left Culp’s Meadows for an official destination. There were four in our car: one in uniform with Wolfe in the back seat, and one in his own clothes with me in front. Again I had someone beside me to tell me the way, but I didn’t put my arm across his shoulders.
There had been some conversing with us separately, but most of it had been a panel discussion, open air, out on the platform extension, so I knew pretty well how things stood. Nobody was accusing anybody. Three of them-Korby, Rago, and Griffin-gave approximately the same reason for their visits to the tent during the speechmaking: that they were concerned about Philip Holt and wanted to see if he was all right. The fourth, Dick Vetter, gave the reason I had guessed, that he thought Griffin might bring Holt out to the platform, and he intended to stop him. Vetter, by the way, was the only one who raised a fuss about being detained. He said that it hadn’t been easy to get away from his duties that afternoon, and he had a studio rehearsal scheduled for six o’clock, and he absolutely had to be there. At 6:21, when we all left for the official destination, he was fit to be tied.
None of them claimed to know for sure that Holt had been alive at the time he visited the tent; they all had supposed he had fallen asleep. All except Vetter said they had gone to the cot and looked at him, at his face, and had suspected nothing wrong. None of them had spoken to him. To the question, “Who do you think did it and why?” they all gave the same answer: someone must have entered the tent by the rear entrance, stabbed him, and departed. The fact that the URWA director of organization had got his stomach into trouble and had been attended by a doctor in the tent had been no secret, anything but.
I have been leaving Flora out, since I knew and you know she was clear, but the cops didn’t. I overheard one of them tell another one it was probably her, because stabbing a sick man was more like something a woman would do than a man.
Of course the theory that someone had entered by the back door made the fastening of the tent flap an important item. I said I had tied the tape before we left the tent, and they all agreed that they had seen me do so except Dick Vetter, who said he hadn’t noticed because he had been helping to arrange the blanket over Holt; and Wolfe and I both testified that the tape was hanging loose when we had entered the tent while Vetter was speaking. Under this theory the point wasn’t who had untied it, since the murderer could have easily reached through the crack from the outside and jerked the knot loose; the question was when. On that none of them was any help. All four said they hadn’t noticed whether the tape was tied or not when they went inside the tent.
That was how it stood, as far as I knew, when we left Culp’s Meadows. The official destination turned out to be a building I had been in before a time or two, not as a murder suspect-a county courthouse back of a smooth green lawn with a couple of big trees. First we were collected in a room on the ground floor, and, after a long wait, were escorted up one flight and through a door that was inscribed DISTRICT ATTORNEY.
At least 91.2 percent of the district attorneys in the State of New York think they would make fine tenants of the governor’s mansion at Albany, and that should be kept in mind in considering the conduct of DA James R. Delaney. To him at least four of that bunch, and possibly all five, were upright, important citizens in positions to influence segments of the electorate. His attitude as he attacked the problem implied that he was merely chairing a meeting of a community council called to deal with a grave and difficult emergency-except, I noticed, when he was looking at or speaking to Wolfe or me. Then his smile quit working, his tone sharpened, and his eyes had a different look.
With a stenographer at a side table taking it down, he spent an hour going over it with us, or rather with them, with scattered contributions from Chief of Detectives Baxter and others who had been at the scene, and then spoke his mind.
“It seems,” he said, “to be the consensus that some person unknown entered the tent from the rear, stabbed him, and departed. There is the question, how could such a person have known the knife would be there at hand? but he need not have known. He might have decided to murder only when he saw the knives, or he might have had some other weapon with him, and, seeing the knives, thought one of them would better serve his purpose and used it instead. Either is plausible. It must be admitted that the whole theory is plausible, and none of the facts now known are in contradiction to it. You agree, Chief?”
“Right,” Baxter conceded. “Up to now. As long as the known facts are facts.”
Delaney nodded. “Certainly. They have to be checked.” His eyes took in the audience. “You gentleman, and you, Miss Korby, you understand that you are to remain in this jurisdiction, the State of New York, until further notice, and you are to be available. With that understood, it seems unnecessary at present to put you under bond as material witnesses. We have your addresses and know where to find you.”
He focused on Wolfe, and his tone changed. “With you, Wolfe, the situation is somewhat different. You’re a licensed private detective, and so is Goodwin, and the record of your high-handed performances does not inspire confidence in your-uh-candor. There may be some complicated and subtle reasons why the New York City authorities have stood for your tricks, but out here in the suburbs we’re more simpleminded. We don’t like tricks.”
He lowered his chin, which made his eyes slant up under his heavy brows. “Let’s see if I’ve got your story straight. You say that as Vetter started to speak you felt in your pocket for a paper on which you had made notes for your speech, found it wasn’t there, thought you had left it in your car, went to get it, and when, after you had entered the tent, it occurred to you that the car was locked and Goodwin had the keys, you summoned him and you and he went out to the car. Then Goodwin remembered that the paper had been left on your desk at your office, and you and he returned to the tent, and you went out to the platform and resumed your seat. Another item: when you went to the rear entrance to leave the tent to go out to the car, the tape fastening of the flap was hanging loose, not tied. Is that your story?”
Wolfe cleared his throat. “Mr. Delaney. I suppose it is pointless to challenge your remark about my candor or to ask you to phrase your question less offensively.” His shoulders went up an eighth of an inch, and down. “Yes, that’s my story.”
“I merely asked you the question.”
“I answered it.”
“So you did.” The DA’s eyes came to me. “And of course, Goodwin, your story is the same. If it needed arranging, there was ample time for that during the hubbub that followed Miss Korby’s scream. But with you there’s more to it. You say that after you and Wolfe re-entered the tent, and he continued through the front entrance to the platform, it occurred to you that there was a possibility that he had taken the paper from his desk and put it in his pocket, and had consulted it during the ride, and had left it in the car, and you went out back again to look, and you were out there when Miss Korby screamed. Is that correct?”
As I had long since decided not to play, when Baxter had got too personal, I merely said, “Check.”
