Murder by the Book

"On principle. Through habit you put it as a demand, and it's a bad habit, I don't like it."

"What he did in California led to a violent death in my jurisdiction."

"Establish that."

"Nuts," Cramer growled. "I ask it as a favor. Not to me, to the People of the State of New York."

"Very well. Having had an authentic discovery of mine, the notation in Corrigan's handwriting on Dykes's letter, denounced by them and you as a trick, I thought it only fair to even up by contriving a trick. I needed-"

"So you still claim that notation was made by Corrigan?"

"No. I never made that claim. I only denied that it was made by Mr. Goodwin or me. I needed to demonstrate that someone in that office was involved in Baird Archer's manuscript and therefore in the murders, and I proceeded to do so. Tell him about it, Archie."

"Yes, sir. Leaving out what?"

"Nothing."

If I had been alone with Cramer and he had told me to leave out nothing I would have had some fun, but under the circumstances I refrained. I gave it to him straight, accurate and complete, from my checking in at the Riviera to my last view of Corrigan's rear at La Guardia Airport as he trotted out to a taxi. When I finished he had a few questions, and I answered them straight too.

He was chewing an unlit cigar. He took it from his mouth and turned to Wolfe. "What it amounts to, you tricked-"

"If you please," Wolfe interposed. "Since you have part you should have all. Yesterday morning, less than three hours after Corrigan's return, they came here-all five of them. They demanded that I tell them what was in the manuscript, and I refused. I would have had to refuse in any case, since I didn't know, but I told them that I wasn't quite ready to act, that I needed one or two more facts. I permitted them to assume that my preparations were all but complete."

Cramer nodded. "You tricked him into killing himself."

"Did I? Did he kill himself?"

"Goddam it, didn't he?"

"I don't know. You have investigated, I haven't. What have you concluded?"

Cramer scratched his ear. "There's nothing against suicide. It was his gun, fired at contact. Smudges on it, no clear prints. His prints on the phone. He had been dead less than an hour when the examiner arrived. No evidence safar of anyone else being there. He had been struck a hard blow on the side of the head but could have got it from the corner of the table when he fell, and probably did. There was-"