“Yes, sir. Plenty.”
Wolfe went to Heath. “Mr. Panzer’s quality is known, though not to you until now. I think a jury will believe him, and I’m sure the police and the FBI will. My advice, sir, is to cut the loss.”
“Loss?” Heath was trying to sneer but with that face he couldn’t make it. “I haven’t lost anything.”
“You’re about to. You can’t help it.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “Must I spell it out for you? Wednesday evening, day before yesterday, when you and six others were here, I was nonplused. I had my choice of giving up or of attempting simultaneously a dozen elaborate lines of inquiry, any one of which would have strained my resources. Neither was tolerable. Since I was helpless with what had already happened, I had to try to make something happen under my eye, and I devised a stratagem — a clumsy one, but the best I could do. I made a proposal to Mr. and Mrs. Rackell. I phrased it with care, but in effect I asked for money to bribe a witness and solve the case by chicanery.”
Wolfe’s eyes darted to Mrs. Rackell. “And you idiotically exposed yourself.”
“I did?” She was contemptuous. “How?”
“You grabbed at it. Your husband, in his innocence, was dubious, but not you. You thought that, having decided the job was beyond me, I was trying to earn a fee by knavery, and you eagerly acquiesced. Why? It was out of character and indeed preposterous. What you had said you wanted was the murderer of your nephew caught and punished, but apparently you were willing to spend a large sum of money, your own money, on a frame-up. Either that or you were excessively naive, and at least it justified speculation.”
His gaze was straight at her, and she was meeting it. He went on, “So I speculated. What if you had yourself killed your nephew? As for getting the poison, that was as feasible for you as for the others. As for opportunity, you said you had not entered your nephew’s room after Mrs. Kremp had been there and put the capsules in the pillbox, but could you prove it? There was nothing to my knowledge that excluded you. Your harassment of the FBI and the police could have been for assurance that you were safe. It was your husband who insisted on coming to me, and naturally you would have wanted to be present. As for motive, that would have to be explored, but for speculation there was material at hand, furnished by you. You were positive, with no real evidence for it, that your nephew had been killed by a Communist who had discovered that he was betraying the cause; you got that in first thing when you called here Tuesday with your husband. Might it not be true and you yourself the Communist?”
“Rot!” She snorted.
Wolfe shook his head. “Not necessarily. I deplore the current tendency to accuse people of pro-communism irresponsibly and unjustly, but anybody could be one secretly, no matter what façade he presented. There was the question, if you were in fact a Communist or a sympathizer, why did you so badger your nephew that he had to pacify you by telling the lie that he was working for the FBI? Why didn’t you confide in him your own devotion to the cause? Of course you didn’t dare. There would have been the danger that he might recant; he might have become an ex-Communist and told all he knew, as so many have done the past year or two; and to preserve your façade for your husband and friends you had to keep after him. It must have been a severe shock when you learned, or thought you did, that he was an agent of communism’s implacable enemy. It made him an imminent threat, there in your own household.”