Read Online Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 41 by The Doorbell Rang - Free Book Online

said, sightseeing, loose. Actually, of course, I was professionally observing the scene of a crime which might be going to have my attention. It helps somehow. Helps me, not Wolfe; he wouldn’t go to the window to see the scene of a crime. I would have liked to go up to the third floor for a look at the living room, but I wanted to get home in time for lunch, so I backtracked to Christopher Street and flagged a taxi.
    The reason I wanted to be there for lunch was the rule that business must never be mentioned during meals. It was twenty past one when Fritz let me in and I put my coat and hat on the rack, so Wolfe was at the table. Going to the dining room and taking my place across from him, I made a remark about the weather. He grunted and swallowed a bite of braised sweetbread. Fritz came with the dish, and I took some. I was not being merely petty; I was showing him that sometimes rules can be damn silly; one you make so you can enjoy your food can just about spoil a meal. It didn’t spoil mine, but there wasn’t much conversation.
    But there was another reason for saving it. As we pushed our chairs back I told him I wanted to show him something in the basement, and I led the way to the hall, then to the right, and down the steps. The basement has Fritz’s room and bath, a storeroom, and a large room with a pool table. In the last is not only the usual raised bench, but also a big comfortable chair on a platform, for Wolfe when he feels like watching Saul Panzer and me use our cues, which happens about oncea year. I led him to that room, flipped the wall switch for light, and spoke.
    “Your new office. I hope you like it. There may be only one chance in a million that they can bug a room without getting inside, but that’s one too many. Be seated.” I lifted my rump onto the rim of the pool table, facing the big chair.
    He glared. “Are you badgering me or is it possible?”
    “It’s conceivable. I wouldn’t risk leaking it that Inspector Cramer told me to give you his regards. Also that he bought me a carton of milk, shook my hand, and wished me a happy New Year.”
    “This is flummery.”
    “No, sir. It was Cramer.”
    “In that hotel room?”
    “Yes.”
    He stepped onto the platform and sat. “Report,” he growled.
    I obeyed. I didn’t rush it because I wanted to be sure to get every word in. If we had been in the office he would have leaned back and closed his eyes, but that chair wasn’t built for it and he had to stay straight. For the last ten minutes his lips were pressed tight, either because of what he was hearing or of where he was sitting, probably both. I finished with my sightseeing trip and said that a man across the street, maybe walking a dog, or one in a front room of either of two houses, could have seen them leave Number 63 and go around the corner to the car, and even the license number. There was a light in the corner.
    He took in a bushel of air through his nose and let it out through his mouth. “I wouldn’t have thought,” he said, “that Mr. Cramer could be such an ass.”
    I nodded. “I know it sounds like it. But he didn’t know, until I told him, why the FBI was on us. He onlyknew we had stung them somehow, and he had a murder he couldn’t tag them for, and he decided to hand it to you. You’ve got to admit that you should feel flattered that he thought there was the remotest chance you could pull it, and look at all the trouble he took. And after I told him about Mrs. Bruner he didn’t stop to figure it. Probably he has by now. He must realize that it doesn’t fit. Suppose you passed a miracle and tied that murder to them so they couldn’t shake it off. That wouldn’t fill your client’s order. The only way that could help her and earn you a fee would be if you said to them, look, I’ll lay off on the murder if you’ll lay off of Mrs. Bruner. Cramer wouldn’t like that, that’s not his idea at all. Neither would you, really. Making a deal with a murderer