Our old friend and foe, Inspector Cramer of the Homicide Squad, tilted his cigar up from the corner of his mouth and again ran his eye over the sheet of paper in his hand. I had typed the thing myself from General Fife’s dictation. It read:
Colonel Harold Ryder of the United States Army was accidentally killed at four o’clock this afternoon when a grenade exploded in his office at 17 Duncan Street. It is not known exactly how the accident occurred. The grenade was of a new type, with great explosive power, not yet issued to our forces, and was in Colonel Ryder’s possession officially, in the line of duty. Colonel Ryder was attached to the New York unit of Military Intelligence headed by Brigadier General Mortimer Fife.
“Even so,” Cramer growled, “it’s pretty skimpy.”
Wolfe was still in the big leather chair, with three empty beer bottles on the window sill behind him. Fife was seated behind his desk. I had stepped across to hand Cramer the paper and then propped myself against the wall at ease.
“You may elaborate it as you see fit,” Fife suggested without enthusiasm. He looked a little bedraggled.
“Sure.” Cramer removed his cigar. “Elaborate it with what?” He waved it away with the cigar. “You’re an Army man. I’m a policeman. I’m paid by the City of New York to investigate sudden or suspicious death. So I need facts. Such as, where did the grenade come from and how did it get into his desk drawer? How much carelessness would it take to make it go off accidentally? Such as, can I see one like it? Military security says nothing doing. What I don’t know won’t hurt me. But it does hurt me.”
Fife said, “I let you bring your men in and go over it.”
“Damn sweet of you.” Cramer was really upset. “This building is not United States property and it’s in my borough, and you talk about letting me!” He waggled the sheet of paper. “Look here, General. You know how it is as well as I do. Ordinarily, if there was no background to this, I’d rub it out without a murmur. But Captain Cross was working under Ryder, that’s one fact I’ve got, and Cross was murdered. And right here in the building, here when it happened, and sitting here now in your office when I enter, is Nero Wolfe. I’ve known Wolfe for something like twenty years, and I’ll tell you this. Show me a corpse, any corpse, under the most ideal and innocent circumstances, with a certificate signed by every doctor in New York, including the Medical Examiner. Then show me Nero Wolfe anywhere within reach, exhibiting the faintest sign of interest, and I order the squad to go to work immediately.”
“Bosh.” Wolfe nearly opened his eyes. “Have I ever imposed on you, Mr. Cramer?”
“What!” Cramer goggled at him. “You’ve never done anything else!”
“Nonsense. At any rate, I’m not imposing on you now. All this is a waste of time. You know very well you can’t bulldoze the Army, especially not this branch of it.” Wolfe sighed. “I’ll do you a favor. I believe the mess down there hasn’t been disturbed. I’ll go down and take a look at it. I’ll consider the situation, what I know of it, which is more than you’re likely ever to find out. Tomorrow I’ll phone you and give you my opinion. How will that do?”
“And meanwhile?” Cramer demanded.
“Meanwhile you take your men out of here and stay out. I remind you of the opinion I gave you regarding Captain Cross.”
Cramer stuck his cigar back in his mouth and clamped his teeth on it, folded the paper and put it in his pocket, leaned back, and hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, with an air implying that he was there for the duration. He was glaring at Wolfe. Then he jerked forward in his chair and growled, “Phone me tonight.”
“No.” Wolfe was positive. “Tomorrow.”
Cramer regarded him three seconds more, then stood up and addressed General Fife. “I’ve got nothing against the Army. As an Army. We can’t fight a war without an Army. But it would suit me fine if the whole goddamn outfit would clear out of my borough and get on ships bound for Germany.” He turned and went.
Wolfe sighed again.
Fife pursed his lips and shook his head. “You can’t blame him.”
“No,” Wolfe agreed. “Mr. Cramer is constantly leaping at the throat of evil and finding himself holding on for dear life to the tip of its tail.”
“What?” Fife squinted at him. “Oh. I suppose so.” He got out his handkerchief and used it on his brow and face and neck, removing an old smear but producing new ones. He shot me a glance, and went back to Wolfe. “About Ryder. I’d rather discuss it with you privately.”
Wolfe shook his head. “Not without Major Goodwin. I use his memory. Also for years I’ve found his presence an irritant which stimulates my cells. What about Ryder? Wasn’t it an accident?”
“I suppose it was. What do you think?”
“I haven’t thought. Nowhere to start. Could it have been an accident? If he took it from the drawer and it dropped on the floor?”
“No,” Fife declared. “Out of the question. Anyway, it was somewhere above the desk when it exploded. The desk top was smashed downward. And that pin is joltproof. It requires a sharp firm lateral pull.”
“Then it wasn’t an accident,” Wolfe said placidly. “Suicide remains, and so does— By the way, what about that woman in his anteroom? That female in uniform. Where was she?”
“Not there. Out to lunch.”
“Indeed.” Wolfe’s brows went up. “At four o’clock?”
“So she told Tinkham. He spoke with her when she returned. She’s waiting outside now. I sent for her.”
“Get her in here. And may I—?”
“Certainly.” Fife lifted his phone and spoke in it.
In a moment the door opened and Sergeant Bruce entered. She came in three steps, getting the three of us at a glance, stopped with her heels together, and snapped a salute. She appeared to be quite herself, only extremely solemn. She advanced when she was told to.
“This is Nero Wolfe,” Fife said. “He’ll ask you some questions, and you’ll answer as from me.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sit down,” Wolfe told her. “Archie, if you’ll move that chair around? Excuse me, General, if I violate regulations, a major waiting on a sergeant, but I find it impossible to regard a woman as a soldier and don’t intend to try.” He looked at her. “Miss Bruce. That’s your name?”
“Yes, sir. Dorothy Bruce.”
“You were at lunch when that thing exploded?”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was as clear and composed as it had been when she told me she was in my eye.
“Is that your usual lunch hour? Four o’clock?”
“No, sir. Shall I explain?”
“Please. With a minimum of sirs. I am not a field marshal in disguise. Go ahead.”
“Yes, sir. I beg your pardon, that was automatic. I have no usual lunch hour. At Colonel Ryder’s request, I mean his order, I have been going to lunch whenever he did, so I would be on duty when he was in his office. Today he didn’t go to lunch — that is, I don’t think he did — at least he didn’t come out through the anteroom and let me know he was going, as he always had done. When he called me in at a quarter to four to give me some instructions, he asked if I had had lunch and said he had forgotten about it, and told me to go then. I went down to the corner drugstore and had a sandwich and coffee. I got back at twenty past four.”
Wolfe’s half-closed eyes never left her face. “The corner drugstore?” he inquired mildly. “Didn’t you hear the explosion or see any excitement?”
“No, sir. The drugstore is a block and a half away, around on Mitchell Street.”
“You say Colonel Ryder didn’t go to lunch? Was he constantly in his office right through to a quarter to four?”
“I think I qualified that. I said he didn’t come out through the anteroom. Of course he could have left by the other door at any time, the one direct from his room to the outer hall, and re-entered the same way. He often used that door.”
“Was that door kept locked?”
“Usually it was, yes, sir.” She hesitated. “Should I confine myself to the question?”
“We want information, Miss Bruce. If you have it we want it.”
“Only about that door. Colonel Ryder had a key to it, of course. But on two occasions I saw him, going out that way, intending to return soon, push the button that released the lock so that he could get back in without using the key. If you want details like that—”
“We do. Have you got some more?”
She shook her head. “No, sir. I only mentioned that because you asked if that door was kept locked.”
“Have you any idea how this thing happened?”
“Why—” Her eyes flickered. “I thought — I understand it was a grenade Colonel Ryder had in his desk.”
Fife shot at her, “How do you know it was a grenade?”
Her head pivoted to him. “Because, sir, everyone is saying that it was. If it was a secret — it isn’t now.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Wolfe said peevishly. “If you please, General. Have you any idea, Miss Bruce, how the grenade got exploded?”
“Certainly not! I mean — no, sir.”
“It is permissible to mean certainly not,” Wolfe murmured at her. “You know nothing whatever about it?”
“No, sir.”
“What were the instructions Colonel Ryder gave you at a quarter to four when he called you in?”
“Only routine matters. He said he was leaving for the day, and told me to sign the letters, and that he wouldn’t be in tomorrow and I should cancel any appointments he had.”
“That was all?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You were his confidential secretary?”
“Well — I don’t know how confidential I was. I have been here less than two weeks and had never met Colonel Ryder before. I suppose, really, for that sort of job, I was still on trial. I only came up from Washington ten days ago.”
“What had you been doing in Washington?”
“I was secretary to one of General Carpenter’s assistants. Lieutenant Colonel Adams.”
Wolfe grunted, and closed his eyes. Sergeant Bruce sat and waited. Fife had his lips pressed into a straighter line than usual, apparently restraining himself. He wasn’t accustomed to playing audience while someone else asked questions, but probably hadn’t forgotten the time Wolfe had made him look silly in front of three lieutenants and a private who had been tailing a distinguished visitor from Mexico. Wolfe grunted again, this time what I called his number-three grunt, which meant he was displeased, and I had no idea what had riled him. I thought Sergeant Bruce had been courteous, co-operative, and cute. Then he opened his eyes, shifted his center of gravity, and got his hands braced on the chair arms, and of course that explained it. He was displeased because he had decided he was going to stand up.
He did so, rumbling, “That’s all for the present, Miss Bruce. You’ll be available, of course. As you know, General, I promised Mr. Cramer I’d take a look at the ruins. Come, Archie.” He took a step. But Fife stopped him:
“Just a minute, please. All right, Bruce, you may go.”
She arose, hesitated a moment, then faced the general. “May I ask you something, sir?”
“Yes. What?”
“They won’t let me take anything from my room, sir. I have some things — just personal belongings — I was away over the week-end and came direct to the office from the station this morning. Colonel Ryder gave me a passout — but I suppose it isn’t valid — now.”
“All right, go ahead.” Fife sounded fed up. “I’ll send instructions to Colonel Tinkham— By the way—” He squinted at her. “You have no office and no job. Temporarily. You sound intelligent and capable. Are you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“The devil you are. We’ll see. Report in my anteroom tomorrow morning. If you have favorite tools, bring them with you. You’d better get them out of there now, that place will be cleaned up tonight. Tell Colonel Tinkham — no, I’ll tell him. You may go.”
She saluted, whirled, and went out like a soldier.
Fife waited until the door had closed behind her before he spoke to Wolfe. “You were saying something. Before we had Bruce come in.”
“Nothing of importance.” Wolfe was curt, as always when he talked standing up. “Accident, no. Suicide, possibly. Murder? It appears that anyone might have entered that room when Ryder wasn’t there, without being observed, since Ryder might have gone out by the hall door and left it unlocked.”
“Entered? And then what?”
“Oh, as his fancy struck him. Got the grenade from the desk. Took it away. Later, when Miss Bruce left, entered the anteroom, opened the door there into Ryder’s room, pulled the pin from the grenade, tossed it at Ryder, and pumped back into the hall. That, of course, raises the interesting point that presumably only six people knew the grenade was there: Tinkham, Lawson, Shattuck, you, Goodwin, me. I know of nothing that eliminates anyone but the last two. Take you, for instance. You’ve been here all afternoon?”
Fife’s lips tightened in a grim smile. “That’s a good plan; start at the top. Yes, I’ve been here, but I’m afraid I can’t prove I haven’t left this room. Shattuck came back with me after lunch, but he left around two-thirty. Then I dictated for half an hour, but after that I guess you have me.”
Wolfe grunted. “Bah! This is nothing but gibberish, as it stands now. I’ll run down and take a look.”
He stalked out and I followed. As I was pulling the front door to, softly since it was a general’s door, I heard Fife at his phone asking for Colonel Tinkham.
There was delay down on the tenth floor, at the scene. In what had been the doorway to Colonel Ryder’s room from the hall stood a corporal with accouterments. The fact that he would have weighed over 200 even without the accouterments made it seem all the more formidable when he said no one could enter, including us. When Wolfe told me to go and get Fife and haul him down there, I stalled; and, as I expected, in a minute Colonel Tinkham arrived to tell the corporal it was okay, orders from General Fife. Then Tinkham joined our party by preceding us into the shambles. Wolfe asked him if anything had been taken out, and Tinkham said no, the police had given it a good going over but hadn’t been permitted to remove anything, and neither had anyone else.
It was still broad daylight in that corner room, with a nice breeze from the windows, since there was no glass left in them. As we looked things over, stepping to avoid chunks of plaster and similar obstructions, various details were worthy of note. By a freak of the blast, the partition to the hall was a wreck, but the one to the anteroom only had a couple of cracks. The door to the anteroom was standing open, and looked intact but a little cockeyed. Two of the chairs were nothing but splinters, four were battered and scarred, and Ryder’s own chair, against the wall back of his desk, didn’t have a mark. The desk top was smashed and pockmarked, as if someone had first dropped a two-ton weight on it and then used it for a target with a shotgun loaded with slugs. On it and all around that area were bloodstains, from single drops up to a big blob the size of a dishpan on the floor back of the desk. The remains of the suitcase and its contents, also on the floor, were over near the door to the anteroom, the contents strewn around, the suitcase twisted and riddled so that for a second I didn’t recognize it. Everywhere, in all directions, were little pieces of metal, as small as the head of a pin or as big as a thumbnail, black on one side and pink on the other. Anyone anywhere in that room when the thing exploded would have stopped at least a dozen of them — and they would have stopped him. I dropped a couple in my pocket to add to my collection in a drawer at home.
I also acquired another souvenir. A piece of folded paper in the jumble of the contents of the suitcase looked familiar. Wolfe and Tinkham were at the other side of the room. I stooped and snared the paper, saw at a glance that it was the anonymous letter to Shattuck that had started the morning’s conference, and slipped it into my inside breast pocket.
We were still poking around, observing and commenting, and Tinkham was still acting as chaperon, when I became aware that company had arrived next door. I stepped through to the anteroom. Sergeant Bruce was standing there, frowning at a tennis racket she held in her hand.
“Damaged?” I inquired brightly.
“No, sir.”
Nuts, I thought, this sir stuff is worse than a suit of armor. She put the racket into a fiber shipping carton that stood on the floor with its end flaps open, and moved around behind her desk. The place was thick with dust, and things were displaced, but nothing seemed to be hurt much.
“Can I help?”
“No, sir, thanks.”
Some day, I said to myself grimly, or rather to her but not audibly, matters will be so arranged that, whether you’re worth it or not, sir will be as far from your mind as —
“Archie!” It was a bellow.
“At ease,” I told her gruffly, and faded.
Wolfe and Tinkham were at the other end of the room, over by the corporal.
“Take me home,” Wolfe said.
There was never any dillydallying when Wolfe had decided to go home. The look on Tinkham’s face gave me the impression that he either had some questions he would like to ask, or that he had got no answers to some he had already asked, but all he did get was a request from Wolfe to inform General Fife that he would communicate with him in the morning.
There was a crowd down on the sidewalk, and a bigger one across the street. Any broken glass that had descended from the tenth floor two hours ago had been cleaned up. As we made our way through to where the car was parked, I heard a man tell a girl, “A big bomb exploded and killed eighty people and two generals.” That was a little surprising, but driving home, going up Varick Street, Wolfe said something that was much more so. From the back seat he told me plainly, “Go a little faster, Archie.” That flammed me. As I said, he never talked while undergoing the hazards of motorized movement, and him asking for more speed was about the same as a private asking for more K.P. Anyhow, I obliged.
He muttered under his breath, probably a prayer of thanks, as we stopped in front of the house, and then, as I opened my door and started to wriggle from behind the wheel, he spoke. “Don’t get out. You’re going somewhere.”
“Oh. I am.”
“Yes. Back downtown. General Fife said that place will be cleaned up tonight. They may start at any moment, and I want that suitcase. Get it and bring it here. Just the case. I don’t want the contents. Exactly as it is; don’t bend it or do any tampering with it.”
I had twisted around to glare at him. He had opened his door and was climbing out. “You mean,” I demanded, “Ryder’s suitcase?”
“I do.” He was on the sidewalk. “It’s important. Also it is doubly important that no one should see you taking it. Especially Lieutenant Lawson, Colonel Tinkham, General Fife, or Miss Bruce, but preferably no one.”
I seldom sputter, but I sputtered. “That suitcase — from under their noses — listen. Will you settle for the moon? Glad to get the moon for you. Do you realize—”
“Certainly I realize. It’s a difficult errand. I doubt if there is another man anywhere, in the Army or out, who could safely be entrusted with it.”
He sure wanted that suitcase, to be ladling it out like that.
“Bushwah,” I said, and opened my door and crawled out, and headed for the stoop.
He snapped after me. “Where are you going?”
“To get a receptacle!” I called over my shoulder. “Do you think I’m going to hang it around my neck?”
Three minutes later I was on my way back to Duncan Street, the rear seat occupied not by Wolfe but by a man-size suitcase that I had got from the closet in his room. I had one of my own just as big, but I wasn’t going to risk my personal property in addition to my career as a warrior. I was sorry I hadn’t read up more fully on the regulations about courts-martial. Not that I wasted the minutes en route being sorry. I used them to consider ways and means. My watch said 6:30, and at that hour of the day I couldn’t tell what I would be up against until I had executed a patrol. You never knew around there; anyone might be out or in; anyone might leave for the day any time between four and midnight. I had my mind started on about three and a half different plans, but by the time I got to Duncan Street I had decided that I couldn’t lay out a campaign until I had looked the ground over and done a reconnaissance on the enemy.
On the tenth floor I returned the corporal’s salute, indicating by my posture that the receptable, in my left hand, was a little hefty, assumed an urgent expression, and asked him if he had seen Lieutenant Lawson go out.
“Yes, sir. He left about twenty minutes ago.”
“Damn it. Colonel Tinkham too?”
“No, sir. I think he’s in his office.”
“Have you seen General Fife around?”
“Not for an hour or more, sir. He may be upstairs.”
I breezed through to the inner corridor. No one in sight. The door to my room was about twenty paces down normally, and it took me not more than fourteen. Inside I took a breath, and deposited the big suitcase on my desk. It began to seem more possible. Like this. I go to the scene and tell the corporal Nero Wolfe sent me back to do a close-up on something. I enter and examine the top of Ryder’s desk with my little glass. I make noises of dissatisfaction and tell the corporal to go ask Major Goodman if I may borrow his big magnifying glass, Goodman’s office being on the eleventh floor. The corporal goes, I grab the suitcase, dive down the hall to my room, and cache it in Wolfe’s case. That would be the only risk, the five seconds negotiating the hall. The rest would be pie. I turned it over and around, looking for a way to reduce the risk still more, but decided that was the minimum.
I got the little glass from a drawer of my desk and stuck it in my pocket, went out and down the corridor, turned the corner, saw that the same corporal was on guard and no one else around, said my little piece to him, was passed in without any question, crossed to Ryder’s desk, and began inspecting it with the glass. But my heart wasn’t in my work because I had had plenty of time, approaching the desk, to perceive that the suitcase wasn’t there.