At twenty minutes to nine Wolfe’s eyes moved slowly from left to right, to take in the faces of our assembled visitors. He was in a nasty humor. He hated to work right after dinner, and from the way he kept his chin down and a slight twitch of a muscle in his cheek I knew it was going to be real work. Whether he had got them there with a bluff or not, and my guess was that he had, it would take more than a bluff to rake in the pot he was after now.
Pat Lowell had not dined with us. Not only had she declined to come along to the dining room; she had also left untouched the tray which Fritz had taken to her in the office. Of course that got Wolfe’s goat and probably got some pointed remarks from him, but I wasn’t there to hear them because I had gone to the kitchen to check with Fritz on the operation of the installation that had been made by Levay Recorders, Inc. That was the one part of the program that I clearly understood. I was still in the kitchen, rehearsing with Fritz, when the doorbell rang and I went to the front and found them there in a body. They got better hall service than I had got at their place, and also better chair service in the office.
When they were seated Wolfe took them in from left to right — Harry Koven in the red leather chair, then his wife, then Pat Lowell, and, after a gap, Pete Jordan and Byram Hildebrand over toward me. I don’t know what impression Wolfe got from his survey, but from where I sat it looked as if he was up against a united front.
“This time,” Koven blurted, “you can’t cook up a fancy lie with Goodwin. There are witnesses.”
He was keyed up. I would have said he had had six drinks, but it might have been more.
“We won’t get anywhere that way, Mr. Koven,” Wolfe objected. “We’re all tangled up, and it will take more than blather to get us loose. You don’t want to pay me a million dollars. I don’t want to lose my license. The police don’t want to add another unsolved murder to the long list. The central and dominant factor is the violent death of Mr. Getz, and I propose to deal with that at length. If we can get that settled—”
“You told Miss Lowell you know who killed him. If so, why don’t you tell the police? That ought to settle it.”
Wolfe’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean that, Mr. Koven—”
“You’re damn right I mean it!”
“Then there’s a misunderstanding. I heard Miss Lowell’s talk with you on the phone, both ends of it. I got the impression that my threat to inform the police about Mr. Getz’s death was what brought you down here. Now you seem—”
“It wasn’t any threat that brought me here! It’s that blackmailing suit you started! I want to make you eat it and I’m going to!”
“Indeed. Then I gather that you don’t care who gets my information first, you or the police. But I do. For one thing, when I talk to the police I like to be able—”
The doorbell rang. When visitors were present Fritz usually answered the door, but he had orders to stick to his post in the kitchen, so I got up and went to the hall, circling behind the arc of the chairs. I switched on the stoop light for a look through the one-way glass. One glance was enough. Stepping back into the office, I stood until Wolfe caught my eye.
“The man about the chair,” I told him.
He frowned. “Tell him I’m—” He stopped, and the frown cleared. “No. I’ll see him. If you’ll excuse me a moment?” He pushed his chair back, made it to his feet, and came, detouring around Koven. I let him precede me into the hall and closed that door before joining him. He strode to the front, peered through the glass, and opened the door. The chain bolt stopped it at a crack of two inches.
Wolfe spoke through the crack. “Well, sir?”
Inspector Cramer’s voice was anything but friendly. “I’m coming in.”
“I doubt it. What for?”
“Patricia Lowell entered here at six o’clock and is still here. The other four entered fifteen minutes ago. I told you Monday evening to lay off. I told you your license was suspended, and here you are with your office full. I’m coming in.”
“I still doubt it. I have no client. My job for Mr. Koven, which you know about, has been finished, and I have sent him a bill. These people are here to discuss an action for damages which I have brought against Mr. Koven. I don’t need a license for that. I’m shutting the door.”
He tried to, but it didn’t budge. I could see the tip of Cramer’s toe at the bottom of the crack.
“By God, this does it,” Cramer said savagely. “You’re through.”
“I thought I was already through. But this—”
“I can’t hear you! The wind.”
“This is preposterous, talking through a crack. Descend to the sidewalk, and I’ll come out. Did you hear that?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. To the sidewalk.”
Wolfe marched to the big old walnut rack and reached for his overcoat. After I had held it for him and handed him his hat I got my coat and slipped into it and then took a look through the glass. The stoop was empty. A burly figure was at the bottom of the steps. I unbolted the door and opened it, followed Wolfe over the sill, pulled the door shut, and made sure it was locked. A gust of wind pounced on us, slashing at us with sleet. I wanted to take Wolfe’s elbow as we went down the steps, thinking where it would leave me if he fell and cracked his skull, but knew I hadn’t better.
He made it safely, got his back to the sleety wind, which meant that Cramer had to face it, and raised his voice. “I don’t like fighting a blizzard, so let’s get to the point. You don’t want these people talking with me, but there’s nothing you can do about it. You have blundered and you know it. You arrested Mr. Goodwin on a trumpery charge. You came and blustered me and went too far. Now you’re afraid I’m going to explode Mr. Koven’s lies. More, you’re afraid I’m going to catch a murderer and toss him to the district attorney. So you—”
“I’m not afraid of a goddam thing.” Cramer was squinting to protect his eyes from the cutting sleet. “I told you to lay off, and by God you’re going to. Your suit against Koven is a phony.”
“It isn’t, but let’s stick to the point. I’m uncomfortable. I am not an outdoors man. You want to enter my house. You may, under a condition. The five callers are in my office. There is a hole in the wall, concealed from view in the office by what is apparently a picture. Standing, or on a stool, in a nook at the end of the hall, you can see and hear us in the office. The condition is that you enter quietly — confound it!”
The wind had taken his hat. I made a quick dive and stab but missed, and away it went. He had only had it fourteen years.
“The condition,” he repeated, “is that you enter quietly, take your post in the nook, oversee us from there, and give me half an hour. Thereafter you will be free to join us if you think you should. I warn you not to be impetuous. Up to a certain point your presence would make it harder for me, if not impossible, and I doubt if you’ll know when that point is reached. I’m after a murderer, and there’s one chance in five, I should say, that I’ll get him. I want—”
“I thought you said you were discussing an action for damages.”
“We are. I’ll get either the murderer or the damages. Do you want to harp on that?”
“No.”
“You’ve cooled off, and no wonder, in this hurricane. My hair will go next. I’m going in. If you come along it must be under the condition as stated. Are you coming?”
“Yes.”
“You accept the condition?”
“Yes.”
Wolfe headed for the steps. I passed him to go ahead and unlock the door. When they were inside I closed it and put the bolt back on. They hung up their coats, and Wolfe took Cramer down the hall and around the corner to the nook. I brought a stool from the kitchen, but Cramer shook his head. Wolfe slid the panel aside, making no sound, looked through, and nodded to Cramer. Cramer took a look and nodded back, and we left him. At the door to the office Wolfe muttered about his hair, and I let him use my pocket comb.
From the way they looked at us as we entered you might have thought they suspected we had been in the cellar fusing a bomb, but one more suspicion wouldn’t make it any harder. I circled to my desk and sat. Wolfe got himself back in place, took a deep breath, and passed his eyes over them.
“I’m sorry,” he said politely, “but that was unavoidable. Suppose we start over” — he looked at Koven — “say with your surmise to the police that Getz was shot by Mr. Goodwin accidentally in a scuffle. That’s absurd. Getz was shot with a cartridge that had been taken from your gun and put into Goodwin’s gun. Manifestly Goodwin couldn’t have done that, since when he first saw your gun Getz was already dead. Therefore—”
“That’s not true!” Koven cut in. “He had seen it before, when he came to my office. He could have gone back later and got the cartridges.”
Wolfe glared at him in astonishment. “Do you really dare, sir, in front of me, to my face, to cling to that fantastic tale you told the police? That rigmarole?”
“You’re damn right I do!”
“Pfui.” Wolfe was disgusted. “I had hoped, here together, we were prepared to get down to reality. It would have been better to adopt your suggestion to take my information to the police. Perhaps—”
“I made no such suggestion!”
“In this room, Mr. Koven, some fifteen minutes ago?”
“No!”
Wolfe made a face. “I see,” he said quietly. “It’s impossible to get on solid ground with a man like you, but I still have to try. Archie, bring the tape from the kitchen, please?”
I went. I didn’t like it. I thought he was rushing it. Granting that he had been jostled off his stride by Cramer’s arrival, I felt that it was far from one of his best performances, and this looked like a situation where nothing less than his best would do. So I went to the kitchen, passing Cramer in his nook without a glance, told Fritz to stop the machine and wind, and stood and scowled at it turning. When it stopped I removed the wheel and slipped it into a carton and, carton in hand, returned to the office.
“We’re waiting,” Wolfe said curtly.
That hurried me. There was a stack of similar cartons on my desk, and in my haste I knocked them over as I was putting down the one I had brought. It was embarrassing with all eyes on me, and I gave them a cold look as I crossed to the cabinet to get the player. It needed a whole corner of my desk, and I had to shove the tumbled cartons aside to make room. Finally I had the player in position and connected, and the wheel of tape, taken from the carton, in place.
“All right?” I asked Wolfe.
“Go ahead.”
I flipped the switch. There was a crackle and a little spitting, and then Wolfe’s voice came:
“It’s not that, Mr. Koven, not at all. I only doubt if it’s worth it to you, considering the size of my minimum fee, to hire me for anything so trivial as finding a stolen gun, or even discovering the thief. I should think—”
“No!” Wolfe bellowed.
I switched it off. I was flustered. “Excuse it,” I said. “The wrong one.”
“Must I do it myself?” Wolfe asked sarcastically.
I muttered something, turning the wheel to rewind. I removed it, pawed among the cartons, picked one, took out the wheel, put it on, and turned the switch. This time the voice that came on was not Wolfe’s but Koven’s — loud and clear.
“This time you can’t cook up a fancy lie with Goodwin. There are witnesses.”
Then Wolfe’s: “We won’t get anywhere that way, Mr. Koven. We’re all tangled up, and it will take more than blather to get us loose. You don’t want to pay me a million dollars. I don’t want to lose my license. The police don’t want to add another unsolved murder to the long list. The central and dominant factor is the violent death of Mr. Getz, and I propose to deal with that at length. If we can get that settled—”
Koven’s: “You told Miss Lowell you know who killed him. If so, why don’t you tell the police? That ought to settle it.”
Wolfe: “You don’t mean that, Mr. Koven—”
Koven: “You’re damn right I mean it!”
Wolfe: “Then there’s a misunderstanding. I heard Miss Lowell’s talk with you on the phone, both ends of it. I got the impression that my threat to inform the police—”
“That’s enough!” Wolfe called. I turned it off. Wolfe looked at Koven. “I would call that,” he said dryly, “a suggestion that I take my information to the police. Wouldn’t you?”
Koven wasn’t saying. Wolfe’s eyes moved. “Wouldn’t you, Miss Lowell?”
She shook her head. “I’m not an expert on suggestions.”
Wolfe left her. “We won’t quarrel over terms, Mr. Koven. You heard it. Incidentally, about the other tape you heard the start of through Mr. Goodwin’s clumsiness, you may wonder why I haven’t given it to the police to refute you. Monday evening, when Inspector Cramer came to see me, I still considered you as my client and I didn’t want to discomfit you until I heard what you had to say. Before Mr. Cramer left he had made himself so offensive that I was disinclined to tell him anything whatever. Now you are no longer my client. We’ll discuss this matter realistically or not at all. I don’t care to badger you into an explicit statement that you lied to the police; I’ll leave that to you and them; I merely insist that we proceed on the basis of what we both know to be the truth. With that understood—”
“Wait a minute,” Pat Lowell put in. “The gun was in the drawer Sunday morning. I saw it.”
“I know you did. That’s one of the knots in the tangle, and we’ll come to it.” His eyes swept the arc. “We want to know who killed Adrian Getz. Let’s get at it. What do we know about him or her? We know a lot.
“First, he took Koven’s gun from the drawer sometime previous to last Friday and kept it somewhere. For that gun was put back in the drawer when Goodwin’s was removed shortly before Getz was killed, and cartridges from it were placed in Goodwin’s gun.
“Second, the thought of Getz continuing to live was for some reason so repugnant to him as to be intolerable.
“Third, he knew the purpose of Koven’s visit here Saturday evening, and of Goodwin’s errand at the Koven house on Monday, and he knew the details of the procedure planned by Koven and Goodwin. Only with—”
“I don’t know them even yet,” Hildebrand squeaked.
“Neither do I,” Pete Jordan declared.
“The innocent can afford ignorance,” Wolfe told them. “Enjoy it if you have it. Only with that knowledge could he have devised his intricate scheme and carried it out.
“Fourth, his mental processes are devious but defective. His deliberate and spectacular plan to make it appear that Goodwin had killed Getz, while ingenious in some respects, was in others witless. Going to Koven’s office to get Goodwin’s gun from the drawer and placing Koven’s gun there, transferring the cartridges from Koven’s gun to Goodwin’s, proceeding to the room below to find Getz asleep, shooting him in the head, using a pillow to muffle the sound — all that was well enough, competently conceived and daringly executed, but then what? Wanting to make sure that the gun would be quickly found on the spot, a quite unnecessary precaution, he slipped it into the monkey’s cage. That was probably improvisation and utterly brainless. Mr. Goodwin couldn’t possibly be such a vapid fool.
“Fifth, he hated the monkey deeply and bitterly, either on its own account or because of its association with Getz. Having just killed a man, and needing to leave the spot with all possible speed, he went and opened a window, from only one conceivable motive. That took a peculiar, indeed an unexampled, malevolence. I admit it was effective. Miss Lowell tells me the monkey is dying.
“Sixth, he placed Koven’s gun in the drawer Sunday morning and, after it had been seen there, took it out again. That was the most remarkable stratagem of all. Since there was no point in putting it there unless it was to be seen, he arranged that it should be seen. Why? It could only have been that he already knew what was to happen on Monday when Mr. Goodwin came, he had already conceived his scheme for framing Goodwin for the homicide, and he thought he was arranging in advance to discredit Goodwin’s story. So he not only put the gun in the drawer Sunday morning, he also made sure its presence would be noted — and not, of course, by Mr. Koven.”
Wolfe focused on one of them. “You saw the gun in the drawer Sunday morning, Mr. Hildebrand?”
“Yes.” The squeak was off pitch. “But I didn’t put it there!”
“I didn’t say you did. Your claim to innocence has not yet been challenged. You were in the workroom, went up to consult Mr. Koven, encountered Mrs. Koven one flight up, were told by her that Mr. Koven was still in bed, ascended to the office, found Miss Lowell there, and you pulled the drawer open and both of you saw the gun there. Is that correct?”
“I didn’t go up there to look in that drawer. We just—”
“Stop meeting accusations that haven’t been made. It’s a bad habit. Had you been upstairs earlier that morning?”
“No!”
“Had he, Miss Lowell?”
“Not that I know of.” She spoke slowly, with a drag, as if she had only so many words and had to count them. “Our looking into the drawer was only incidental.”
“Had he, Mrs. Koven?”
The wife jerked her head up. “Had what?” she demanded.
“Had Mr. Hildebrand been upstairs earlier that morning?”
She looked bewildered. “Earlier than what?”
“You met him in the second-floor hall and told him that your husband was still in bed and that Miss Lowell was up in the office. Had he been upstairs before that? That morning?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Then you don’t say that he had been?”
“I know nothing about it.”
“There’s nothing as safe as ignorance — or as dangerous.” Wolfe spread his gaze again. “To complete the list of what we know about the murderer. Seventh and last, his repugnance to Getz was so extreme that he even scorned the risk that by killing Getz he might be killing Dazzle Dan. How essential Getz was to Dazzle Dan—”
“I make Dazzle Dan!” Harry Koven roared. “Dazzle Dan is mine!” He was glaring at everybody. “I am Dazzle Dan!”
“For God’s sake shut up, Harry!” Pat Lowell said sharply.
Koven’s chin was quivering. He needed three drinks.
“I was saying,” Wolfe went on, “that I do not know how essential Getz was to Dazzle Dan. The testimony conflicts. In any case the murderer wanted him dead. I’ve identified the murderer for you by now, surely?”
“You have not,” Pat Lowell said aggressively.
“Then I’ll specify.” Wolfe leaned forward at them. “But first let me say a word for the police, particularly Mr. Cramer. He is quite capable of unraveling a tangle like this, with its superficial complexities. What flummoxed him was Mr. Koven’s elaborate lie, apparently corroborated by Miss Lowell and Mr. Hildebrand. If he had had the gumption to proceed on the assumption that Mr. Goodwin and I were telling the truth and all of it, he would have found it simple. This should be a lesson to him.”
Wolfe considered a moment. “It might be better to specify by elimination. If you recall my list of seven facts about the murderer, that is child’s play. Mr. Jordan, for instance, is eliminated by Number Six; he wasn’t there Sunday morning. Mr. Hildebrand is eliminated by three or four of them, especially Number Six again; he had made no earlier trip upstairs. Miss Lowell is eliminated, for me, by Numbers Four and Five; and I am convinced that none of the three I have named can meet the requirements of Number Three. I do not believe that Mr. Koven would have confided in any of them so intimately. Nor do I—”
“Hold it!” The gruff voice came from the doorway.
Heads jerked around. Cramer advanced and stopped at Koven’s left, between him and his wife. There was dead silence. Koven had his neck twisted to stare up at Cramer, then suddenly he fell apart and buried his face in his hands.
Cramer, scowling at Wolfe, boiling with rage, spoke. “Damn you, if you had given it to us! You and your numbers game!”
“I can’t give you what you won’t take,” Wolfe said bitingly. “You can have her now. Do you want more help? Mr. Koven was still in bed Sunday morning when two of them saw the gun in the drawer. More? Spend the night with Mr. Hildebrand. I’ll stake my license against your badge that he’ll remember that when he spoke with Mrs. Koven in the hall she said something that caused him to open the drawer and look at the gun. Still more? Take all the contents of her room to your laboratory. She must have hid the gun among her intimate things, and you should find evidence. You can’t put him on the stand and ask him if and when he told her what he was doing; he can’t testify against his wife; but surely—”
Mrs. Koven stood up. She was pale but under control, perfectly steady. She looked down at the back of her husband’s bent head.
“Take me home, Harry,” she said.
Cramer, in one short step, was at her elbow.
“Harry!” she said, softly insistent. “Take me home.”
His head lifted and turned to look at her. I couldn’t see his face. “Sit down, Marcy,” he said. “I’ll handle this.” He looked at Wolfe. “If you’ve got a record of what I said here Saturday, all right. I lied to the cops. So what? I didn’t want—”
“Be quiet, Harry,” Pat Lowell blurted at him. “Get a lawyer and let him talk. Don’t say anything.”
Wolfe nodded. “That’s good advice. Especially, Mr. Koven, since I hadn’t quite finished. It is a matter of record that Mr. Getz not only owned the house you live in but also that he owned Dazzle Dan and permitted you to take only ten per cent of the proceeds.”
Mrs. Koven dropped back into the chair and froze, staring at him. Wolfe spoke to her. “I suppose, madam, that after you killed him you went to his room to look for documents and possibly found some and destroyed them. That must have been part of your plan last week when you first took the gun from the drawer — to destroy all evidence of his ownership of Dazzle Dan after killing him. That was foolish, since a man like Mr. Getz would surely not leave invaluable papers in so accessible a spot, and they will certainly be found; we can leave that to Mr. Cramer. When I said it is a matter of record I meant a record that I have inspected and have in my possession.”
Wolfe pointed. “That stack of stuff on that table is Dazzle Dan for the past three years. In one episode, repeated annually with variations, he buys peaches from two characters named Aggie Ghool and Haggie Krool, and Aggie Ghool, saying that she owns the tree, gives Haggie Krool ten per cent of the amount received and pockets the rest. A.G. are the initials of Adrian Getz; H.K. are the initials of Harry Koven. It is not credible that that is coincidence or merely a prank, especially since the episode was repeated annually. Mr. Getz must have had a singularly contorted psyche, taking delight as he did in hiding the fact of his ownership and control of that monster, but compelling the nominal owner to publish it each year in a childish allegory. For a meager ten per cent—”
“Not of the net,” Koven objected. “Ten per cent of the gross. Over four hundred a week clear, and I—”
He stopped. His wife had said, “You worm.” Leaving her chair, she stood looking down at him, stiff and towering, overwhelming, small as she was.
“You worm!” she said in bitter contempt. “Not even a worm. Worms have guts, don’t they?”
She whirled to face Wolfe. “All right, you’ve got him. The one time he ever acted like a man, and he didn’t have the guts to see it through. Getz owned Dazzle Dan, that’s right. When he got the idea and sold it, years ago, and took Harry in to draw it and front it, Harry should have insisted on an even split right then and didn’t. He never had it in him to insist on anything, and never would, and Getz knew it. When Dazzle Dan caught on, and the years went by and it kept getting bigger and bigger, Getz didn’t mind Harry having the name and the fame as long as he owned it and got the money. You said he had a contorted psyche, maybe that was it, only that’s not what I’d call it. Getz was a vampire.”
“I’ll accept that,” Wolfe murmured.
“That’s the way it was when I met Harry, but I didn’t know it until we were married, two years ago. I admit Getz might not have got killed if it hadn’t been for me. When I found out how it was I tried to talk sense into Harry. I told him his name had been connected with Dazzle Dan so long that Getz would have to give him a bigger share, at least half, if he demanded it. He claimed he tried, but he just wasn’t man enough. I told him his name was so well known that he could cut loose and start another one on his own, but he wasn’t man enough for that either. He’s not a man, he’s a worm. I didn’t let up. I kept after him, I admit that. I’ll admit it on the witness stand if I have to. And I admit I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did. I didn’t know there was any danger of making him desperate enough to commit murder. I didn’t know he had it in him. Of course he’ll break down, but if he says I knew that he had decided to kill Getz I’ll have to deny it because it’s not true. I didn’t.”
Her husband was staring up at the back of her head, his mouth hanging open.
“I see.” Wolfe’s voice was hard and cold. “First you plan to put it on a stranger, Mr. Goodwin — indeed, two strangers, for I am in it too. That failing, you put it on your husband.” He shook his head. “No, madam. Your silliest mistake was opening the window to kill the monkey, but there were others, Mr. Cramer?”
Cramer had to take only one step to get her arm.
“Good God!” Koven groaned.
Pat Lowell said to Wolfe in a thin sharp voice, “So this is what you worked me for.”
She was a tough baby too, that girl.