Death Times Three SSC Read online

  "Bah. The police have already informed me of Mr. Cliffs false and ridiculous statement. Also, they have just told me on the phone who you are. If you annoy me further I'll have you jailed. Take him out, Aiken."

  The ex-pug actually put his hand on my arm. It was all I could do to keep from measuring one of the rugs with him. But I merely set my jaw and walked back across the carpet department to the door. He accompanied me all the way to the elevators. As the elevator door opened I said in a kindly tone, "Here, boy," and flipped a nickel at his face. It got him on the tip of the nose, but luckily his reflex was too slow for him to thank me properly before the door closed.

  For the second time in twenty-four hours I had failed to fill an order, and as I went back to where I had parked the roadster and started uptown I was in no mood to keep to the right and stop for lights. It was more than likely that Judd would get away with it. If a man in his position maintained that Cliff had either misread the license number of the car or was lying, there wasn't much the cops could or would do about it. They might have a try at the chauffeur, but of course Judd would have attended to that.

  It was with the idea in mind of a substitute for Judd that I turned west on 26th Street and drove to the Tingley Building. Not something just as good, but anyhow something. But that was a dud, too. The place was silent and deserted, which I suppose was natural in view of what had happened.

  I thought I might as well proceed with my search for a substitute, and, after consulting my memo book, drove to 23rd Street and turned east and stopped in front of an old brownstone. The vestibule was clean, with the brass fronts of the mailboxes polished and shining, including the one which bore the name of Yates, where I pressed the button. I entered on the click, mounted one flight, and had my finger on a button at a door in the rear when the door was opened by Gwendolyn herself.

  "Oh," she said. "You."

  Her face was moderately haggard, and her lids were so swollen that her eyes didn't seem anything like as keen and shrewd as they had the day before.

  I asked if I could come in, and she made room for me and then led the way into a large living-room. Sitting there was Carrie Murphy. She looked as if she had been either crying or fighting; with an Irish girl you can't tell.

  "You folks look kind of all in," I said sympathetically.

  Miss Yates grunted. "We didn't get much sleep. They kept us up most of the night, and who could sleep, anyway?" She gazed at me curiously. "It was you that found him."

  "It was," I agreed.

  "What did you go there for?"

  "Just to invite him to call on Nero Wolfe to discuss quinine."

  "Oh. I was going to phone you. I want to see Amy Duncan. Do you know where she is?"

  That made her a pushover. "Well," I said, "she spent the night up at our place under the care of a doctor. I left early this morning, so I can't guarantee that she's still there, but I suppose she is."

  "The paper says," Carrie Murphy put in, "that she's going to be detained for questioning. Does that mean that she's suspected of killing her uncle?"

  "Certainly."

  "Then "

  "We want to see her," Miss Yates interposed. "Okay, come along. I've got a car."

  It still lacked a couple of minutes till eleven when we got there, so Wolfe hadn't come down from the plant rooms, and the office was empty. I got the visitors arranged in chairs and then beat it to the roof. Wolfe was at the sink in the potting room washing his hands.

  "The baboon named Judd," I reported, "is going to have me jailed for annoying him. Probably you, too. He's the kind you read about, made of silk reinforced with steel, very tough. He has informed the police that Cliff is a liar. I went to Tingley's and found no one there. I found Miss Yates at her apartment, and Carrie Murphy there making a call, and they said they wanted to see Amy Duncan, so I told them she was here and brought them along."

  I made myself scarce before he could make what he would have regarded as a fitting comment on my failure to get Judd. On my way down I stopped at my room to powder my nose, and heard the elevator start its descent, so I hurried along.

  He acted fairly human when I introduced the two callers. After ringing for beer and heaving a sigh of pleasure when Fritz brought it in, he leaned back and slanted his eyes at Gwendolyn.

  "Mr. Goodwin tells me you wish to see Miss Duncan. She's not here. The police came with a warrant and took her."

  "A warrant?" Carrie Murphy demanded. "Do you mean she's arrested?"

  "Yes. As a material witness. They took her from my house. I don't like people being taken from my house with warrants. Her bond is being arranged for. Are you ladies friends of hers?"

  "We know her," said Miss Yates. "We're not enemies. We don't want to see her unjustly accused."

  "Neither do I. I think it very unlikely that she had anything to do with that quinine. What do you think?"

  "The same as you do. Will they let us see her?"

  "I doubt it."

  "You see," Carrie blurted, "there's something we didn't tell the police! We didn't want them to know about the quinine!"

  Wolfe shrugged. "That's absurd. They already know. Not only from Mr. Goodwin, from Mr. Cliff, too. What was it that you didn't tell them?"

  "We didn't--" Carrie checked herself and looked at her boss. Miss Yates compressed her lips and said nothing. Carrie transferred back to Wolfe. "We don't know," she said, "whether it's important or not. From what it says in the paper we can't tell. That's what we want to ask Amy. Can we ask you?"

  "Well--Amy was there, wasn't she?"

  "At the Tingley Building last evening? Yes." "What time did she get there?"

  "Five minutes past seven."

  "And what happened?"

  "As she entered the office someone who was hiding behind the screen hit her on the head with an iron weight and knocked her unconscious. She remained unconscious for an hour. When Mr. Goodwin arrived, at eight minutes past eight, she was trying to descend the stairs, but collapsed again. He brought her here, after investigating upstairs and finding Tingley's body. She says that when she entered the office her uncle was not in sight, so it is supposed that he was already dead."

  Carrie shook her head. "He wasn't."

  Wolfe's brows went up. "He wasn't?"

  "No. And Amy didn't kill him."

  "Indeed. Were you there?"

  "Of course I wasn't there. But if she had been knocked unconscious, could she have murdered a man? Even if she would?"

  "Probably not. But you are postulating that she is telling the truth. The police aren't so gallant. What if she's lying? What if someone hit her after she had killed her uncle? What if she killed him soon after her arrival?"

  "Oh, no," Carrie declared triumphantly, "she couldn't! That's just it! Because we know he was alive at eight o'clock!"

  Wolfe gazed at her, with his lips pushed out. Then he poured beer, drank, used his handkerchief, leaned back, and leveled his eyes at her again. "That's interesting," he murmured. "How do you know that?"

  "He was talking on the telephone."

  "At eight o'clock?"

  "Yes."

  "To you?"

  "No," Miss Yates interposed. "To me. At my home. Miss Murphy was there and heard it."

  "Are you sure it was Mr. Tingley?"

  "Certainly. I've known him all my life." "What were you talking about?"

  Gwendolyn answered, "A private matter."

  Wolfe shook his head. "The police will soon pull you off that perch, madam. It's murder. I, of course, have no authority, but, since we've gone this far ... ."

  "It's about the quinine. One of the girls reported to me that she had seen Miss Murphy doing something suspicious. Yesterday afternoon, just before closing time. Sneaking some of a mix into a little jar and concealing it. I asked Miss Murphy for an explanation and she refused to give any. Told me that she had nothing to say-"

  "I couldn't

  "Let me finish, Carrie. After she had gone home I went to Mr. Tingley's office and w
as going to tell him about it, but I don't think he even heard what I said. I had never seen him so upset. Philip, his adopted son, had just been there, and I suppose that was it, but he didn't say anything about Philip. I left at a quarter after six and went home to my flat on Twenty-third Street. I always walk; it's only a seven minutes' walk. I took off my hat and coat and rubbers and put my umbrella in the bathtub to drain, and ate some sardines and cheese--"

  She stopped, and grunted. "The police asking me questions all night seems to have got me into a habit. I don't suppose you care what I ate. About half past seven Miss Murphy came. She said she had been thinking it over and had decided she ought to tell me about it. What she told me made me madder than I've ever been in my life. Mr. Tingley suspected me of putting that quinine in! Me!"

  "That isn't fair, Miss Yates," Carrie protested. "It was only--"

  "Rubbish!" Gwen snapped. "He had you spying on me, didn't he?"

  "But he--"

  "I say he had you spying on me!" Miss Yates turned to Wolfe. "Since this trouble started, we've kept a sharp eye on the mixers and filling benches, and I've sent a sample of every mix in to Mr. Tingley, including even Carrie's. And, behind my back, she was sending him samples of my mixes!"

  "I was obeying orders," Carrie said defensively. "Could I help it?"

  "No. But he could. If he were alive I'd never forgive him for that but now--I'll try to. I've given my whole life to that factory. That's the only life I've got or ever have had, and he knew it. He knew how proud I was of every jar that left that place, and yet he could set a spy on me"

  "So," Wolfe said, "you phoned Mr. Tingley to give him the devil."

  She nodded.

  "How do you know it was eight o'clock?"

  "Because I looked at my watch. I called his home first, but he wasn't there, so I tried the office."

  "Did he corroborate Miss Murphy's story?"

  'Yes. He admitted it. He didn't even apologize. He said he was the head of the business, and no one, not even me, was above suspicion. He told me that to my face!"

  "Not precisely to your face."

  "Well, he said it!" She blew her nose again. "I hung up. I had a notion to go and have it out with him, but I decided to wait till morning. Anyway, I was played out -I had been under a strain for a month. Carrie stayed and I made some tea. I couldn't blame her, since she had only done what he told her to. We were still there talking at ten o'clock when a policeman came."

  "With the news of the murder."

  "Yes."

  "But you didn't tell about the phone call."

  "No," Miss Yates said. "I didn't want them to know about the quinine."

  "But we'll have to tell them now," Carrie said. She was sitting on the edge of her chair with her fingers twisted into knots. "Since they've arrested Amy. Won't we?"

  Wolfe grimaced.. "Not for that reason," he said grumpily. "It would do Miss Duncan more harm than good. They think she's lying, anyhow. Do as you please. For myself, I shall tell them nothing."

  They discussed it. Wolfe drank more beer. I covered a yawn, feeling that my substitute for Guthrie Judd had turned pretty sour on us. If Tingley had been alive at eight o'clock, Judd couldn't very well have killed him between 7:30 and 7:35, nor could the other man, the one in the raincoat, between 7:40 and 7:47. Of course, either of them could have returned just after eight, but, since I arrived at 8:08, that would have been cutting it fine, and besides, Cliff would have seen them unless they entered by another way. Unless Cliff was lying, or Amy was, or these two tidbit mixers were ... .

  When they finally left, their intentions still appeared to be in a state of heads or tails. I offered to take them back to 23rd Street, which seemed only fair under the circumstances, and they accepted. That is, Gwendolyn did; Carrie said she was bound for the subway, so with her I went on to 34th and unloaded her at the express station.

  When I got back I found that company had arrived. Leonard Cliff and Amy Duncan were there in the office with Wolfe. Cliff looked so grim and harassed. Amy was worse, if anything. She was puffy under the eyes and Baggy at the jaws. The soft in-curves I had liked in her cheeks weren't there. Wolfe, himself, turned a black scowl on me.

  I sat down. "My God," I said, "it could be worse, couldn't it? What if they charged you and tossed you in the coop?"

  "Miss Duncan," Wolfe growled, "is under bond. The thing has become ridiculous. Mr. Cramer states that the knife handle bears her fingerprints."

  "No!" I raised the brows. "Really? How about the chunk of iron? The weight."

  "None. Clean."

  "Ha. I thought so. She forgot to remove her prints from the knife, but after banging herself on the bean with the weight she carefully wiped it off--"

  "That will do, Archie! If you insist on being whimsical "

  "I am not being whimsical. I'm merely agreeing with you that it's ridiculous." I sent him back his glare. "I know what you're doing, and so do you! You're letting it slide! Your performance with those two women I brought here was pitiful! I've got legs and I'm using them. You've got a brain and where is it? You're sore at Tingley because he got killed before you could shake your finger at him and tell him to keep quinine out of his liver pate. You're sore at Cramer because he offended your dignity. You're sore at me because I didn't get Judd. Now you're sore at Miss Duncan because while she was lying there unconscious she let someone put her prints on that knife."

  I turned to Amy: "You shouldn't permit things like that to happen. They annoy Mr. Wolfe."

  Wolfe shut his eyes. There was a long silence. The tip of his forefinger was making little circles on the arm of his chair. Finally his lids went up halfway, and I was relieved to see that the focus was not me but Amy. He leaned back and clasped his fingers above his breadbasket. "Miss Duncan," he said, "it looks as if we'll have to go all over it. Are you up to answering some questions?"

  "Oh, yes," she declared. "Anything that will--I feel pretty good. I'm all right."

  "You don't look it. I'm going on the assumption that you and Mr. Cliff are telling the truth. I shall abandon it only under necessity. I assume, for instance, that when you left your uncle's employ and later became Mr. Cliffs secretary you were not coming to terms with the enemy."

  "You certainly may," Cliff put in. "We knew she had worked in Tingley's office, but we didn't know she was his niece. That's why I was so surprised when I saw she was going there last evening. I couldn't imagine what she was doing there."

  "Very well. I'll take all that." Wolfe went on with Amy: "What would you say if I told you that Miss Murphy was responsible for the quinine?"

  "Why--" Amy looked astonished. "I wouldn't know what to say. I'd ask you how you knew. I couldn't believe that Carrie would do a thing like that."

  "Did she have a grudge against your uncle?"

  "Not that I know of. No special grudge. Of course, nobody really liked him."

  "What about Miss Yates?"

  "Oh, she's all right. She's a kind of a holy terror with the girls in the factory, but she's certainly competent."

  "Did you and she get along?"

  "Well enough. We didn't have much to do with each other. I was my uncle's stenographer."

  "How were her relations with Tingley?"

  "As good as could be expected. Of course, she was a privileged character; he couldn't possibly have got along without her. He inherited her from my grandfather along with the business."

  Wolfe grunted. "Speaking of inheritance. Do you know anything about your uncle's will? Who will get the business?"

  "I don't know, but I suppose my cousin Philip." "His adopted son?"

  "Yes." Amy hesitated, then offered an amendment by a change of inflection: "I suppose he will. The business has always been handed down from father to son. But, of course, Philip--" She stopped.

  "Is he active in the business?"

  "No. That's just it. He isn't active in anything. Except--" She stopped.

  "Except--?" Wolfe prodded her.

  "I was going
to say, except spending money, only for the past year or so he hasn't had any to spend. Since Uncle Arthur kicked him out. I suppose he's been giving him enough to keep him from starving. I thought

  I had an idea, when my uncle phoned and asked me to come to his office yesterday, and he was so urgent about it, that it was something about Philip." "Why did you think that?"

  "Well--because the only other time he ever sent for me it was about Philip. He thought that I could--that I had an influence over him."