Leaving the door open to the chain, not to be rude, I went to the office and crossed to Wolfe’s desk. “Sorry to interrupt, but Inspector Cramer wants to know why you changed my name to Alan Green and got me a job as secretary to Otis Jarrell. Shall I tell him?”
He scowled at me. “How did he find out? That Jarrell girl?”
“No. I don’t know. If you have to blame it on a woman, take Nora Kent, but I doubt it.”
“Confound it. Bring him in.”
I returned to the front, removed the chain, and swung the door open. “He’s delighted that you’ve come. So am I.”
He may not have caught the last three words, as he had tossed his hat on the bench and was halfway down the hall. By the time I had closed the door and made it back to the office he was at the red leather chair. Orrie wasn’t visible. He hadn’t come to the hall, so Wolfe must have sent him to the front room. That door was closed. I went to my chair and was myself again.
Cramer, seated, was speaking. “Do you want me to repeat it? What I told Goodwin?”
“That shouldn’t be necessary.” Wolfe, having swiveled to face him, was civil but not soapy. “But I am curious, naturally, as to how you got the information. Has Mr. Goodwin been under surveillance?”
“No, but a certain address on Fifth Avenue has been, since eight o’clock this morning. When Goodwin was seen coming out, at a quarter to ten, and recognized, and it was learned from the man in the lobby that the man who had just gone out was named Alan Green and he was Otis Jarrell’s secretary, and it was reported to me, I wasn’t just curious. If I had just been curious I would have had Sergeant Stebbins phone you. I’ve come myself.”
“I commend your zeal, Mr. Cramer. And it’s pleasant to see you again, but I’m afraid my wits are a little dull this morning. You must bear with me. I didn’t know that taking a job under an alias is an offense against society and therefore a proper subject for police inquiry. And by you? The head of the Homicide Squad?”
“I ought to be able to bear with you, I’ve had enough practice. But by God, it’s just about all I-” He stopped abruptly, got a cigar from a pocket, rolled it between his palms, stuck it in his mouth, and clamped his teeth on it. He never lit one. The mere sight of Wolfe, and the sound of his voice, with the memories they recalled, had stirred his blood, and it needed calming down.
He took the cigar from his mouth. “You’re bad enough,” he said, under control, “when you’re not sarcastic. When you are, you’re the hardest man to take in my jurisdiction. Do you know that a man named Eber was shot, murdered, in his apartment on Forty-ninth Street Thursday afternoon? Day before yesterday?”
“Yes, I know that.”
“Do you know that for five years he had been Otis Jarrell’s secretary and had recently been fired?”
“Yes, I know that too. Permit me to comment that this seems a little silly. I read newspapers.”
“Okay, but it’s in the picture, and you want the picture. According to information received, Goodwin’s first appearance at Jarrell’s place was on Monday afternoon, three days before Eber was killed. Jarrell told the man in the lobby that his name was Alan Green and that he was going to live there. And he has been. Living there.” His head jerked to me. “That right, Goodwin?”
“Right,” I admitted.
“You’ve been there since Monday, under an assumed name, as Jarrell’s secretary?”
“Right-with time out for errands. I’m not there now.”
“You’re damn right you’re not. You’re not there now because you knew someone was coming from the DA’s office to see Jarrell and you didn’t want to be around. Right?”
“Fifth Amendment.”
“Nuts. That’s for Reds and racketeers, not for clowns like you.” He jerked back to Wolfe, decided his blood needed calming again, stuck the cigar in his mouth, and chewed on it.
He removed it. “That’s the picture, Wolfe,” he said. “We’ve got no lead that’s worth a damn on who killed Eber. Naturally our best source on his background and his associates has been Jarrell and the others at his place. Eber not only worked there, he lived there. We’ve got a lot of facts about him, but nothing with a motive for murder good enough to fasten on. We’re just about ready to decide we’re not going to get anywhere with Jarrell and that bunch and we’d better concentrate on other possibilities, and then this. Goodwin. Goodwin and you.”
His eyes narrowed, then he realized that was the wrong attitude and opened them. “Now it’s different. If a man like Otis Jarrell hires you for something so important that you’re even willing to get along without Goodwin so he can go and stay there under an assumed name, with a job as Jarrell’s secretary, and if the man who formerly had the job gets murdered three days later, do you expect me to believe there’s no connection?”
“I’m not sure I follow you, Mr. Cramer. Connection between what?”
“Like hell you don’t follow me! Between whatever Jarrell hired you for and the murder!”
Wolfe nodded. “I assumed you meant that, but I am wary of assumptions. You should be too. You are assuming that Mr. Jarrell hired me. Have you grounds for that? Isn’t it possible that someone else hired me, and I imposed Mr. Goodwin on Mr. Jarrell’s household to get information for my client?”
That settled it. Ever since I had opened the door a crack and got Cramer’s message for Wolfe, I had been thinking that Wolfe would probably decide that the cat was too scratchy to hang on to, and would let Cramer take it, but not now. Jarrell’s gun would not be mentioned. The temptation to teach Cramer to be wary of assumptions had been irresistible.
