read twice, and I knew what mood he was in when I saw that the tray and glass were on his desk but no empty bottle. It was one of his most childish tricks, every now and then, especially when he was ahead of his quota more than usual, to drop the bottle into the wastebasket as soon as he emptied it, and if I was in the office he did it when I wasn't looking. It was that sort of thing that kept me skeptical about the fundamental condition of his brain, and that particular trick was all the more foolish because he was unquestionably on the square with the bottle caps; he faithfully put every single one in the drawer; I know that, because I've checked up on him time and time again. When he was ahead on quota he made some belittling remark about statistics with each cap he dropped in, but he never tried to get away with one.
I tossed my notebook on my desk and sat down and sipped at the milk. There was no use trying to explode him off of that book. But after a while he picked up the thin strip of ebony he used for a bookmark, inserted it, closed the book, laid it down, and reached out and rang for beer. Then he leaned back and admitted I was alive.
“Pleasant afternoon, Archie?”
I grunted. “That was one hell of a tea. Dudley Frost was the only one who had any, and he wasn't inclined to divvy so I sent him home. I only got one real hot piece of news, that no one but a fool jests at death. How does that strike you?”
Wolfe grimaced. “Tell me about it.”
I read it to him from the notebook, filling in the gaps from memory, though I didn't need much because I've condensed my symbols until I can take down the
Constitution of the United States on the back of an old envelope, which might be a good place for it. Wolfe's beer arrived, and met its fate. Except for time out for swallowing, he listened, as usual, settled back comfortably with his eyes closed.
I tossed the notebook to the back of my desk, swiveled, and pulled the bottom drawer out and got my feet up. “That's the crop. That one's in the bag. What shall I start on now?”
Wolfe opened his eyes. “Your French is not even ludicrous. We'll return to that.
Why did you frighten Mr. Frost away by talk of a search warrant? Is there a subtlety there too deep for me?”
“No, just momentum. I asked him that question about the red box to get a line on the other two, and as I went along it occurred to me it might be fun to find out if he had anything at home he didn't want anyone to see, and anyway what good was he? I got rid of him.”
“Oh. I was about to credit you with superior finesse. It would have been that, to get him away, on the chance that there might be a remark, a glance, a gesture, not to be expected in his presence. In fact, that is exactly what happened. I congratulate you anyhow. As for Mr. Frost-everyone has something at home they don't want anyone to see; that is one of the functions of a home, to provide a spot to keep such things. – And you say they haven't the red box and don't know where it is.”
“I offer that opinion. The look Gebert shot at Frost when I hinted Frost had it, and the look Mrs. Frost gave Gebert, as I told you. It's a cinch that what they think is in the box means something important to them. It's a good guess that they haven't got it and don't know where it is, or they wouldn't have been so quick on the trigger when I hinted that. As for Frost, God knows. That's the advantage a guy has that always explodes no matter what you say, there's no symptomatic nuances for an observer like me.”
“You? Ha! I am impressed. I confess I am surprised that Mrs. Frost didn't find a pretext as soon as you entered, to take her daughter to some other room. Is the woman immune to trepidation? Even common curiosity…”
I shook my head. “If it's common, she hasn't got it. That dame has got a steel spine, a governor on her main artery that prevents acceleration, and a patent air-cooling system for her brain. If you wanted to prove she murdered anyone you'd have to see her do it and be sure to have a camera along.”
“Dear me.” Wolfe came forward in his chair to pour beer. “Then we must find another culprit, which may be a nuisance.” He watched the foam subside. “Take your book and look at your notes on Mr. Gebert's vaudeville. Where he quoted
Norboisin; read that sentence.”
“You'd like some more fun with my French?”
“No, indeed; it isn't fun. Since your shorthand is phonetic, do as well as you can with your symbols. I think I know the quotation, but I want to be sure. It has been years since I read Norboisin, and I haven't his books.”
I read the whole paragraph, beginning “My dear Calida.” I took the French on high and sailed right through it, ludicrous or not, having had three lessons in it altogether: one from Fritz in 1930, and two from a girl I met once when we were working on a forgery case.
“Want to hear it again?”
“No, thanks.” Wolfe's lips were pushing in and out. “And Mrs. Frost calls it babbling. It would have been instructive to be there, for the tone and the eyes.
Mr. Gebert was indeed sardonic, to tell you in so many words who killed Mr.
McNair. Was it a lie, to be provoking? Or the truth, to display his own alertness? Or a conjecture, for a little subtlety of his own? I think, the second. I do indeed. It runs with my surmises, but he could not know that. And granted that we know the murderer, what the devil is to be done about it?
Probably no amount of patience would suffice. If Mr. Cramer gets his hands on the red box and decides to act without me, he is apt to lose the spark entirely and leave both of us with fuel that will not ignite.” He drank his beer, put the glass down, and wiped his lips. “Archie. We need that confounded box.”
“Yeah. I'll go get it in just a minute. First, just to humor me, exactly when did Gebert tell us who killed McNair? You wouldn't by any chance be talking just to hear yourself?”
“Of course not. Isn't it obvious? But I forget-you don't know French. Ardemment means ardently. The quotation translates, ‘At least, I die ardently.’”
“Really?” I elevated the brows. “The hell you say.”
