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 jolt-proof. 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
