Of course that meant they were interested in me because I lived only a block away. He also asked about certain-about my relations with Moore. I told him frankly that I hated Moore.” “But you didn’t tell him about your impression?” “No, why should I?” “You shouldn’t. Why are you telling me?” Frenkel hunched his shoulders together. His eyes were no longer probing me; now they left me entirely, going down until they reached the floor. He seemed to be getting forlorn, and I hoped he didn’t have another headache coming on. I waited for him to lift his eyes again, which he eventually did.
“It’s very difficult,” he said in a grieved tone. “It may sound foolish, but when I learned that you are investigating Moore’s murder I had a kind of vague hope that if I told you about it you might be able to check up on it-you’re a detective and would know how to do it-perhaps by questioning the landlady and other people there you could establish the fact that I didn’t leave my room that evening.” He looked uncertain. “Or perhaps you could relieve my mind. Maybe I haven’t made it plain what terrible pressure I’ve been under. Perhaps you could tell me whether Mr. Naylor has mentioned any names in connection with this-with that irresponsible report he sent to Mr. Pine. Specifically, has he mentioned mine?” I was no longer bored, but if any gleam showed in my eyes it was against orders.
“Well,” I said offhand, “a lot of names have been mentioned of course. Have you any reason to suppose that Mr. Naylor might single you out?” “No good reason, no. It’s like this, Mr. Truett.” He leaned forward, and apparently he had got his second wind, for he was probing again. “This impression that I killed a man has been the dominating element of my whole mental process for nearly four months. It is vital to me, absolutely vital, that I either validate it or destroy it with as little delay as possible. I need to know, and I have a right to know, if anyone else has the same impression, and if so for what reason and with what justification. It can’t be the same reason as mine, for no one on earth, except you now that I’ve told you, knows what happened to me in my room that evening. So I ask if Mr. Naylor has mentioned my name. If he has, and if your telling me so is not regarded as in confidence, I would like to go to him-” The door opened and Kerr Naylor was in the room.
In spite of Ben Frenkel’s distress and SOS appeal I had sprouted no germ of brotherly feeling for him, or if I had, it had wilted fast at the suspicion that what he chiefly wanted was to pump me. But the sight of Naylor’s neat little colorless face and glittery colorless eyes aroused my protective instinct, not only in behalf of Frenkel, but of the whole stock department. As Frenkel saw who the newcomer was and arose, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste, I told Naylor casually: “Hello, I haven’t seen you today. I’ve been discussing the personnel of his section with Mr. Frenkel. I think-” “He isn’t the head of the section,” Naylor snapped.
“Yeah, but I often find in my personnel work that you get more from an assistant than you do from a head. Did you want something?” “You can finish with Frenkel later.” “Sure,” I said agreeably, “but about one point that came up, I got the impression that he wanted to ask you about it. That right, Mr. Frenkel?” It didn’t seem to be since he was edging toward the door. He had not gone wholly inarticulate, but his rumble had degenerated to a mumble, something about the outgoing mail waiting for him, and he was gone. He left the door standing open.
Kerr Naylor went and closed it, came to the chair his underling had just vacated, and sat down.
“You’ve got them jumping through hoops,” I said in admiring awe. “Even big ones like Frenkel, who could do a major operation on you with one hand.” Naylor smiled his two-cent smile. “He would like to, Frenkel would.” “Why, any particular reason?” “No, except that he thinks I prevented his promotion in January.” Naylor pulled a pamphlet from his side pocket. “I came across this in a drawer of my desk and thought you might like to read it.” I took it. The title on the cover was PROTEINS AND ENZYMES. “Did you say read it or eat it?” I inquired.
Having no sense of humor, he ignored that. It seemed that he had paid me a visit expressly to give me the pamphlet and discuss its thesis-or rather, to give me a lecture on it. It was all at the tip of his tongue, and he reeled it off as if I had paid to get in and was dying to hear about it.
I did hear a word here and there, enough to enable me to contribute an occasional grunt or a question, but mostly I was trying to decide what kept him wound up. That he really had it in his heart to sell me on the enzyme potential of foliage I did not believe for a moment. I felt helpless, and so of course I was irritated. Right there in his little head, as he sat doing his spiel, were facts and intentions that were what I needed and all I needed, and I hadn’t the faintest idea how to start prying them loose. I have often felt, talking with a man in the line of duty, okay, brother, wait till Wolfe gets a crack at you, but with Kerr Naylor I wasn’t at all sure that even Wolfe could get a wedge in him.
He went on and on. I glanced twice at my writstwatch, without effect. Finally I told him I was sorry, I had an appointment and was already late. He wanted to know who with. I gave him the first name that popped into my head, Sumner Hoff.
“Ah.” He nodded, leaving his chair. “One of our best men-a fine engineer and a good organizer. It’s regrettable-really unfortunate-that he is endangering his whole career on account of that Livsey girl. He could have gone to Brazil, taken charge there, and he wouldn’t leave because of her. You know who she is-you were in her room yesterday and again today. Do you know where Hoff’s office is?” “I’ll find-” “Come along. It’s near mine. I’ll show you.” I followed him, thinking that his intelligence service was not only thorough but on its toes, since he already knew of my brief call on Miss Livesy. We went down the broad aisle that separated the main arena from the row of offices, and when we were nearing its end he halted in front of a closed door.
“This is Hoff’s room,” he announced in the thin tenor that I had had enough offer a while. “By the way, something I nearly forgot to mention. Regarding the murder of Waldo Moore, I told you yesterday that all I could furnish was the bare fact. That was not strictly true, and was therefore in the nature of a misrepresentation. I am in possession of another fact: the name of the person who killed him. I know who it was. But I can go no further. It is neither proper nor safe to accuse a person of murder without communicable evidence to support the charge. So that’s all I can say.” He smiled at me. “Tell Mr. Wolfe I’m sorry.” He turned and went, headed for his own office at the end of the aisle.
My impulse was to go after him. I stood and considered it. He had done it in style, his style, waiting to toss it at me until we were outside, with the nearest row of desks and personnel so close that I would have had to take only two short steps to touch the rayon shoulder of a dark-haired beauty with magenta lipstick. She was looking at me, now that the big boss had departed, and so were others in that sector, enjoying a good view of the bloodhound. I made a face at them collectively, and, deciding not to go after Naylor because I wasn’t sure I could keep from strangling him, I opened the door of Hoff s room and went in.
He looked up, got me at a glance, and barked at me. “Get out!” I shut the door and surveyed. He had a nice big room. As for him, it might have been expected that the man who had plugged Waldo Moore in the jaw for romantic reasons, and was a civil engineer into the bargain, would be well designed and constructed, but no. There was heft to him, but he would be pudgy before many years passed and also he would have two chins. He didn’t get up and start for me or pick up anything to throw; he simply told me to get out. I approached his desk, offering reasonably, “I will if you’ll tell me why.” “Get out of here!” He meant every word he said. “You goddam snoop! And stay out!” For one thing, with a man in that frame of mind the chances of having a friendly and fruitful conversation are not very good, and for another, I was there at that time only because I had told Naylor on the spur of the moment that I had an appointment with him. I hated to pass up an opportunity for a cutting remark, two or three of
