Murder by the Book

"Who is it please?"

"James A. Corrigan."

I covered the transmitter and told Wolfe, "Corrigan. He sounds hoarse and harassed. Do you care to speak to him?"

Wolfe took his instrument, and I put mine back at my ear.

"This is Nero Wolfe. Mr. Corrigan?"

"Yes. I've mailed you a letter, but you're responsible for this, so I think you ought to hear it. I hope you'll hear it in your dreams the rest of your life. This is it. Are you listening?"

"Yes, but-"

"Here it goes."

It busted my eardrum, or felt like it. It was a combination of a roar and a smack. By reflex my wrist moved the receiver away, then I moved it back. There was a confused clatter and a sort of thump, then nothing. I told the transmitter, "Hello hello!"

Nothing. I cradled it and turned. Wolfe was sitting with the instrument dangling from his hand, scowling at me.

"Well?" he demanded.

"Well yourself. How do I know? I suppose he shot himself."

"Where was he?"

I sneered. "Do you think I staged it?"

"There was a radio going."

"I heard it. 'The Life of Riley.' WNBC."

He replaced the phone, slow motion, and regarded me. "This is preposterous. I don't believe it. Get Mr. Cramer."

I swiveled and dialed and got a voice. I asked for Cramer, and he wasn't there. Neither was Stebbins. I got a sergeant named Auerbach, informed Wolfe, and he took it.

"Mr. Auerbach? This is Nero Wolfe. Are you familiar with the Dykes-Wellman-Abrams case?"

"Yes."

"And with the name James A. Corrigan?"

"Yes, I know the name."

"I just had a phone call. The voice said it was James A. Corrigan, but it was husky and agitated and I can't vouch for it. It said-I think you should put this down. Have you pencil and paper?"

"In a second-okay, shoot."

"He said it was Corrigan, and then, quote, 'You're responsible for this, so I think you ought to hear it. I hope you'll hear it in your dreams the rest of your life. This is it. Are you listening? Here it goes.' Unquote. There came immediately the sound of an explosion, resembling a gunshot, and other confused noises, followed by silence except for the sound of a radio, which had been audible throughout. That's all."

"Did he say where he was phoning from?"

"I've told you all I know. As I said, that's all."

"Where are you now?"

"At my home."

"You'll be there if we want you?"

"Yes."

"Okay." He hung up. So did Wolfe. So did I.

"So your memory's failing," I observed. "You forgot that he said he had mailed you a letter."

"I like to see my mail first, without interference. Where does Mr. Corrigan live?"