Prisoner's Base by Rex Stout Read Free Book Online

myself, “She’s upstairs,” and knew it. Tuesday morning, when I saw Inspector Cramer of Manhattan Homicide on the stoop, I said to myself, “She’s dead,” and knew it. Halting, Istood three seconds before advancing to open the door.
    I greeted him. He said, “Hello, Goodwin,” strode in and past me, and on to the office. I followed and crossed to my desk, noting that instead of going for the red leather chair he was taking a yellow one, indicating that I and not Wolfe was it this time. I told him that Wolfe would not be available for two hours, which he knew already, since he was as familiar with the schedule as I was.
    “Will I do?” I asked.
    “You will for a start,” he growled. “Last night a woman was murdered, and your fresh fingerprints are on her luggage. How did they get there?”
    I met his eye. “That’s no way to do it,” I objected. “My fingerprints could be found on women’s luggage from Maine to California. Name and address and description of luggage?”
    “Priscilla Eads, Six-eighteen East Seventy-fourth Street. A suitcase and a hatbox, both light tan leather.”
    “She was murdered?”
    “Yes. Your prints were fresh. How come?”
    Inspector Cramer was no Sir Laurence Olivier, but I would not previously have called him ugly. At that moment it suddenly struck me that he was ugly. His big round face always got redder in the summertime, and seemed to be puffier, making his eyes appear smaller but no less quick and sharp. “Like a baboon,” I said.
    “What?”
    “Nothing.” I swiveled and buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone, and in a moment Wolfe answered.
    “Inspector Cramer is here,” I told him. “A woman named Priscilla Eads has been murdered, and Cramer says my fingerprints are on her luggage and wants to know how come. Have I ever heard of her?”
    “Confound it.”
    “Yes, sir. I double. Do you want to come down here?”
    “No.”
    “Shall we go up there?”
    “No. You know all that I do.”
    “I sure do. So I unload?”
    “Certainly. Why not?”
    “Yeah, why not. She’s dead.”
    I hung up and turned to Cramer.

Chapter 4
    I am inclined to believe that Cramer has a fairly good understanding of Wolfe in most respects, but not all. For instance, he exaggerates Wolfe’s appetite for dough, which I suppose is natural, since if he goes on being an honest cop, which he is, the most he can ever expect to get is considerably less than Wolfe pays me, whereas Wolfe’s annual take is well up in six figures. I admit Wolfe is not in business for my health, but he is quite capable of letting a customer leave the premises with a dime for carfare or even a buck for a taxi.
    However, Cramer is not under that impression, and therefore, when he learned that we had no client connected in any way with Priscilla Eads, now that she was dead, and apparently no prospect of any, and hence no fee to build up and safeguard, he started calling me Archie, which had happened before, but not often. He expressed appreciation for the information I provided, taking a dozen pages of notes in his small neat hand, and asking plenty of questions, not to challenge but just to elucidate. He did offer a pointed comment about what he called our dodge with Helmar, with his ward upstairs, and I rebutted.
    “Okay,” I told him, “you name it. She came hereuninvited, and so did he. We had made no engagement with either one. They couldn’t both have what they wanted. Let’s hear how you would have handled it.”
    “I’m not a genius like Wolfe. He could have been too busy to consider taking Helmar’s job.”
    “And use what to meet his payroll? Speaking of busy, are you too busy to answer a question from a citizen in good standing?”
    He looked at his wrist. “I’m due at the DA’s office at ten-thirty.”
    “Then we’ve got hours—anyhow, minutes. Why did you want to make it so tight about the time Helmar left here? It was shortly after ten, and it was more than an hour later that Miss