Free Homicide Trinity by Rex Stout Page A

Cramer.
    Since Wolfe refuses to work either his brain or his tongue on business at table, and a murder case is business even when he has no client and no fee is in prospect, no progress was made during lunch, but when we returned to the office he buckled down and tried to think of something for me to do. The trouble was that the problem was too damn simple. We knew that one of three men had committed murder, and how and when. Okay, which one? Eeny meeny murder mo. Even the why was plain enough; Mrs. Sorell had hooked him with an offer, either of a big slice of the thirty million she was after or of more personal favors. Any approach you could think of was already cluttered with cops, except Mrs. Sorrell, and even if I got to her again I had nothing to use for a pry. What it called for was a good stiff dose of genius, and apparently Wolfe’s was taking the day off. Sitting there in the office after lunch I may have got a little too personal with him or he wouldn’t have bellowed at me to go ahead and check their alibis. “Glad to,” I said, and went to the hall for my hat and coat, and saw visitors on the stoop, not strangers. I opened the door just as Cramer pushed the bell button, and inquired, “Have you an appointment?”
    “I have in my pocket,” he said, “a warrant for your arrest as a material witness. Also one for Wolfe. I warned you.”
    There were two ways of looking at it. One was that he didn’t mean to shoot unless he had to. If he had really wanted to haul us in he would have sent a couple of dicks after us instead of coming himself with SergeantPurley Stebbins. The other was that here was a good opportunity to teach Wolfe a lesson. A couple of the right kind of impolite remarks would have made Cramer sore enough to go ahead and serve the warrants, and spending several hours in custody, and possibly all night, would probably cure Wolfe of leaving neckties on his desk. But I would have had to go along, which wouldn’t have been fair, so I wheeled and marched to the office, relying on Purley to shut the door, and told Wolfe: “Cramer and Stebbins with warrants. An inspector to take you and a sergeant to take me, which is an honor.” He glared at me and then transferred it to them as they entered.
    Cramer said, “I warned you last night,” draped his coat on the arm of the red leather chair, and sat.
    Wolfe snorted. “Tommyrot.”
    Cramer took papers from his pocket. “I’ll serve these only if I have to. If I do I know what will happen, you’ll refuse to talk and so will Goodwin, and you’ll be out on bail as soon as Parker can swing it. But it will be on your record and that won’t close it. Held as a material witness is one thing, and charged with interfering with the operation of justice is another. In the interest of justice we were withholding the contents of the statements you and Goodwin gave us, and you knew it, and you revealed them. To men suspected of murder. Frank Edey has admitted it. He phoned an assistant district attorney.”
    The brilliant idea man again.
    “He’s a jackass,” Wolfe declared.
    “Yeah. Since you told them in confidence.”
    “I did not. I asked for no pledges and got none. But I made it plain that if I put my finger on the murderer before you do I’ll protect that law firm from injury as far as possible. If Mr. Edey is innocent it was to his interest not to have me interrupted by you. If he’s guilty, all the worse.”
    “Who’s your client? Otis?”
    “I have no client. I am going to avenge an affront to my dignity and self-esteem. Your threat to charge mewith interference with the operation of justice is puerile. I am not meddling in a matter that does not concern me. I cannot escape the ignominy of having my necktie presented in a courtroom as an exhibit of the prosecution; I may even have to suffer the indignity of being called to the stand to identify it; but I want the satisfaction of exposing the culprit who used it. In telling Mr. Otis and his