The Thin Man Page 15

  “I won’t. Go ahead,” I said.

  “He didn’t phone again. I’d been back about an hour when the police phoned—Julia was dead. Now you must understand that I didn’t think Wynant had killed her—not for a minute. You can understand that—you still don’t think he did. So when I went over there and the police began to ask me questions about him and I could see they suspected him, I did what ninety-nine out of a hundred lawyers would’ve done for their clients—I said nothing about having seen him in that neighborhood at about the time that the murder must have been committed. I told them what I told you—about having the date with him and him not showing up—and let them understand that I had gone over to Hermann’s straight from the Plaza.”

  “That’s understandable enough,” I agreed. “There was no sense in your saying anything until you had heard his side of the story.”

  “Exactly and, well, the catch is I never heard his side of the story. I’d expected him to show up, phone me, something, but he didn’t—until Tuesday, when I got that letter from him from Philadelphia, and there was not a word in it about his failure to meet me Friday, nothing about—but you saw the letter. What’d you think of it?”

  “You mean did it sound guilty?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not particularly,” I said. “It’s about what could be expected from him if he didn’t kill her—no great alarm over the police suspecting him except as it might interfere with his work, a desire to have it all cleaned up with no inconvenience to him—not too bright a letter to have come from anybody else, but in line with his particular form of goofiness. I can see him sending it off without the faintest notion that the best thing he could do would be to account for his own actions on the day of the murder. How sure are you he was coming from Julia’s when you saw him?”

  “I’m sure now. I thought it likely at first. Then I thought he may have been to his shop. It’s on First Avenue, just a few blocks from where I saw him, and, though it’s been closed since he went away, we renewed the lease last month and everything’s there waiting for him to come back to it, and he could have been there that afternoon. The police couldn’t find anything there to show whether he had or hadn’t.”

  “I meant to ask you: there was some talk about his having grown whiskers. Was he—”

  “No—the same long bony face with the same ragged near-white mustache.”

  “Another thing: there was a fellow named Nunheim killed yesterday, a small—”

  “I’m coming to that,” he said.

  “I was thinking about the little fellow you thought might be shadowing you.”

  Macaulay stared at me. “You mean that might’ve been Nunheim?”

  “I don’t know. I was wondering.”

  “And I don’t know,” he said. “I never saw Nunheim, far as I—”

  “He was a little fellow, not more than five feet three, and would weigh maybe a hundred and twenty. I’d say he was thirty-five or -six. Sallow, dark hair and eyes, with the eyes set pretty close together, big mouth, long limp nose, bat-wing ears—shifty-looking.”

  “That could easily be him,” he said, “though I didn’t get too close a view of my man. I suppose the police would let me see him”—he shrugged—“not that it matters now. Where was I? Oh, yes, about not being able to get in touch with Wynant. That put me in an uncomfortable position, since the police clearly thought I was in touch with him and lying about it. So did you, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” I admitted.

  “And you also, like the police, probably suspected that I had met him, either at the Plaza or later, on the day of the murder.”

  “It seemed possible.”

  “Yes. And of course you were partly right. I had at least seen him, and seen him at a place and time that would’ve spelled Guilty with a capital G to the police, so, having lied instinctively and by inference, I now lied directly and deliberately. Hermann had been tied up in a conference all that afternoon and didn’t know how long I had been waiting to see him. Louise Jacobs is a good friend of mine. Without going into details, I told her she could help me help a client by saying I had arrived there at a minute or two after three o’clock and she agreed readily enough. To protect her in case of trouble, I told her that if anything went wrong she could always say that she hadn’t remembered what time I arrived, but that I, the next day, had casually mentioned my arrival at that time and she had no reason for doubting me—throwing the whole thing on me.” Macaulay took a deep breath. “None of that’s important now. What’s important is that I heard from Wynant this morning.”

  “Another one of those screwy letters?” I asked.

  “No, he phoned. I made a date with him for tonight—for you and me. I told him you wouldn’t do anything for him unless you could see him, so he promised to meet us tonight. I’m going to take the police, of course. I can’t go on justifying my shielding him like this. I can get him an acquittal on grounds of insanity and have him put away. That’s all I can do, all I want to do.”

  “Have you told the police yet?”

  “No. He didn’t phone till just after they’d left. Anyway, I wanted to see you first. I wanted to tell you I hadn’t forgotten what I owed you and—”

  “Nonsense,” I said.

  “It’s not.” He turned to Nora. “I don’t suppose he ever told you he saved my life once in a shell-hole in—”

  “He’s nuts,” I told her. “He fired at a fellow and missed and I fired at him and didn’t and that’s all there was to it.” I addressed him again: “Why don’t you let the police wait awhile? Suppose you and I keep this date tonight and hear what he’s got to say. We can sit on him and blow whistles when the meeting’s about to break up if we’re convinced he’s the murderer.”

  Macaulay smiled wearily. “You’re still doubtful, aren’t you? Well, I’m willing to do it that way if you want, though it seems like a—But perhaps you’ll change your mind when I tell you about our telephone conversation.”

  Dorothy, wearing a nightgown and a robe of Nora’s, both much too long for her, came in yawning. “Oh!” she exclaimed when she saw Macaulay, and then, when she had recognized him, “Oh, hello, Mr. Macaulay. I didn’t know you were here. Is there any news of my father?”

  He looked at me. I shook my head. He told her: “Not yet, but perhaps we’ll have some today.”

  I said: “Dorothy’s had some, indirectly. Tell Macaulay about Gilbert.”

  “You mean about—about my father?” she asked hesitantly, staring at the floor.

  “Oh, dear me, no,” I said.

  Her face flushed and she glanced reproachfully at me; then, hastily, she told Macaulay: “Gil saw my father yesterday and he told Gil who killed Miss Wolf.”

  “What?” She nodded four or five times, earnestly. Macaulay looked at me with puzzled eyes.

  “This doesn’t have to’ve happened,” I reminded him. “It’s what Gil says happened.”

  “I see. Then you think he might be—?”

  “You haven’t done much talking to that family since hell broke loose, have you?” I asked.

  “No.”

  “It’s an experience. They’re all sex-crazy, I think, and it backs up into their heads. They start off—”

  Dorothy said angrily: “I think you’re horrid. I’ve done my best to—”

  “What are you kicking about?” I demanded. “I’m giving you the break this time: I’m willing to believe Gil did tell you that. Don’t expect too much of me.”

  Macaulay asked: “And who killed her?”

  “I don’t know. Gil wouldn’t tell me.”

  “Had your brother seen him often?”

  “I don’t know how often. He said he had been seeing him.”

  “And was anything said—well—about the man Nunheim?”

  “No. Nick asked me that. He didn’t tell me anything else at all.”

  I caught Nora’s eye and made signals. She stood up saying: “Let’s go in the other room, Dorothy, and give these lads a cha
nce to do whatever it is they think they’re doing.” Dorothy went reluctantly, but she went out with Nora.

  Macaulay said: “She’s grown up to be something to look at.” He cleared his throat. “I hope your wife won’t—”

  “Forget it. Nora’s all right. You started to tell me about your conversation with Wynant.”

  “He phoned right after the police left and said he’d seen the ad in the Times and wanted to know what I wanted. I told him you weren’t anxious to get yourself mixed up in his troubles and had said you wouldn’t touch it at all without talking it over with him first, and we made the date for tonight. Then he asked if I’d seen Mimi and I told him I’d seen her once or twice since her return from Europe and had also seen his daughter. And then he said this: ‘If my wife should ask for money, give her any sum in reason.’ ”

  “I’ll be damned,” I said.

  Macaulay nodded. “That’s the way I felt about it. I asked him why and he said what he’d read in the morning papers had convinced him that she was Rosewater’s dupe, not his confederate, and he had reason to believe she was ‘kindly disposed’ towards him, Wynant. I began to see what he was up to, then, and I told him she had already turned the knife and chain over to the police. And try to guess what he said to that.”

  “I give up.”

  “He hemmed and hawed a bit—not much, mind you—and then as smooth as you like asked: ‘You mean the chain and knife on the watch I left with Julia to be repaired?’ ”

  I laughed. “What’d you say?”

  “That stumped me. Before I could think up an answer he was saying: ‘However, we can discuss that more fully when we meet tonight.’ I asked him where and when we’d meet him and he said he’d have to phone me, he didn’t know where he’d be. He’s to phone me at my house at ten o’clock. He was in a hurry now, though he had seemed leisurely enough before, and hadn’t time to answer any of the things I wanted to ask, so he hung up and I phoned you. What do you think of his innocence now?”

  “Not as much as I did,” I replied slowly. “How sure are you of hearing from him at ten tonight?”

  Macaulay shrugged. “You know as much about that as I do.”

  “Then if I were you I wouldn’t bother the police till we’ve grabbed our wild man and can turn him over to them. This story of yours isn’t going to make them exactly love you and, even if they don’t throw you in the can right away, they’ll make things pretty disagreeable for you if Wynant gives us a run-around tonight.”

  “I know, but I’d like to get the load off my shoulders.”

  “A few hours more oughtn’t to matter much,” I said. “Did either of you say anything about his not keeping the date at the Plaza?”

  “No. I didn’t get a chance to ask him. Well, if you say wait, I’ll wait, but—”

  “Let’s wait till tonight, anyhow, till he phones you—if he does—and then we can make up our minds whether to take the police along.”

  “You don’t think he’ll phone?”

  “I’m not too sure,” I said. “He didn’t keep his last date with you, and he seems to have gone pretty vague on you as soon as he learned that Mimi had turned in the watch-chain and knife. I wouldn’t be too optimistic about it. We’ll see though. I’d better get out to your house at about nine o’clock, hadn’t I?”

  “Come for dinner.”

  “I can’t, but I’ll make it as early as I can, in case he’s ahead of time. We’ll want to move fast. Where do you live?”

  Macaulay gave me his address, in Scarsdale, and stood up. “Will you say good-by to Mrs. Charles for me and thank— Oh, by the way, I hope you didn’t misunderstand me about Harrison Quinn last night. I meant only just what I said, that I’d had bad luck taking his advice on the market. I didn’t mean to insinuate that there was anything—you know—or that he might not’ve made money for his other customers.”

  “I understand,” I said, and called Nora. She and Macaulay shook hands and made polite speeches to each other and he pushed Asta around a little and said, “Make it as early as you can,” to me and went away.

  “There goes the hockey game,” I said, “unless you find somebody else to go with.”

  “Did I miss anything?” Nora asked.

  “Not much.” I told her what Macaulay had told me. “And don’t ask me what I think of it. I don’t know. I know Wynant’s crazy, but he’s not acting like a murderer. He’s acting like a man playing some kind of game. God only knows what the game is.”

  “I think,” she said, “that he’s shielding somebody else.”

  “Why don’t you think he did it?”

  She looked surprised. “Because you don’t.”

  I said that was a swell reason. “Who is the somebody else?”

  “I don’t know yet. Now don’t make fun of me: I’ve thought about it a lot. It wouldn’t be Macaulay, because he’s using him to help shield whoever it is and—”

  “And it wouldn’t be me,” I suggested, “because he wants to use me.”

  “That’s right,” she said, “and you’re going to feel very silly if you make fun of me and then I guess who it is before you do. And it wouldn’t be either Mimi or Jorgensen, because he tried to throw suspicion on them. And it wouldn’t be Nunheim, because he was most likely killed by the same person and, furthermore, wouldn’t have to be shielded now. And it wouldn’t be Morelli, because Wynant was jealous of him and they’d had a row.” She frowned at me. “I wish you’d found out more about that big fat man they called Sparrow and that big red-haired woman.”

  “But how about Dorothy and Gilbert?”

  “I wanted to ask you about them. Do you think he’s got any very strong paternal feeling for them?”

  “No.”

  “You’re probably just trying to discourage me,” she said. “Well, knowing them, it’s hard to think either of them might’ve been guilty, but I tried to throw out my personal feelings and stick to logic. Before I went to sleep last night I made a list of all the—”

  “There’s nothing like a little logic-sticking to ward off insomnia. It’s like—”

  “Don’t be so damned patronizing. Your performance so far has been a little less than dazzling.”

  “I didn’t mean no harm,” I said and kissed her. “That a new dress?”

  “Ah! Changing the subject, you coward.”

  27

  I went to see Guild early in the afternoon and went to work on him as soon as we had shaken hands. “I didn’t bring my lawyer along. I thought it looked better if I came by myself.”

  He wrinkled his forehead and shook his head as if I had hurt him. “Now it was nothing like that,” he said patiently.

  “It was too much like that.”

  He sighed. “I wouldn’t’ve thought you’d make the mistake that a lot of people make thinking just because we— You know we got to look at every angle, Mr. Charles.”

  “That sounds familiar. Well, what do you want to know?”

  “All I want to know is who killed her—and him.”

  “Try asking Gilbert,” I suggested.

  Guild pursed his lips. “Why him exactly?”

  “He told his sister he knew who did it, told her he got it from Wynant.”

  “You mean he’s been seeing the old man?”

  “So she says he said. I haven’t had a chance to ask him about it.”

  He squinted his watery eyes at me. “Just what is that layout over there, Mr. Charles?”

  “The Jorgensen family? You probably know as much about it as I do.”

  “I don’t,” he said, “and that’s a fact. I just can’t size them up at all. This Mrs. Jorgensen, now, what is she?”

  “A blonde.”

  He nodded gloomily. “Uh-huh, and that’s all I know. But look, you’ve known them a long time and from what she says you and her—”

  “And me and her daughter,” I said, “and me and Julia Wolf and me and Mrs. Astor. I’m hell with the women.”

  He held up a hand. “I’m not s
aying I believe everything she says, and there’s nothing to get sore about. You’re taking the wrong attitude, if you don’t mind me saying it. You’re acting like you thought we were out to get you, and that’s all wrong, absolutely all wrong.”

  “Maybe, but you’ve been talking double to me ever since last—”

  He looked at me with steady pale eyes and said calmly: “I’m a copper and I got my work to do.”

  “That’s reasonable enough. You told me to come in today. What do you want?”

  “I didn’t tell you to come in, I asked you.”

  “All right. What do you want?”

  “I don’t want this,” he said. “I don’t want anything like this. We’ve been talking man to man up to this time and I’d kind of like to go on thataway.”

  “You made the change.”

  “I don’t think that’s a fact. Look here, Mr. Charles, would you take your oath, or even just tell me straight out, that you’ve been emptying your pockets to me right along?”

  There was no use saying yes—he would not have believed me. I said: “Practically.”

  “Practically, yes,” he grumbled. “Everybody’s been telling me practically the whole truth. What I want’s some impractical son of a gun that’ll shoot the works.”

  I could sympathize with him: I knew how he felt. I said: “Maybe nobody you’ve found knows the whole truth.”

  He made an unpleasant face. “That’s very likely, ain’t it? Listen, Mr. Charles, I’ve talked to everybody I could find. If you can find any more for me, I’ll talk to them too. You mean Wynant? Don’t you suppose we got every facility the department’s got working night and day trying to turn him up?”

  “There’s his son,” I suggested.

  “There’s his son,” he agreed. He called in Andy and a swarthy bow-legged man named Kline. “Get me that Wynant kid—the punk—I want to talk to him.” They went out. He said: “See, I want people to talk to.”

  I said: “Your nerves are in pretty bad shape this afternoon, aren’t they? Are you bringing Jorgensen down from Boston?”

  He shrugged his big shoulders. “His story listens all right to me. I don’t know. Want to tell me what you think of it?”