I got up and made for the door in no haste or jubilation. There have been times when the sight and sound of Wolfe have given me a lift, but that wasn’t one of them. I had told him on the phone that I would love to see him take Janet on, but that had been rhetorical. One would get him ten he couldn’t make a dent in her.
“Do you want in?” I asked.
“What the devil,” he roared, “do you suppose I came for?”
“Okay, take it easy. I’ll go see—”
But I didn’t have to go. His first bellow had carried within, and Cramer’s voice came from right behind me. “Well! Dynamite?”
“I’ll be damned,” Purley, there too, growled.
The flatfoot had moved aside, leaving it to the brass, and Wolfe had crossed the sill. “I came to get a haircut,” he stated and marched past the sergeant and inspector to the rack, took off his hat, coat, vest, and tie, hung them up, crossed to Jimmie’s chair, the second in the line, and got his bulk up onto the seat. In the mirrored wall fronting him he had a panorama of the row of barbers and dicks in his rear, and without turning his head he called, “Jimmie! If you please?”
Jimmie’s dancing dark eyes came to Cramer and Purley, there by me. So did others. Cramer stood scowling at Wolfe. We all held our poses while Cramer slowly lifted his right hand and carefully and thoroughly scratched the side of his nose with his forefinger. That attended to, he decided to sit down. He went, not in a hurry, to the first chair in the line, the one Fickler himself used occasionally when there was a rush, turned it to face Wolfe, and mounted. He spoke.
“You want a haircut, huh?”
“Yes, sir. As you can see, I need one.”
“Yeah.” Cramer turned his head. “All right, Kirk. Come and cut his hair.”
Jimmie got up and went past the chair to the cabinet for an apron. Everybody stirred, as if a climax had been reached and passed. Purley strode to the third chair in the line, Philip’s, and got on it. That way he and Cramer had Wolfe surrounded, and it seemed only fair for me to be handy, so I detoured around Cramer, pulled Jimmie’s stool to one side, and perched on it.
Jimmie had Wolfe aproned, and his scissors were singing above the right ear. Wolfe barred clippers.
“You just dropped in,” Cramer rasped. “Like Goodwin this morning.”
“Certainly not.” Wolfe was curt but not pugnacious. There was no meeting of eyes, since Cramer had Wolfe’s profile straight and Wolfe had Cramer’s profile in the mirror. “You summoned Mr. Goodwin. He told me on the phone of his fruitless talk with Miss Stahl, and I thought it well to come.”
Cramer grunted. “Okay, you’re here. You won’t leave your place on business for anybody or any fee, but you’re here. And you’re not going to leave until I know why, without any such crap as murderers in your front room.”
“Not as short behind as last time,” Wolfe commanded.
“Yes, sir.” Jimmie had never had as big or attentive an audience and he was giving a good show. The comb and scissors flitted and sang.
“Naturally,” Wolfe said tolerantly, “I expected that. You can badger me if that’s what you’re after, and get nowhere, but I offer a suggestion. Why not work first? Why don’t we see if we can settle this business, and then, if you still insist, go after me? Of would you rather harass me than catch a murderer?”
“I’m working now. I want the murderer. What about you?”
“Forget me for the moment. You can hound me any time. I would like to propose certain assumptions about what happened here today. Do you care to hear them?”
“I’ll listen, but don’t drag it out.”
“I won’t. Please don’t waste time challenging the assumptions; I don’t intend to defend them, much less validate them. They are merely a basis of exploration, to be tested. The first is this, that Wallen found something in the car, the car that had killed two women — no, I don’t like it this way. I want a direct view, not reflections. Jimmie, turn me around, please.”
Jimmie whirled the chair a half-turn, so that Wolfe’s back was to the mirrored wall, also to me, and he was facing those seated in the chairs against the partition, with Cramer on his right and Purley on his left.
“That right, sir?”
“Yes. Thank you.”
I spoke up. “Ed isn’t here.”
“I left him in the booth,” Purley rumbled.
“Get him,” Wolfe instructed. “And Miss Stahl, where is she?”
“In her booth, lying down. With her head.”
“We want her. She can sit up, can’t she?”
“I don’t know. God only knows.”
“Archie. Bring Miss Stahl.”
He had a nerve picking on me, with an inspector and a sergeant and three dicks there, but I postponed telling him so and went, as Purley went for Ed. In the booth Janet was still on her back on the chairs, her eyes wide open. At sight of me she fired immediately.
“You said you were going to send a reporter, but I’ve been thinking—”
I raised my voice to top her. “Listen to me, girlie. You’re getting a break. Nero Wolfe is here with a suggestion and wants your opinion of it. Can you sit up a while?”
“Certainly I can, but—”
“No buts. He’s waiting for you. Shall I carry you?”
“Certainly not!” She started up.
“Take it easy.” I put an arm behind her shoulders and got her upright and then onto her feet. “Are you dizzy?”
“I’m never dizzy,” she said scornfully and moved. I kept hold of her arm. She was a little unsteady on the way down the aisle to the end of the partition, but when we came in view of the audience she shook me off and went on solo. She wasn’t taking help from a man, and of course I wasn’t her manager yet. She took the chair I had vacated when Wolfe appeared, next to the magazine table. Ed had been brought by Purley, who was back in Philip’s chair, flanking Wolfe. I returned to the stool.
Jimmie had finished above the ears and was doing the back, so Wolfe’s head was tilted forward.
“Your assumptions?” Cramer asked impatiently.
“Yes. I was saying, the first is that Wallen found something in the car that led him to this shop. It couldn’t have been something he was told, for there was no one to tell him anything. It was some object. I asked you not to challenge me, but I didn’t mean to exclude contradictions. If there are facts that repudiate this assumption, or any other, I want them by all means.”
“We made that one without any help.”
“And it still holds?”
“Yes.”
“Good. That’s fortunate, since all of my assumptions concern that object. The second is that Wallen had it with him when he came here. I can support that with sound—”
“You don’t need to. We made it and we hold it.”
“Very well. That saves time. Not too short back there, Jimmie.”
“No, sir.”
“The third is that he had the object inside the newspaper he was carrying. This is slenderer, but it must be tested. He had not bought the paper shortly before coming here, for it was an early edition of the News, on sale last evening, not on sale this morning. It was not merely stuffed in his pocket, not merely not discarded; he had it in his hand, not folded up, as it is stacked on the newsstand. It is—”
“You know a lot about it,” Cramer growled.
“Do me later,” Wolfe snapped. “I know nothing you don’t know. It is difficult to account for his carrying a stale newspaper in that manner except on the assumption that it was a container for some object — at least, the assumption is good enough to work on. The fourth is that, whatever the object was, the murderer got it and disposed of it. More than an assumption, that is. No object that could have led him to this shop was found on Wallen’s person or in the booth, so if he had it the murderer got it. The fifth assumption is that the murderer was neither Carl nor Tina. I shall—”
“What the hell!” Purley blurted.
“Ah,” Cramer said. “Tell us why.”
“No. I shall not support that assumption; I merely make it and submit it to our test. Don’t waste time clawing at me. Since Carl and Tina are not involved and therefore didn’t take the object away with them, it is still here in the shop. That is the sixth assumption, and it is good only if your surveillance of these people here all these hours has been constant and alert. What about it? Could any of them have removed such an object from the shop?”
“I want to know,” Cramer demanded, “why you’re excluding Carl and Tina.”
“No. Not now.” Wolfe and Cramer couldn’t see each other because Jimmie was in between, starting on the top. “First we’ll complete this test. We must know whether the object has been removed, not by Carl or Tina.”
“No,” Purley said.
“How good a no?”
“Good enough for me. No man has stepped outside this shop alone. Something could have been slipped to a customer, but that’s stretching it, and we’ve had them under our eyes.”
“Not, apparently, the one who assaulted Miss Stahl.”
“That was in the shop. Is that a point?”
“I suppose not. Then we assume that the object is still here. The seventh and last assumption is this, that no proper search for such an object has been made. I hasten to add, Mr. Stebbins, that that is not a point either. You and your men are unquestionably capable of making a proper search, but I assume that you haven’t done so here on account of Carl and Tina. Thinking them guilty, naturally you thought they wouldn’t leave an incriminating object behind them. However, I can just ask you. Have you searched thoroughly?”
“We’ve looked.”
“Yes. But granting all my assumptions, which of course you don’t, has there been a proper search?”
“No.”
“Then it’s about time. Mr. Fickler!”
Fickler nearly jumped out of his skin. He, like all the others, had been buried, intent on Wolfe’s buildup, and the sudden pop and crackle of his own name startled him. He jerked his head up, and I had never seen his pudgy face look so bloated.
“Me?” he squeaked.
“You run this place and can help us. However, I address all of you who work here. Put your minds on this. You too, Jimmie. Stop a moment and listen.”
“I can work and listen too.”
“No. I want full attention.”
Jimmie backed off a step and stood.
“This,” Wolfe said, “could take a few minutes or it could take all night. What we’re after is an object with something on it that identifies it as coming from this shop. Ideally it should be the name and address or phone number, but we’ll take less if we have to. Since we’re proceeding on my assumptions, we are supposing that it was inside the newspaper as Wallen was carrying it, so it is not a business card or match folder or bottle or comb or brush. It should be flat and of considerable dimensions. Another point, it should be easily recognizable. All of you went to the booth and were questioned by Wallen, but he showed you no such object and mentioned none. Is that correct?”
They nodded and mumbled affirmatives. Ed said “Yes!” in a loud voice.
“Then only the murderer saw it or was told of it. Wallen must for some reason have shown it to him or asked him about it, and not the rest of you; or its edge may have been protruding from the newspaper, unnoticed by the others; or the murderer may merely have suspected that Wallen had it. In any case, when opportunity offered later for him to dive into the booth and kill Wallen he got the object and disposed of it. If Mr. Stebbins is right about the surveillance that has been maintained, it is still here in the shop. I put it to you, and especially to you, Mr. Fickler: what is it and where is it?”
They looked at one another and back at Wolfe. Philip said in his thin tenor, “Maybe it was the newspaper itself.”
“Possibly. I doubt it. Where is it, Mr. Cramer?”
“At the laboratory. There’s nothing on it or in it that could have brought Wallen here.”
“What else has been taken from here to the laboratory?”
“Nothing but the scissors and the bottle that was used on Miss Stahl.”
“Then it’s here. All right, Jimmie, finish.”
Jimmie moved to the left of him and carried on.
“It looks to me,” Purley objected in his bass rumble, “like a turkey. Even with your assumptions. Say we find something like what you want, how do we know it’s it? Even if we think it’s it, where does that get us?”
“We’ll see when we find it.” Wolfe was curt. “For one thing, fingerprints.”
“Nuts. If it belongs here of course it will have their prints.”
“Not their prints, Mr. Stebbins. Wallen’s prints. If he picked it up in the car he touched it. If he touched it he left prints. As I understand it, he didn’t go around touching things here. He entered, spoke to Mr. Fickler, was taken to the booth, and never left it alive. If we find anything with his prints on it we’ve got it. Have you equipment here? If not, I advise you to send for it at once, and also for Wallen’s prints from your file. Will you do that?”
Purley grunted. He didn’t move.
“Go ahead,” Cramer told him. “Phone. Give him what he wants. Get it over. Then he’ll give us what we want, what he’s here for, or else.”
Purley descended from the chair and headed for the phone at the cashier’s counter.
“The search,” Wolfe said, “must be thorough and will take time. First I ask all of you to search your minds. What object is here, belongs here, that meets the specifications as I have described them? Surely you can tell us. Mr. Fickler?”
“I’ve been thinking.” Fickler shook his head. “I’ve been thinking hard. I don’t know unless it’s a towel, and why would he carry a towel like that?”
“He wouldn’t. Anyway a towel wouldn’t help us any, so I reject it. Philip?”
“No, sir. I don’t know what.”
“Tom?”
Tom just shook his head gloomily.
“Ed?”
“You’ve got me. Pass.”
“Miss Stahl?”
“I think he might have been keeping the paper because there was something in it he wanted to read. I know I often do that, say it’s in an evening paper and I don’t have time—”
“Yes. We’ll consider that. Jimmie?”
“I don’t know a thing like that in the shop, Mr. Wolfe. Not a thing.”
“Pfui.” Wolfe was disgusted. “Either you have no brains at all, or they’re temporarily paralyzed, or you’re all in a conspiracy. I’m looking straight at such an object right now.”
From behind I couldn’t see where his gaze was directed, but I didn’t have to. The others could, and I saw them. Eleven pairs of eyes, including Purley’s — he had finished at the phone and rejoined us — were aimed at the magazine table next to Janet’s chair from eleven different angles. Up to that moment my brain may have been as paralyzed as the others’, but it could still react to a stimulus. I left the stool and stood right behind Wolfe, ready if and when needed.
“You mean the magazines?” Cramer demanded.
“Yes. You subscribe to them, Mr. Fickler? They come through the mail? Then the name and address is on them.”
“Not on this one,” said the dick on the other side of the magazine table, picking up the New Yorker on top.
“Drop it!” Cramer barked. “Don’t touch it!”
“No,” Wolfe conceded, “that comes in a wrapper. But others don’t. For instance that Time, there on the shelf below — the addressee is on the cover. Surely it deserves examination, and others too. What if he took it from here and had it in his pocket when he stole the car and drove up Broadway? And in the excitement of his misadventure he failed to notice that it had dropped from his pocket and was on the seat of the car? And Wallen found it there, took it, and saw the name and address on it? You have sent for the equipment and Wallen’s prints, Mr. Stebbins? Then we—”
“Oh! I remember!” Janet cried. She was pointing a finger. “You remember, Jimmie? This morning I was standing here, and you came by with a hot towel and you had that magazine and you tossed it under there, and I asked if you had been steaming it, and you said—”
Jimmie leaped. I thought his prey was Janet and in spite of everything I was willing to save her life, but Wolfe and the chair were in my way and cost me a fifth of a second. And it wasn’t Janet he was after, it was the magazine. He went for it in a hurtling dive and got his hands on it, but then the three dicks, not to mention Cramer and Purley, were on his neck and various other parts of him. It was a handsome pile-up. Janet, except for pulling her feet back under her chair out of harm’s way, did not move, nor did she make a sound. I suppose she was considering what to say to the reporters.
“Confound it,” Wolfe grumbled savagely behind me. “ My barber.”
Anyhow that haircut was practically done.