else as it was.”
“Including the way I got up here?”
“Yes. Confound it, go.”
I went.
7
It had been twenty minutes to ten when Wolfe and I had left the gathering in Huck’s room to go and have a talk with our client. It was a quarter past twelve, more than two and a half hours later, that we were in Huck’s room again with a gathering—the same cast of characters with a few additions.
Meanwhile some two dozen highly trained city employees, including a deputy police commissioner and two assistant district attorneys, had put on an expert performance in the house that Herman Lewent’s father had built and that Herman had after all managed to die in. I witnessed very little of the performance, since for most of the 155 minutes I was up in the sewing room answering questions and explaining previous answers, but I knew it was expert because I had seen most of them in action before. In one way at least it was too damn expert to suit me, because at a couple of points I wouldn’t have minded a chance to exchange a few words with Wolfe, but I wasn’t allowed to. We were expertly kept apart, and I had no sight or sound of him between nine-forty-five, when I left him guarding the corpse, and twelve-fifteen, when Sergeant Purley Stebbins, who has called me Archie eight times over the years in fits of absent-mindedness, came up to the sewing room for me and escorted me down to Huck’s room.
It was the same cast of characters, but they were visibly the worse for wear. Huck himself, in his chair, still in the maroon tie and jacket, looked so pooped that I was surprised the official brass wasn’t showing more consideration for a guy in his bracket whose bum legs gave them such a good excuse. It seemed likely that Paul Thayer had shown some temperament which required a little handling, since his tie was crooked and his hair mussed and a dick was standing at his elbow. On the whole the three women were apparently taking it a little better than the men, but they were by no means jaunty. Mrs. O’Shea sat stiff, her coldblue eyes directed at Inspector Cramer, who was seated near Wolfe. She didn’t bother to glance at Purley and me as we entered. And damned if Miss Riff and Miss Marcy weren’t holding hands! They were side by side on a couch, sharing it with Assistant DA Mandelbaum and Deputy Police Commissioner Boyle.
I had to hand it to Wolfe. He had the big chair he had had before, and this time I hadn’t been there to nab it for him. And he didn’t look fagged. As I came into range and caught his eye, I thought, oh-oh, here we go. I knew that look well. He was about to make some fur fly, or thought he was.
He snapped at me, “Archie!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down. I have told Mr. Cramer I want to go home, and as an inducement have offered some comments on this affair, insisting on your presence. You have of course answered all questions and given all the information you have.”
“Yes, sir.”
“So have I. Move your chair—it obstructs my view of Mr. Thayer. That’s better. Mr. Cramer, I could have done this much earlier—indeed, immediately after your arrival—but you were not then ready to listen, and besides, there was the possibility that your men would uncover something that would weaken or even negate my assumptions. I don’t know that they haven’t, so I need to ask a few questions.”
Inspector Cramer’s round red face was not sympathetic. He rasped, “You didn’t say you had questions, you said you had comments. You practically said you know who killed Lewent.”
“I do, unless you know better. That’s all my questions are for. Are you ready to charge anyone?”
“No.”
“Have you found a weapon that satisfies you?”
“No.”
“Have you any evidence that would contradict an assumption that Lewent was killed elsewhere and his body was transported to his room and
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