The Final Deduction

Wolfe grunted. “Madam. You can’t possibly mean that. You are not a nincompoop. How could I conceivably proceed? The only contact with that punster or an accomplice will be your delivery of the money, and you refuse to tell me anything about it. Pfui. You can’t possibly mean it.”

“But I do. I do! That’s why I came to you! Is there anything you can’t do? Aren’t you a genius? How did you get your reputation?” She took a checkfold from her bag and slipped a pen from a loop. “Will ten thousand do for a retainer?”

She had a touch of genius herself, or it was her lucky day, asking him if there was anything he couldn’t do and waving a check at him. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and cupped the ends of the chair arms with his hands. I expected to see his lips start moving in and out, but they didn’t; evidently this one was too tough for any help from the lip routine. Mrs Vail opened the checkfold on the stand at her elbow, wrote, tore the check from the fold, got up and put it on Wolfe’s desk, and returned to the chair. She started to say something, and I pushed a palm at her. A minute passed, another, and two or three more, before Wolfe opened his eyes, said, “Your notebook, Archie,” and straightened up.

I got my notebook and pen. But instead of starting to dictate he closed his eyes again. In a minute he opened them and turned to Mrs Vail.

“The wording is important,” he said. “It would help to know how he uses words. You will tell me exactly what he said on the phone.”

“No, I won’t.” She was emphatic. “You would try to do something, some kind of trick. You’d have Archie Goodwin do something. I know he’s clever and you may be a genius, but I’m not going to risk that. I told that man I would do exactly what he told me to, and do it alone, and I’m not going to tell you. What wording is important? Wording of what?”

Wolfe’s shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. “Very well. His voice. Did you recognize it?”

She stared. “Recognize it? Of course not!”

“Had you any thought, any suspicion, that you had ever heard it before?”

“No.”

“Was he verbose, or concise?”

“Concise. He just told me what to do.”

“Rough or smooth?”

She considered. “Neither one. He was just-matter-of-fact.”

“No bluster, no bullying?”

“No. He said this would be my one chance and my husband’s one chance, but he wasn’t bullying. He just said it.”

“His grammar? Did he make sentences?”

She flared. “I wasn’t thinking of grammar! Of course he made sentences!”

“Few people do. I’ll rephrase it: Is he an educated man? ‘Educated’ in the vulgar sense, as it is commonly used.”

She considered again. “I said he wasn’t rough. He wasn’t vulgar. Yes, I suppose he is educated.” She gestured impatiently. “Isn’t this wasting time? You’re not enough of a genius to guess who he is or where he is from how he talked. Are you?”

Wolfe shook his head. “That would be thaumaturgy, not genius. When and where did you last see your husband?”

“Saturday morning, at our house. He left to drive to the country, to our place near Katonah, to see about things. I didn’t go along because I wasn’t feeling well. He phoned Sunday morning and said he might not be back until late evening. When he hadn’t come at midnight I phoned, and the caretaker told me he had left a little after eight o’clock. I wasn’t really worried, not really, because sometimes he takes a notion to drive around at night, just anywhere, but yesterday morning I was worried, but I didn’t want to start calling people, and then the mail came with that thing.”

“Was he alone when he left your place in the country?”

“Yes. I asked the caretaker.”

“What is your secretary’s name?”

“My secretary? You jump around. Her name is Dinah Utley.”

“How long has she been with you?”

“Seven years. Why?”

“I must speak with her. You will please phone and tell her to come here at once.”

Her mouth opened in astonishment. It snapped shut. “I will not,” she said. “What can she tell you? She doesn’t know I’ve come to you, and I don’t want her to. Not even her. I trust her absolutely, but I’m not going to take any chances.”

“Then there’s your check.” Wolfe pointed to it, there on his desk. “Take it and go.” He made a face. “I must have some evidence of your bona fides, however slight. I do know you are Mrs Jimmy Vail, since Mr Goodwin identifies you, but that’s all I know. Did that thing come in the mail and did you get a phone call from Mr Knapp? I have only your unsupported word. I will not be made a party to some shifty hocus-pocus. Archie. Give Mrs Vail her check.”

I got up, but she spoke. “It’s no hocus-pocus. My God, hocus-pocus? My husband-they’ll kill him! My not wanting anyone to know I’ve come to you, not even my secretary-isn’t that right? If you expect her to tell you what he said on the phone, she won’t. I’ll tell her not to.”