The Rubber Band

I ran up to the south room and said to Clara Fox, “Hilda Lindquist is downstairs and I’m going to send her up. She thinks the show is over and she has to go back home to her poor old dad with her sock empty, and by the look in her eye it will take more than British diplomacy to keep her off of the next train. Nero Wolfe is going to work this out. I don’t know how and maybe he don’t either this minute, but he’ll do it. Nero Wolfe is probably even better than I think he is, and that’s a mouthful. You wrote the music for this piece, and half your band has been killed, and it’s up to you to keep the other half intact. Well?”

I had found her sitting in a chair with her lips compressed tight and her hands clenched. She looked at me, “All right. I will. Send her up here.”

“She can sleep in here with you, or in the room in front on this floor. You know how to ring for Fritz.”

“All right.”

I went down and told Squareface that Clara Fox wanted to speak to her, and shooed her up, and heard them exchanging greetings in the upper hall.

There was nothing in the office but a gob of silence; Wolfe was still in conference. I would have tried some bulldozing if I had thought he was merely dreaming of stuffed quail or pickled pigs’ feet, but his lips were moving a little so I knew he was working. I fooled around my desk, went over Joh

Wolfe opened his eyes. “Where in the name of heaven did you get that?”

I threw up my hands. He shut his eyes again.

The doorbell rang. I knew it couldn’t be Joh

“Who the devil is ringing that bell?” Wolfe demanded. “Why don’t you—”

I interrupted, gri

“Indeed.” Wolfe sat up and rubbed his nose. “Bring them in.”

Chapter 16

They entered as if they owned the place. I tipped Purley a wink as he passed me, but he was too impressed by his surroundings to reciprocate, and I didn’t blame him, as I knew he might get either a swell promotion or the opposite out of this by the time it was over. From the threshold I saw a big black limousine down at the curb, and back of it two other police cars containing city fellers. Well, well, I thought to myself as I closed the door, this looks pretty damned ominous. Cramer had asked me if Wolfe was in the office and I had waved him on, and now I brought up the rear of the procession.

I moved chairs around. Cramer introduced Hombert and Ski

Hombert was practically yelling. “… and you’re responsible for it! If you had turned those three people over to us last night this wouldn’t have happened! Cramer tells me they were here in this office! Walsh was here! This afternoon we had him at headquarters and your man wouldn’t point him out! You are directly and legally responsible for his death!” The Police Commissioner brought his fist down on the arm of his chair and glared. Cramer was looking at him and shaking his head faintly.

“This sudden onslaught is overwhelming,” Wolfe murmured. “If I am legally responsible for Mr. Walsh’s death, arrest me. But please don’t shout at me—”

“All right! You’ve asked for it!” Hombert turned to the inspector. “Put him under arrest!”

Cramer said quietly, “Yes, sir. What charge?”

“Any charge! Material witness! We’ll see whether he’ll talk or not!”

Cramer stood up. Wolfe said, “Perhaps I should warn you, Mr. Hombert. If I am arrested, I shall do no talking whatever. And if I do no talking, you have no possible chance of solving the problem you are confronted with.” He wiggled a finger. “I don’t shout, but I never say anything I don’t mean. Proceed, Mr. Cramer.”

Cramer stood still. Hombert looked at him, then looked grimly at Wolfe. “You’ll talk or you’ll rot’”

“Then I shall certainly rot.” Wolre’s finger moved again. “Let me make a suggestion, Mr. Hombert. Why don’t you go home and go to sleep and leave this affair to be handled by Mr. Cramer, an experienced policeman, and Mr. Ski

Hombert glared at him, opened his mouth, closed it again, and looked at Cramer. District Attorney Ski

Wolfe nodded solemnly. “That’s an idea, Mr. Cramer. You handle me.”

Hombert, saying nothing, sat back and folded his arms and goggled.

Cramer looked at Wolfe. “So you know about Walsh.”

Wolfe nodded. “From the Gazette. That was unfortunate, the reporter happening on the scene.”

“You’re telling me,” Cramer observed grimly. “Of course the marquis isn’t arrested. He can’t be. Diplomatic immunity. Washington is raising hell because it got in the paper, as if there was any way in God’s world of keeping it out of that lousy sheet once that reporter got away from there.” He waved a disgusted hand. “That’s that. The fact is, the Commissioner’s right. You’re responsible. I told you yesterday how important this was. I told you it was your duty as a citizen to help us protect the Marquis of Clivers.”

Wolfe lifted his brows. “Aren’t you a little confused, Mr. Cramer? Or am I? I understood you wished to protect Lord Clivers from injury. Was it he who was injured this evening?”

“Certainly it was,” Hombert broke in. “This Walsh was blackmailing him!”

Cramer said, “Let me. Huh?”

“Did Lord Clivers say that?” Wolfe asked.

“No.” Cramer grunted. “He’s not saying anything, except that he knew Walsh a long time ago and went there to see him this evening by appoint ment and found him lying there dead. But we didn’t come here to answer questions for you, we came to find out what you know. We could have you pulled in, but decided it was quicker to come. It’s time to spill it. What’s it all about?”