Might as Well Be Dead

Cramer looked at Stebbins, and Stebbins returned it. Cramer took a cigar from his pocket, rolled it between his palms, and stuck it in his mouth, setting his teeth in it. I have never seen him light one. He looked at Stebbins again, but the sergeant had his eyes on Wolfe.

“I realize,” Wolfe said, “that this is a blow for you and you’ll have to absorb it. It is now next to certain that an innocent man stands convicted of murder on evidence picked up by your staff, and that’s not a pleasant dose-”

“It’s far from certain.”

“Oh, come, Mr. Cramer. You’re not an ass, so don’t talk like one. Keems was working on the Molloy murder, and he was killed. He made a contact with Ella Reyes, and she was killed-and by the way, what money was found on her, if any?”

Cramer took a moment to answer, because he would have preferred not to. But the newspaper boys probably already had it. Even so, he didn’t answer, he asked, and not Wolfe, but me.

“Goodwin, the hundred you gave Keems. What was it?”

“Five used tens and ten used fives. Some people don’t like new ones.”

His sharp gray eyes moved. “Was that it, Purley?”

“Yes, sir. No purse or handbag was found. There was a wad in her stocking, ten fives and five tens.”

Wolfe grunted. “They belong to me. And speaking of money, here’s another point. I suppose you know that I learned that Molloy had rented a safe-deposit box under an alias, and a man named Patrick A. Degan was appointed administrator of the estate, and in that capacity was given access to the box. The safe-deposit company had to have a key made. When Mr. Degan opened the box, with Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Parker present, it was found to contain three hundred and twenty-seven thousand, six hundred and forty dollars in currency. But-”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Mr. Degan will doubtless confirm it for you. But the point is, where is Molloy’s key to that box? Almost certainly he carried it on his person. Was it found on his corpse?”

“Not that I remember.” Cramer looked at Stebbins. “Purley?”

Stebbins shook his head.

“And Peter Hays, caught, as you thought, red-handed. Did he have it?”

“I don’t think so. Purley?”

“No, sir. He had keys, but none for a safe-deposit box.”

Wolfe snorted. “Then consider the high degree of probability that Molloy was carrying the key and the certainty that it was not found on him or on Peter Hays. Where was it? Who took it? Is it still far from certain, Mr. Cramer?”