'I suggest,' said Wolfe, exasperated, 'that I recapitulate to see if I have it straight. I'll combine what I have read in the papers with what you have told me.' He focused on the wife, probably figuring that she would be less apt to cut in if he held her eye. 'Arthur Rackell, your husband's orphaned nephew, was a fairly efficient employee of his importing business, drawing a good salary, living at your home here in New York, on Sixty-eighth Street. Some three years ago you noted that he was taking a radically leftist position in discussions of political and social questions, and you remonstrated without effect. As time passed he became more leftist and more outspoken, until his opinions and arguments were identical with the Communist line. You, both you and your husband, argued with him and entreated him, but--'
'I did,' Mrs. Rackell snapped. 'My husband didn't.'
'Now, Pauline,' Rackell protested. 'I argued with him some.' He looked at Wolfe. 'I didn't entreat him because I didn't think I had a right to. I don't believe in entreating people about their convictions. I was paying him a salary and I didn't want him to think he had to--' The importer fluttered a hand. 'I liked Arthur, and he was my brother's son.'
'In any case,' Wolfe went on brusquely, still at the wife, 'he did not change. He stubbornly adhered to the Communist position. He applauded the Communist attack in Korea and denounced the action of the United Nations. You finally found it insufferable and gave him an ultimatum: either he would abandon his outrageous--'
'Not an ultimatum,' Mrs. Rackell corrected. 'My husband refused to permit it. I merely--'
Wolfe outspoke her. 'At least you made it plain that you
5
had had enough and he was no longer welcome in your home. You must have made it fairly strong, since he was moved to disclose an extremely tight secret: that he had been persuaded by the FBI, back in nineteen forty- eight, to join the Communist party for the purpose of espionage. No easy admonition would have dragged that out of him, surely.'
'I didn't say it was easy. I told him?' She stopped, and the thin lips really did tighten. She relaxed them enough to let words out. 'I think he thought he would lose his job, and he was well paid. Much more than he earned, the amount of work he did.'
Wolfe nodded. 'Anyhow, he told you his secret, and you promised to keep it, becoming a confederate. Privately admiring him, with others you had to pretend to maintain your condemnation. You told your husband and no one else. That was about a week ago, you say?'
'Yes.'
'And Saturday evening, three days ago, your nephew was murdered. Now to that. You have added little to what the papers have carried, but let's see. He left the apartment, your home, and took a taxi to Chezar's restaurant, where he had a dinner engagement. He had invited three women and two men to dine with him, and they were all there when he arrived, in the bar. When your nephew came they went with him to the table he had reserved and had cocktails. He took a small metal box from?'
'Gold.'
'Gold is a metal, madam. He took it from a pocket, his side coat pocket, put it on the table, and left it there while he conferred with the waiter. There was conversation. When plates and rolls and butter were brought, the pillbox got pushed around. It was on the table altogether some ten or twelve minutes. When hors d'oeuvres were served, your nephew started to eat, remembered the pillbox, found it behind the basket of rolls, got from it a vitamin capsule, swallowed the capsule with a sip of water, and began on his hors d'oeuvres. Six or seven minutes later he suddenly cried out, 6
sprang to his feet, overturning his chair, made convulsive gestures, became rigid, collapsed and crumpled to the floor, and died. A doctor arrived shortly, but he was already dead. It has been found that two other capsules in the metal box, similar in appearance to the one he took, contained what they were supposed to and were harmless; but your nephew had swallowed potassium cyanide. He was murdered by replacing a vitamin capsule with a capsule filled with poison.'
'Certainly. That's what-'
'I'll go on, please. You were and are convinced that the substitution was made by one of his dinner companions who is a Communist and who learned that your nephew was acting for the FBI, and you so informed Inspector Cramer of the police. You were not satisfied with his acceptance of that information, especially in a subsequent talk with him yesterday morning, Monday, and went yourself to the office of the FBI, saw a Mr. Anstrey, and found him noncommittal. He took the position that a homicide in Manhattan is the business of the New York police. Exasperated, you went to Inspector Cramer's office, were unable to see him, talked with a sergeant named Stebbins, came away further exasperated, regarded with favor your husband's suggestion, made this morning, that I be consulted, and here you are. Have I left out anything important?'
'One little point.' Rackell cleared his throat. 'Our telling Inspector Cramer about Arthur's joining the Communist party for the FBI--that was in confidence. Of course this talk with you is confidential too, naturally, since we're your clients.'
Wolfe shook his head. 'Not yet. You want to hire me to investigate the death of your nephew?'
'Yes. Certainly.'
'Then you should know that while no one excels me in discretion I will not work under restrictions.'
'That's fair enough.'
'Good. I'll let you know tomorrow, probably by noon.' Wolfe reached to push the paperweight aside and pick up the
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check. 'Shall I keep this meanwhile and return it if I can't take the job?'
Rackell frowned, perplexed. His wife snapped, 'Why on earth couldn't you take it?'
'I don't know, madam. I hope to. I need the money. But I'll have to look into it a little--discreetly, of course. I'll let you know tomorrow at the latest.' He extended a hand with the check. 'Unless you prefer to take this and try elsewhere.'
