Read Online The Twelve Crimes of Christmas by Martin H. Greenberg et al (Ed) - Free Book Online Page B

bigger imbecile than I thought he was.
Which brings us to me. I am in a class by myself. I despise all of them. If I
had decided to take to poison I would have put it in the champagne as well as
the Pernod, and I would have drunk vodka, which I prefer—and by the way, on
that table is a bottle with the Korbeloff vodka label. I haven’t had a taste of
Korbeloff for fifteen years. Is it real?”
    “It
is. Archie?”
    Serving
liquid refreshment to a group of invited guests can be a pleasant chore, but it
wasn’t that time. When I asked Mrs. Jerome to name it she only glowered at me,
but by the time I had filled Cherry’s order for scotch and soda, and supplied
Hatch with a liberal dose of Korbeloff, no dilution, and Leo had said he would
take bourbon and water, his mother muttered that she would have that too. As I
was pouring the bourbon I wondered where we would go from there. It looked as
if the time had come for Wolfe to pass on the information which I felt I must
give the police without delay, which made it difficult because I didn’t have
any. That had been fine for a bait to get them there, but what now? I suppose
Wolfe would have held them somehow, but he didn’t have to. He had rung for
beer, and Fritz had brought it and was putting the tray on his desk when the
doorbell rang. I handed Leo his bourbon and water and went to the hall. Out on
the stoop, with his big round face nearly touching the glass, was Inspector
Cramer of Homicide.
    Wolfe
had told me enough, before the company came, to give me a general idea of the
program, so the sight of Cramer, just Cramer, was a letdown. But as I went down
the hall other figures appeared, none of them strangers, and that looked
better. In fact it looked fine. I swung the door wide and in they came—Cramer,
then Saul Panzer, then Margot Dickey, then Alfred Kiernan, and, bringing up the
rear, Sergeant Purley Stebbins. By the time I had the door closed and bolted
they had their coats off, including Cramer, and it was also fine to see that he
expected to stay a while. Ordinarily, once in, he marches down the hall and
into the office without ceremony, but that time he waved the others ahead,
including me, and he and Stebbins came last, herding us in. Crossing the sill,
I stepped aside for the pleasure of seeing his face when his eyes lit on those
already there and the empty chairs waiting. Undoubtedly he had expected to find
Wolfe alone, reading a book. He came in two paces, glared around, fastened the
glare on Wolfe, and barked, “What’s all this?”
    “I
was expecting you,” Wolfe said politely. “Miss Quon, if you don’t mind moving,
Mr. Cramer likes that chair. Good evening, Miss Dickey. Mr. Kiernan, Mr.
Stebbins. If you will all be seated—”
    “Panzer!”
Cramer barked. Saul, who had started for a chair in the rear, stopped and
turned.
    “I’m
running this,” Cramer declared. “Panzer, you’re under arrest and you’ll stay
with Stebbins and keep your mouth shut. I don’t want—”
    “No,”
Wolfe said sharply. “If he’s under arrest take him out of here. You are not
running this, not in my house. If you have warrants for anyone present, or have
taken them by lawful police power, take them and leave these premises. Would
you bulldoze me, Mr. Cramer? You should know better.”
    That
was the point, Cramer did know him. There was the stage, all set. There were
Mrs. Jerome and Leo and Cherry and Emil Hatch, and the empty chairs, and above
all, there was the fact that he had been expected. He wouldn’t have taken Wolfe’s
word for that; he wouldn’t have taken Wolfe’s word for anything; but whenever
he appeared on our stoop not expected I always left
the chain-bolt on until he had stated his business and I had reported to Wolfe.
And if he had been expected there was no telling what Wolfe had ready to
spring. So Cramer gave up the bark and merely growled, “I want to talk with
you.”
    “Certainly.”
Wolfe indicated the red leather chair, which