Текст книги "The Thin Man"

Автор книги: Dashiell Hammett

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11

My side felt a lot better when Nora called me at noon the next day. “My nice policeman wants to see you,” she said. “How do you feel?”

“Terrible. I must’ve gone to bed sober.” I pushed Asta out of the way and got up.

Guild rose with a drink in his hand when I entered the living-room, and smiled all across his broad sandy face. “Well, well, Mr. Charles, you look spry enough this morning.” I shook hands with him and said yes I felt pretty good, and we sat down. He frowned good-naturedly. “Just the same, you oughtn’t’ve played that trick on me.”

“Trick?”

“Sure, running off to see people when I’d put off asking you questions to give you a chance to rest up. I kind of figured that ought to give me first call on you, as you might say.”

“I didn’t think,” I said. “I’m sorry. See that wire I got from Wynant?”

“Uh-huh. We’re running it out in Philly.”

“Now about that gun,” I began, “I—” He stopped me. “What gun? That ain’t a gun any more. The firing pin’s busted off, the guts are rusted and jammed. If anybody’s fired it in six months—or could—I’m the Pope of Rome. Don’t let’s waste any time talking about that piece of junk.”

I laughed. “That explains a lot. I took it away from a drunk who said he’d bought it in a speakeasy for twelve bucks. I believe him now.”

“Somebody’ll sell him the City Hall one of these days. Man to man, Mr. Charles, are you working on the Wolf job or ain’t you?”

“You saw the wire from Wynant.”

“I did. Then you ain’t working for him. I’m still asking you.”

“I’m not a private detective any more. I’m not any kind of detective.”

“I heard that. I’m still asking you.” “All right. No.”

He thought for a moment, said: “Then let me put it another way: are you interested in the job?”

“I know the people, naturally I’m interested.”

“And that’s all?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t expect to be working on it?”

The telephone rang and Nora went to answer it.

“To be honest with you, I don’t know. If people keep on pushing me into it, I don’t know how far they’ll carry me.”

Guild wagged his head up and down. “I can see that. I don’t mind telling you I’d like to have you in on it—on the right side.”

“You mean not on Wynant’s side. Did he do it?”

“That I couldn’t say, Mr. Charles, but I don’t have to tell you he ain’t helping us any to find out who did it.”

Nora appeared in the doorway. “Telephone, Nick.”

Herbert Macaulay was on the wire. “Hello, Charles. How’s the wounded?”

“I’m all right, thanks.”

“Did you hear from Wynant?”

“Yes.”

“I got a letter from him saying he had wired you. Are you too sick to—”

“No, I’m up and around. If you’ll be in your office late this afternoon I’ll drop in.”

“Swell,” he said. “I’ll be here till six.”

I returned to the living-room. Nora was inviting Guild to have lunch while we had breakfast. He said it was mighty kind of her. I said I ought to have a drink before breakfast. Nora went to order meals and pour drinks. Guild shook his head and said: “She’s a mighty fine woman, Mr. Charles.” I nodded solemnly.

He said: “Suppose you should get pushed into this thing, as you say, I’d like it a lot more to feel you were working with us than against us.”

“So would I.”

“That’s a bargain then,” he said. He hunched his chair around a little. “I don’t guess you remember me, but back when you were working this town I was walking beat on Forty-second Street.”

“Of course,” I said, lying politely. “I knew there was something familiar about– Being out of uniform makes a difference.”

“I guess it does. I’d like to be able to take it as a fact that you’re not holding out anything we don’t already know.”

“I don’t mean to. I don’t know what you know. I don’t know very much. I haven’t seen Macaulay since the murder and I haven’t even been following it in the newspapers.” The telephone was ringing again. Nora gave us our drinks and went to answer it.

“What we know ain’t much of a secret,” Guild said, “and if you want to take the time to listen I don’t mind giving it to you.” He tasted his drink and nodded approvingly. “Only there’s a thing I’d like to ask first. When you went to Mrs. Jorgensen’s last night, did you tell her about getting the telegram from him?”

“Yes, and I told her I’d turned it over to you.”

“What’d she say?”

“Nothing. She asked questions. She’s trying to find him.”

He put his head a little to one side and partly closed one eye. “You don’t think there’s any chance of them being in cahoots, do you?” He held up a hand. “Understand I don’t know why they would be or what it’d be all about if they were, but I’m just asking.”

“Anything’s possible,” I said, “but I’d say it was pretty safe they aren’t working together. Why?”

“I guess you’re right.” Then he added vaguely: “But there’s a couple of points.” He sighed. “There always is. Well, Mr. Charles, here’s just about all we know for certain and if you give us a little something more here and there as we go along I’ll be mighty thankful to you.” I said something about doing my best.

“Well, along about the 3rd of last October Wynant tells Macaulay he’s got to leave town for a while. He don’t tell Macaulay where he’s going or what for, but Macaulay gets the idea that he’s off to work on some invention or other that he wants to keep quiet—and he gets it out of Julia Wolf later that he’s right—and he guesses Wynant’s gone off to hide somewhere in the Adirondacks, but when he asks her about that later she says she don’t know any more about it than he does.”

“She know what the invention was?”

Guild shook his head. “Not according to Macaulay, only that it was probably something that he needed room for and machinery or things that cost money, because that’s what he was fixing up with Macaulay. He was fixing it so Macaulay could get hold of his stocks and bonds and other things he owned and turn ’em into money when he wanted it and take care of his banking and everything just like Wynant himself.”

“Power of attorney covering everything, huh?”

“Exactly. And listen, when he wanted money, he wanted it in cash.”

“He was always full of screwy notions,” I said.

“That’s what everybody says. The idea seems to be he don’t want to take any chances on anybody tracing him through checks, or anybody up there knowing he’s Wynant. That’s why he didn’t take the girl along with him—didn’t even let her know where he was, if she was telling the truth-and let his whiskers grow.” With his left hand he stroked an imaginary beard.

“ ‘Up there,’ ” I quoted. “So he was in the Adirondacks?”

Guild moved one shoulder. “I just said that because that and Philadelphia are the only ideas anybody’s give us. We’re trying the mountains, but we don’t know. Maybe Australia.”

“And how much of this money in cash did Wynant want?”

“I can tell you that exactly.” He took a wad of soiled, bent and dog-eared papers out of his pocket, selected an envelope that was a shade dirtier than most of the others, and stuffed the others back in his pocket. “The day after he talked to Macaulay he drew five thousand out of the bank himself, in cash. On the 28th—this is October, you understand—he had Macaulay get another five for him, and twenty-five hundred on the 6th of November, and a thousand on the 15th, and seventy-five hundred on the 30th, and fifteen hundred on the 6th—that would be December—and a thousand on the 18th, and five thousand on the 22nd, which was the day before she was killed.”

“Nearly thirty thou,” I said. “A nice bank balance he had.”

“Twenty-eight thousand five hundred, to be exact.” Guild returned the envelope to his pocket. “But you understand it wasn’t all in there. After the first call Macaulay would sell something every time to raise the dough.” He felt in his pocket again. “I got a list of the stuff he sold, if you want to see it.”

I said I didn’t. “How’d he turn the money over to Wynant?”

“Wynant would write the girl when he wanted it, and she’d get it from Macaulay. He’s got her receipts.”

“And how’d she get it to Wynant?”

Guild shook his head. “She told Macaulay she used to meet him places he told her, but he thinks she knew where he was, though she always said she didn’t.”

“And maybe she still had the last five thousand on her when she was killed, huh?”

“Which might make it robbery, unless”—Guild’s watery gray eyes were almost shut—“he killed her when he came there to get it.”

“Or unless,” I suggested, “somebody else who killed her for some other reason found the money there and thought they might as well take it along.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “Things like that happen all the time. It even happens sometimes that the first people that find a body like that pick up a little something before they turn in the alarm.” He held up a big hand. “Of course, with Mrs. Jorgensen—a lady like that—I hope you don’t think I’m—”

“Besides,” I said, “she wasn’t alone, was she?”

“For a little while. The phone in the apartment was out of whack, and the elevator boy rode the superintendent down to phone from the office. But get me right on this, I’m not saying Mrs. Jorgensen did anything funny. A lady like that wouldn’t be likely—”

“What was the matter with the phone?” I asked.

The doorbell rang. “Well,” Guild said, “I don’t know just what to make of it. The phone had—” He broke off as a waiter came in and began to set a table. “About the phone,” Guild said when we were sitting at the table, “I don’t know just what to make of it, as I said. It had a bullet right smack through the mouthpiece of it.”

“Accidental or—?”

“I’d just as lief ask you. It was from the same gun as the four that hit her, of course, but whether he missed her with that one or did it on purpose I don’t know. It seems like a kind of noisy way to put a phone on the bum.”

“That reminds me,” I said, “didn’t anybody hear all this shooting? A .32’s not a shotgun, but somebody ought to’ve heard it.”

“Sure,” he said disgustedly. “The place is lousy with people that think they heard things now, but nobody did anything about it then, and God knows they don’t get together much on what they think they heard.”

“It’s always like that,” I said sympathetically.

“Don’t I know it.” He put a forkful of food in his mouth. “Where was I? Oh, yes, about Wynant. He gave up his apartment when he went away, and put his stuff in storage. We been looking through it—the stuff—but ain’t found anything yet to show where he went or even what he was working on, which we thought maybe might help. We didn’t have any better luck in his shop on First Avenue. It’s been locked up too since he went away, except that she used to go down there for an hour or two once or twice a week to take care of his mail and things. There’s nothing to tell us anything in the mail that’s come since she got knocked off. We didn’t find anything in her place to help.” He smiled at Nora. “I guess this must be pretty dull to you, Mrs. Charles.”

“Dull?” She was surprised. “I’m sitting on the edge of my chair.”

“Ladies usually like more color,” he said, and coughed, “kind of glamour. Anyways, we got nothing to show where he’s been, only he phones Macaulay last Friday and says to meet him at two o’clock in the Plaza lobby Macaulay wasn’t in, so he just left the message.”

“Macaulay was here,” I said, “for lunch.”

“He told me. Well, Macaulay don’t get to the Plaza till nearly three and he don’t find any Wynant there and Wynant ain’t registered there. He tries describing him, with and without a beard, but nobody at the Plaza remembers seeing him. He phones his office, but Wynant ain’t called up again. And then he phones Julia Wolf and she tells him she don’t even know Wynant’s in town, which he figures is a lie, because he had just give her five thousand dollars for Wynant yesterday and figures Wynant’s come for it, but he just says all right and hangs up and goes on about his business.”

“His business such as what?” I asked.

Guild stopped chewing the piece of roll he had just bitten off. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to know, at that. I’ll find out. There didn’t seem to be anything pointing at him, so we didn’t bother with that, but it don’t ever hurt any to know who’s got an alibi and who ain’t.”

I shook my head no at the question he had decided not to ask. “I don’t see anything pointing at him, except that he’s Wynant’s lawyer and probably knows more than he’s telling.”

“Sure. I understand. Well, that’s what people have lawyers for, I guess. Now about the girl: maybe Julia Wolf wasn’t her real name at all. We ain’t been able to find out for sure yet, but we have found out she wasn’t the kind of dame you’d expect him to be trusting to handle all that dough—I mean if he knew about her.”

“Had a record?”

He wagged his head up and down. “This is elegant stew. A couple of years before she went to work for him she did six months on a badger-game charge out West, in Cleveland, under the name of Rhoda Stewart.”

“You suppose Wynant knew that?”

“Search me. Don’t look like he’d turn her loose with that dough if he did, but you can’t tell. They tell me he was kind of nuts about her, and you know how guys can go. She was running around off and on with this Shep Morelli and his boys too.”

“Have you really got anything on him?” I asked.

“Not on this,” he said regretfully, “but we wanted him for a couple of other things.” He drew his sandy brows together a little. “I wish I knew what sent him here to see you. Of course these junkies are likely to do anything, but I wish I knew.”

“I told you all I knew.”

“I’m not doubting that,” he assured me. He turned to Nora. “I hope you don’t think we were too rough with him, but you see you got to—” Nora smiled and said she understood perfectly and filled his cup with coffee. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“What’s a junkie?” she asked.

“Hop-head.”

She looked at me. “Was Morelli—?”

“Primed to the ears,” I said.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she complained. “I miss everything.” She left the table to answer the telephone.

Guild asked: “You going to prosecute him for shooting you?”

“Not unless you need it.”

He shook his head. His voice was casual, though there was some curiosity in his eyes. “I guess we got enough on him for a while.”

“You were telling me about the girl.”

“Yes,” he said. “Well, we found out she’d been spending a lot of nights away from her apartment—two or three days at a stretch sometimes. Maybe that’s when she was meeting Wynant. I don’t know. We ain’t been able to knock any holes in Morelli’s story of not seeing her for three months. What do you make of that?”

“The same thing you do,” I replied. “It’s just about three months since Wynant went off. Maybe it means something, maybe not.” Nora came in and said Harrison Quinn was on the telephone. He told me he had sold some bonds I was writing off losses on and gave me the prices. “Have you seen Dorothy Wynant?” I asked.

“Not since I left her in your place, but I’m meeting her at the Palma for cocktails this afternoon. Come to think of it, she told me not to tell you. How about that gold, Nick? You’re missing something if you don’t get in on it. Those wild men from the West are going to give us some kind of inflation as soon as Congress meets, that’s certain, and even if they don’t, everybody expects them to. As I told you last week, there’s already talk of a pool being—”

“All right,” I said and gave him an order to buy some Dome Mines at 12½.

He remembered then that he had seen something in the newspapers about my having been shot. He was pretty vague about it and paid very little attention to my assurances that I was all right. “I suppose that means no Ping-Pong for a couple of days,” he said with what seemed genuine regret. “Listen: you’ve got tickets for the opening tonight. If you can’t use them I’ll be—”

“We’re going to use them. Thanks just the same.” He laughed and said good-by.

A waiter was carrying away the table when I returned to the living-room. Guild had made himself comfortable on the sofa. Nora was telling him: “… have to go away over the Christmas holidays every year because what’s left of my family make a fuss over them and if we’re home they come to visit us or we have to visit them, and Nick doesn’t like it.” Asta was licking her paws in a corner.

Guild looked at his watch. “I’m taking up a lot of you folks’ time. I didn’t mean to impose—”

I sat down and said: “We were just about up to the murder, weren’t we?”

“Just about.” He relaxed on the sofa again. “That was on Friday the 23rd at some time before twenty minutes after three in the afternoon, which was the time Mrs. Jorgensen got there and found her. It’s kind of hard to say how long she’d been laying there dying before she was found. The only thing we know is that she was all right and answered the phone—and the phone was all right—at about half past two, when Mrs. Jorgensen called her up and was still all right around three, when Macaulay phoned.”

“I didn’t know Mrs. Jorgensen phoned.”

“It’s a fact.” Guild cleared his throat. “We didn’t suspect anything there, you understand, but we checked it up just as a matter of course and found out from the girl at the switchboard at the Courtland that she put the call through for Mrs. J. about two-thirty.”

“What did Mrs. J. say?”

“She said she called up to ask where she could find Wynant, but this Julia Wolf said she didn’t know, so Mrs. J., thinking she’s lying and maybe she can get her to tell the truth if she sees her, asks if she can drop in for a minute, and she says sure.” He frowned at my right knee. “Well, she went there and found her. The apartment-house people don’t remember seeing anybody going in or out of the Wolf apartment, but that’s easy. A dozen people could do it without being seen. The gun wasn’t there. There wasn’t any signs of anybody busting in, and things in the place hadn’t been disturbed any more than I’ve told you. I mean the place didn’t look like it had been frisked. She had on a diamond ring that must’ve been worth a few hundred and there was thirty-some bucks in her bag. The people there know Wynant and Morelli—both of ’em have been in and out enough—but claim they ain’t seen either for some time. The fire-escape window was locked and the fire-escape didn’t look like it had been walked on recently.” He turned his hands over, palms up. “I guess that’s the crop.”

“No fingerprints?”

“Hers, some belonging to the people that clean up the place, near as we can figure. Nothing any good to us.”

“Nothing out of her friends?”

“She didn’t seem to have any—not any close ones.”

“How about the—what was his name?—Nunheim who identified her as a friend of Morelli’s?”

“He just knew her by sight through seeing her around with Morelli and recognized her picture when he saw it in the paper.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s all right. We know all about him.”

“You wouldn’t hold out on me, would you,” I asked, “after getting me to promise not to hold out on you?”

Guild said: “Well, if it don’t go any further, he’s a fellow that does some work for the department now and then.”

“Oh.”

He stood up. “I hate to say it, but that’s just about as far as we’ve got. You got anything you can help with?”

“No.”

He looked at me steadily for a moment. “What do you think of it?”

“That diamond ring, was it an engagement ring?”

“She had it on that finger.” After a pause he asked, “Why?”

“It might help to know who bought it for her. I’m going to see Macaulay this afternoon. If anything turns up I’ll give you a ring. It looks like Wynant, all right, but—”

He growled good-naturedly, “Uh-huh, but,” shook hands with Nora and me, thanked us for our whisky, our lunch, our hospitality, and our kindness in general, and went away.

I told Nora: “I’m not one to suggest that your charm wouldn’t make any man turn himself inside out for you, but don’t be too sure that guy isn’t kidding us.”

“So it’s come to that,” she said. “You’re jealous of policemen.”

 

12

Macaulay’s letter from Clyde Wynant was quite a document. It was very badly typewritten on plain white paper and dated Philadelphia, Pa., December 26, 1932. It read:

Dear Herbert: I am telegraphing Nick Charles who worked for me you will remember some years ago and who is in New York to get in touch with you about the terrible death of poor Julia. I want you to do everything in your power to [a line had been x’d and m’d out here so that it was impossible to make anything at all of it] persuade him to find her murderer. I don’t care what it costs—pay him!

Here are some facts I want to give him outside of all you know about it yourself I don’t think he should tell these facts to the police, but he will know what is best and I want him to have a completely free hand as I have got the utmost confidence in him. Perhaps you had better just show him this letter, after which I must ask you to carefully destroy it.

Here are the facts. When I met Julia Thursday night to get that $1,000 from her she told me she wanted to quit her job. She said she hadn’t been at all well for some time and her doctor had told her she ought to go away and rest and now that her uncle’s estate bad been settled she could afford to and wanted to do it. She had never said anything about bad health before and I thought she was hiding her real reason and tried to get it out of her, but she stuck to what she had said. I didn’t know anything about her uncle dying either. She said it was her Uncle John in Chicago. I suppose that could be looked up if it’s important. I couldn’t persuade her to change her mind, so she was to leave the last day of the month. She seemed worried or frightened, but she said she wasn’t. I was sorry at first that she was going, but then I wasn’t, because I had always been able to trust her and now I wouldn’t be if she was lying, as I thought she was.

The next fact I want Charles to know is that whatever anybody may think or whatever was true some time ago Julia and I [“are now” was x’d out lightly] were at the time of her murder and had been for more than a year not anything more to each other than employee and employer. This relationship was the result of mutual agreement.

Next, I believe some attempt should be made to learn the present whereabouts of the Victor Rosewater with whom we had trouble some years ago inasmuch as the experiments I am now engaged in are in line with those he claimed I cheated him out of and I consider him quite insane enough to have killed Julia in a rage at her refusal to tell him where I could be found.

Fourth, and most important, has my divorced wife been in communication with Rosewater? How did she learn I was carrying out the experiments with which he once assisted me?

Fifth, the police must be convinced at once that I can tell them nothing about the murder so that they will take no steps to find me—steps that might lead to a discovery of and a premature exposure of my experiments, which I would consider very dangerous at this time. This can best be avoided by clearing up the mystery of her murder immediately, and that is what I wish to have done.

I will communicate with you from time to time and if in the meanwhile anything should arise to make communication with me imperative insert the following advertisement in the Times: Abner. Yes. Bunny.

I will thereupon arrange to get in touch with you.

I hope you sufficiently understand the necessity of persuading Charles to act for me, since he is already acquainted with the Rosewater trouble and knows most of the people concerned. Yours truly,

Clyde Miller Wynant

I put the letter down on Macaulay’s desk and said: “It makes a lot of sense. Do you remember what his row with Rosewater was about?”

“Something about changes in the structures of crystals. I can look it up.” Macaulay picked up the first sheet of the letter and frowned at it. “He says he got a thousand dollars from her that night. I gave her five thousand for him; she told me that’s what he wanted.”

“Four thousand from Uncle John’s estate?” I suggested.

“Looks like it. That’s funny: I never thought she’d gyp him. I’ll have to find out about the other money I turned over to her.”

“Did you know she’d done a jail sentence in Cleveland on a badger-game charge?”

“No. Had she really?”

“According to the police—under the name of Rhoda Stewart. Where’d Wynant find her?”

He shook his head. “I’ve no idea.”

“Know anything about where she came from originally, relatives, things like that?” He shook his head again. “Who was she engaged to?” I asked.

“I didn’t know she was engaged.”

“She was wearing a diamond ring on her finger.”

“That’s news to me,” he said. He shut his eyes and thought. “No, I can’t remember ever noticing an engagement ring.” He put his forearms on his desk and grinned over them at me. “Well, what are the chances of getting you to do what he wants?”

“Slim.”

“I thought so.” He moved a hand to touch the letter. “You know as much about how he feels as I do. What would make you change your mind?”

“I don’t—”

“Would it help any if I could persuade him to meet you? Maybe if I told him that was the only way you’d take it—”

“I’m willing to talk to him,” I said, “but he’d have to talk a lot straighter than he’s writing.”

Macaulay asked slowly: “You mean you think he may have killed her?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” I said. “I don’t know as much as the police do, and it’s a cinch they haven’t got enough on him to make the pinch even if they could find him.”

Macaulay sighed. “Being a goof’s lawyer is not much fun. I’ll try to make him listen to reason, but I know he won’t.”

“I meant to ask, how are his finances these days? Is he as well fixed as he used to be?”

“Almost. The depression’s hurt him some, along with the rest of us, and the royalties from his smelting process have gone pretty much to hell now that the metals are dead, but he can still count on fifty or sixty thousand a year from his glassine and soundproofing patents, with a little more coming in from odds and ends like—” He broke off to ask: “You’re not worrying abut his ability to pay whatever you’d ask?”

“No, I was just wondering.” I thought of something else: “Has he any relatives outside of his ex-wife and children?”

“A sister, Alice Wynant, that hasn’t been on speaking terms with him for—it must be four or five years now.”

I supposed that was the Aunt Alice the Jorgensens had not gone to see Christmas afternoon. “What’d they fall out about?” I asked.

“He gave an interview to one of the papers saying he didn’t think the Russian Five Year Plan was necessarily doomed to failure. Actually he didn’t make it much stronger than that.”

I laughed. “They’re a—”

“She’s even better than he is. She can’t remember things. The time her brother had his appendix out, she and Mimi were in a taxi going to see him the first afternoon and they passed a hearse coming from the direction of the hospital. Miss Alice turned pale and grabbed Mimi by the arm and said: ‘Oh, dear! If that should be what’s-his-name!’ ”

“Where does she live?”

“On Madison Avenue. It’s in the phone book.” He hesitated. “I don’t think—”

“I’m not going to bother her.” Before I could say anything else his telephone began to ring.

He put the receiver to his ear and said: “Hello…. Yes, speaking…. Who?… Oh, yes….” Muscles tightened around his mouth, and his eyes opened a little wider. “Where?” He listened some more. “Yes, surely. Can I make it?” He looked at the watch on his left wrist. “Right. See you on the train.” He put the telephone down. “That was Lieutenant Guild,” he told me. “Wynant’s tried to commit suicide in Allentown, Pennsylvania.”