Murder by the Book

"A focus of interest is the anonymous letter informing on O'Malley. Suppose it was sent not by Corrigan, but by one of the others. In that case that confession may be factually correct in every important detail but one, the identity of the culprit; and the real culprit, finding me too close for comfort, may have decided to shift the burden onto Corrigan, not concerned that the shift required one more murder. So of first importance is the question, was it Corrigan who betrayed O'Malley? You will of course need the informing letter to the court or a photostat of it, and something authentically typed on the machine at the Travelers Club. You will need to know whether any of the others frequented that club or otherwise had access to that machine. With your authority, that kind of inquiry is Vastly easier for you than for me."

Cramer nodded. "What else?"

"At present, nothing."

"What are you going to do?"

"Sit here."

"Some day you'll get chair sores." Cramer got up. He saw the cigar on the floor, stooped to pick it up, crossed to my wastebasket, and dropped it in. His manners were improving. He started for the door, halted, and turned. "Don't forget those statements, what Corrigan said-by the way, what about that? Was it him on the phone or wasn't it?"

"I don't know. As I said, the voice was husky and agitated. It could have been, but if not no great talent for mimicry would have been needed."

"That's a help. Don't forget the statements, what Corrigan or somebody said on the phone, what Goodwin did in California, and now getting this thing in the mail. Today."

Wolfe told him certainly, and he turned and went.

I looked at my watch. I addressed my employer. "Kustin phoned nearly three hours ago, as I reported. He wanted you to phone him quick so he can warn you that they're going to hold you accountable. Shall I get him?"

"No."

"Shall I call Sue or Eleanor or Blanche and make a date for tonight?"

"No."

"Shall I think of things to suggest?"

"No."

"Then it's all over? Then Corrigan wrote that thing and shot himself?"

"No. Confound it. He didn't. Take your notebook. We might as well get those statements done."

21

FORTY-EIGHT hours later, Monday morning at eleven, Inspector Cramer was back again.