“Get along with Zeck?
“Certainly. I turned a palm up. “Listen, you're in a hole. I never saw a man in a deeper one. You're even willing and eager to shell out to me, a double-crosser you can't trust, to give you a lift. You can't possibly expect to get out in the clear with no ropes tied to you-what the hell, who is? Your main worry is getting framed for murder, so your main object is to see that you don't. That ought to be a cinch. Zeck has a new man, a guy named Roeder, came here recently from the coast, who has started to line up an operation that's a beaut. I've been assigned to help on it, and I think I'm going to. It's as tight as a drum and as slick as a Doberman pinscher's coat. With the help of a man placed as you are, there would be absolutely nothing to it, without the slightest risk of any noise or a comeback.
“No. That's what got-
“Wait a minute. As I said, this is on my own. I'm not going to tell you what
Zeck said to me yesterday, but I advise you to take my suggestion. Let me arrange for you to see him. You don't have to take up where you left off, a lot of dirty little errands; you're a man of wealth now and can act accordingly. But also you're a man who is suspected by thirty million people of killing his wife, and that calls for concessions. Come with me to see Zeck, let him know you're willing to discuss things, and if he mentions Roeder's operation let him describe it and then decide what you want to do. I told you why I don't want to see you or anyone else framed for that murder, and I don't think Zeck will either if it looks as though you might be useful.
“I hate him, Rackham said hoarsely. “I'm afraid of him and I hate him!
“I don't like him myself. I told him so. What about tomorrow? Say four o'clock to-morrow, call for you here at a quarter to three?
“I don't-not to-morrow-
“Get it over with! Would you rather keep on listening for the phone and the doorbell? Get it over with!
He reached for his straight drink, which he hadn't touched, swallowed it at a gulp, shuddered all over, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I'll ring you around noon to confirm it, I said, and stood up to go. He didn't come with me to the door, but under the circumstances I didn't hold it against him.
So that evening when Wolfe came to 1019 it appeared to be high time for getting the false bottom in the brief-case ready, and we went on until midnight, discussing the programme from every angle and trying to cover every contingency.
It's always worth trying, though it can never be done, especially not with a layout as tricky as that one.
Then the next morning, Tuesday, a monkey wrench, thrown all the way from White
Plains, flew into the machinery and stopped it. I had just finished breakfast, with Fritz, when the phone rang and I went to the office to get it. It was the
Westchester D.A.'s office.
The talk was brief. When I had hung up I sat a while, glaring at the phone, then with an exasperated finger dialled the Churchill's number. That talk was brief too. Finished with it, I held the button down for a moment and dialled another number.
There had been only two buzzes when a voice came through a nose to me. “Yes?
“I'd like to speak to Mr Roeder.
Talking.
“This is Goodwin. I've just had a call from White Plains to come to the D.A.'s office at once. I asked if I could count on keeping a two o'clock appointment and was told no. I phoned the Churchill and left a message that I had been called out of town for the day. I hope it can be to-morrow. I'll let you know as soon as I can.
Silence.
“Did you hear me?
“Yes. Good luck, Goodwin.
The connection went.
Chapter Eighteen
I had once sat and cooled my heels for three hours on one of the wooden benches in the big anteroom of the D.A.'s office in the White Plains courthouse, but this time I didn't sit at all. I didn't even give my name. I entered and was crossing to the table in the fenced-off corner when a man with a limp intercepted me and said, “Come with me, Mr Goodwin.
He took me down a long corridor, past rows of doors on either side, and into a room that I was acquainted with. I had been entertained there for an hour or so the evening of Sunday, April ninth. No one was in it. It had two big windows for the morning sun, and I sat and watched the dust dance. I was blowing at it, seeing what patterns I could make, when the door opened and Cleveland Archer, the D.A. himself, appeared, followed by Ben Dykes. I have never glanced at faces with a deeper interest. If they had looked pleased and cocky it would probably have meant that they had cracked the case, and in that event all our nifty plans for taking care of Arnold Zeck were up the flue and God help us.
