And Four to Go

by Rex Stout

  “I preferred my way.” Wolfe, having a point to make, was controlling himself. “It will be an ordeal for you. They will question you at length about your talk with Bottweill yesterday morning at breakfast, wanting to know all that he said about his meeting with Miss Dickey in his office Thursday evening, and under the pressure of inquisition you might inadvertently let something slip regarding what he told you about Santa Claus. If you do they will certainly follow it up. I strongly advise you to avoid making such a slip. Even if they believe you, the identity of Santa Claus is no longer important, since they have the murderer, and if they come to me with such a tale I’ll have no great difficulty dealing with it.”

  He turned a hand over. “And in the end they probably won’t believe you. They’ll think you invented it for some cunning and obscure purpose-as you say, you are an Oriental-and all you would get for it would be more questions. They might even suspect that you were somehow involved in the murder itself. They are quite capable of unreasonable suspicions. So I suggest these considerations as much on your behalf as on mine. I think you will be wise to forget about Santa Claus.”

  She was eying him, straight and steady. “I like to be wise,” she said.

  “I’m sure you do, Miss Quon.”

  “I still think you should have done it my way, but it’s done now. Is that all?”

  He nodded. “That’s all.”

  She looked at me, and it took a second for me to realize that she was smiling at me. I thought it wouldn’t hurt to smile back, and did. She left the chair and came to me, extending a hand, and I arose and took it. She looked up at me.

  “I would like to shake hands with Mr. Wolfe, but I know he doesn’t like to shake hands. You know, Mr. Goodwin, it must be a very great pleasure to work for a man as clever as Mr. Wolfe. So extremely clever. It has been very exciting to be here. Now I say good-by.”

  She turned and went.

  EASTER PARADE

  Chapter 1

  I SWIVELED MY CHAIR to face Nero Wolfe directly across the expanse of his desk top, and to look him in the eye. Then I made a speech.

  “Nothing doing. If you wanted me to hook something really worth while, like a Mogok ruby, I might consider it, but I am not an orchid snatcher. For what you pay me I do your mail, I make myself obnoxious to people, I tail them when necessary, I shoot when I have to and get shot at, I stick around and take every mood you’ve got, I give you and Theodore a hand in the plant rooms when required, I lie to Inspector Cramer and Sergeant Stebbins whether required or not, I even help Fritz in the kitchen in emergencies, I answer the phone. I could go on and on. But I will not grab an orchid from a female bosom in the Easter parade. There is-”

  “I haven’t asked you to,” Wolfe snapped. He wiggled a finger at me. “You assumed I was headed for that, but you were wrong. I only said I wanted to hire someone for such an errand-someone adroit, discreet, resolute, and reliable.”

  “Me, then,” I insisted.

  “Pfui. Granting that you qualify, you are not unique. I would pay him a hundred dollars, another hundred if successful, and all expenses if a predicament results.”

  My brows went up. “Wow. Maybe I’m not unique, but the orchid must be.”

  “It is.” The seventh of a ton of him came forward in his custom-built chair. “Mr. Millard Bynoe has produced a flamingo-pink Vanda-both petals and sepals true pink, with no tints, spots, or edgings.”

  “Hooray!”

  “But I don’t believe it. I have it from Mr. Lewis Hewitt, who had it from his gardener, who had it from Mr. Bynoe’s gardener, but I don’t believe it. As you know, I have been hybridizing for a pink Vanda for years, and have come no closer to it than the rose-lilac of peetersiana, or the magenta of sandarae. I don’t believe it, and I have to see it.”

  “Then phone Bynoe and arrange it. You won’t leave the house on business, but this isn’t business, it’s an acute attack of incurable envy. I’ll go along to watch your face-”

  “I have phoned him. He cordially invited me to visit his collection at my convenience, at his place on Long Island, but he wouldn’t admit that he has a pink Vanda, so I wouldn’t see it. According to Mr. Hewitt, he intends to display it in its full glory at the International Flower Show next year, but that is too long to wait. No one has seen it but Mr. Bynoe himself, his wife, and his gardener. But-also from Mr. Hewitt-his wife has persuaded him to let her wear a spray of it on Easter Day. They will attend Easter service at Saint Thomas’s Church. That will provide an opportunity, if not to inspect the plant, at least to see the bloom.”

  “It sure will,” I agreed enthusiastically. “You’ve never been in an Easter parade and it will be a treat for you. Only you ought to have a new suit and hat, and it’s only five days-”

  I stopped because he wasn’t reacting properly. Instead of scowling or growling, or both, he was merely nodding thoughtfully, as if the idea of rubbing elbows, not to mention other parts of his anatomy, with his fellow beings in the Fifth Avenue Easter mob wasn’t repellent at all. Envy broadens a man.

  “It wouldn’t do,” he declared. “If I could plant myself in front of her for a prolonged scrutiny…” His shoulders went up and down. “No. I must examine them at leisure, at least one of them, and with a glass. I wouldn’t expect you to do it. Nor Saul. Orrie?”

  I shook my head. “I doubt it. Not just for the two Cs, but he might as a personal favor for you.”

  He made a face. “I won’t solicit a favor.”

  “Okay. There isn’t time to put an ad in the paper for an experienced orchid snatcher. Do you want me to scare one up?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I’ll scout around. I have a prospect in mind-in fact, two. But forget about the predicament expenses. The predicament, if any, will be up to him. A C for the try, and another C if he gets the spray or a usable part of it. Right?”

  “Yes.” Wolfe was frowning. But if he fails-” He aimed the frown at me. “You have a color camera.”

  “You have,” I corrected him. “You paid for it. I use it on occasion.”

  “I suggest that you may regard this as an occasion. Your Sundays are your own when we are not engaged on an important case, but you may take some other day instead. Aren’t there dozens of people with cameras up and down Fifth Avenue in that pandemonium?”

  “Not dozens. Thousands.”

  He turned a hand over. “Well?”

  “Uh-huh.” I considered it. “I admit he might flub it, and I admit I could get a picture, though I can’t say how true the color would be. Pinks are tricky. But I guess it’s no go, because as you say, my Sundays are mine, and I would do it only as a personal favor for you, and you won’t solicit a favor. Too bad.”

  “I should have qualified that. There are only four people of whom I would ask a favor, and Orrie is not one of them. You are.”

  “Then go ahead and ask. Call me Mr. Goodwin.”

  His lips tightened. “Mr. Goodwin,” he said coldly, “I solicit a favor.”

  It’s amazing what lengths a man will go to for envy.

  Chapter 2

  EASTER SUNDAY THE WEATHER wasn’t perfect, but I had seen much worse. As, shortly before noon, I left the old brownstone, the sun was slanting down into West Thirty-fifth Street, and I crossed over to have it on me. The breeze from the river wasn’t as chilly as I had expected, and I unbuttoned my topcoat. I was not arrayed, merely had my clothes on, with the Centrex, loaded and ready, dangling from a strap over my shoulder.

  Crosstown to Fifth Avenue, and uptown for five blocks, it was just a pleasant walk with plenty of room, but in front of the library some early birds were already around, moving or standing in the sunshine, and I had to start dodging. From there on it got thicker all the way, and it was a good thing I had allowed extra time, since I had told Tabby I would be in front of Saint Thomas’s at twelve-thirty.

  Tabby will do for him, though I know his name and address. Tabby will do. It had been a mistake to bait him with two Cs, one down and
one if and when, since a pair of twenties would have been more his speed, and it might make him nervous, but I had followed orders. I had briefed him thoroughly, shown him pictures of Millard Bynoe and his wife, and even introduced Vanda to him by giving him a spray, though not flamingo-pink, from one of Wolfe’s plants. There would be a lot of bosoms sporting orchids in that stampede, from Cattleyas to Calanthes. Also, to cinch it, I was going to give him a sign.

  By the time I reached Saint Patrick’s at Fiftieth Street, with three blocks to go, the street was no better than the sidewalks-absolutely solid with dressed-up bipeds, some of them looking pleased and even happy. The display of lipstick colors and patterns, goofy hats, and flossy neckties deserved more appreciation than I had time for as I wormed my way north, rubbing not only elbows but shoulders and hips. As I pushed through to the curb in front of Saint Thomas’s, I was thinking it might be worth while to come back next year on my own time for a thorough survey of the panorama, provided I could rent a suit of armor at a bargain. At Fifty-second Street a six-foot amazon in a purple ensemble had got me in the ribs.

  I stretched my own six feet by rising on my toes and spotted Tabby, anchored out of the current in a niche flanking the church entrance. He was a little squirt, several inches under six feet, but I got enough of him to see that the C I had given him had gone down the drain for a new topcoat, a gray plaid, and a new hat, a classy gray snap-brim. The true Easter-parade spirit, I thought, and grinned at him when I caught his eye. It wasn’t necessary to shove through to him, since he had been well briefed.

  I needed a vantage point for aiming as they came out of the church, and there it was beside me-a wooden box there on the sidewalk at the edge of the curb, some sixteen inches high, just the elevation I needed. But it was occupied. Standing on it was a young woman in a tan woolen belted coat, with a camera in her hand held at breast level as she faced downtown, scanning the rabble as it shuffled along. I touched her elbow and she looked down at me. I gave her my best smile, which was no strain after one glimpse of her face.

  “Have you ever,” I asked her, “stood on a box with a peer of the realm?”

  “Certainly,” she declared. “Don’t bother me, I’m busy.” She went back to scanning.

  I directed my voice up to her ear. “But you have never stood on a box with a prince of the blood, and this is your chance. My grandmother, the queen dowager, is coming out of that church and I want to get a shot of her. I’ll stand on the edge and I won’t jostle.”

  She was facing down again. “I hate to refuse, Your Highness, but it’s not my box. It was lent me by a grandee, and he would-”

  “Hey, Archie Goodwin!”

  The voice came from behind, and I turned. There was another box at the curb, two paces along, and beyond it still another. On them were men with cameras, and straddling the gap, with his left foot on one box and his right on the other, was a third man with a camera, grinning at me.

  He spoke. “You don’t remember me.”

  “Sure I do. The Gazette. Joe. Joe Merrick-no, wait a minute-Herrick. Joe Herrick. Did you lend this lady the box she’s on?”

  “Yeah, who wouldn’t? Look at her!”

  “I have. Any objection if she shares it with me?”

  “That’s up to her. I’d rather she shared it with me, but you had the idea first. What are you after? Where’s the corpse?”

  “No corpse. I’m just practicing.” I turned to tell her I had cleared it with the grandee, but at that moment all four of them brought their cameras up to their chins, facing the church entrance. The exodus had started. I planted my left foot on the edge of her box, heaved myself up, and caught the edge of the next-door box with my right foot with a fancy spread-eagle. It was too near a split to be comfortable, but at least I was up high enough to focus over the heads of the crowd. A glance showed me that Tabby had left his niche and edged through to the line of exit.

  Out they came, all flavors. The men ran from cutaways to sacks and from toppers to floppies, not more than half of them with topcoats, and the women displayed an assortment of furs, coats, jackets, stoles, suits, and hats for the birds. I shot a couple to warm up the camera, and once I thought I spotted my target, but the man with her was not Milliard Bynoe, and as she approached I saw that her orchid spray wasn’t Vanda, but Phalaenopsis. Then suddenly there she was, headed straight toward me, with a man on either side of her, and the one on her right was Bynoe. Her fur jacket, sable or long-haired hamster or something, was open, and drooping below her left shoulder was a ten-inch spray of glowing pink. She was one of the most attractive objects I had seen that day, and as she got closer and I aimed the camera for another shot the back of my mind was reflecting that you couldn’t find a better argument to persuade a man to marry a woman twenty years his junior, which was what Millard Bynoe had done.

  Having given Tabby a sign, I had the camera to my eye again, so I didn’t actually see all of what happened in the next two seconds, but I can show one instant of it, the instant I pressed the button, with four pictures I took of her. I had warned Tabby not to try for the spray while cameras were on her, as I knew they would be as she left the church, and of course her having an escort at each elbow made it impossible to sneak up from the side, but evidently the vision of another C was too much for him, and he had worked his way around to get at her from the front. Seeing his head and arm in the finder, and the arm and hand of the man on Mrs. Bynoe’s left warding him off, I lowered the camera, slid off the boxes, and started forward with the notion of grabbing his coattail and jerking him away, but he had wriggled off before I got there. Mrs. Bynoe was looking upset, with her teeth clamped on her lip, and her escorts were asking her questions, but she shook her head, said something to her husband, and turned uptown, the men close beside her. The pink spray was intact.

  I looked around, over shoulders and between hats, saw Tabby making himself small against the railing, and saw him move, uptown. The nervy little cuss was stalking his prey. It wouldn’t have been discreet to chat with him there in the public eye, even if I had anything helpful to say, and anyway it was understood that he was strictly on his own, but there was nothing against my being an impartial observer. So I tagged along, some eight rows of hats behind Tabby and fifteen or so behind the trio.

  They took their time. Of course Fifth Avenue was closed to traffic, but one of the Bynoe limousines was probably parked nearby on Madison, so Tabby didn’t have all day. At Fifty-fourth Street they headed across the avenue, and that was slow going since they kept three abreast. By the time they reached the other curb Tabby had closed in to eight or ten feet, and I was keeping my distance from Tabby.

  It happened when they had gone some fifty yards along Fifty-fourth Street, about halfway to Madison. The throng wasn’t as thick there as on the avenue, but it was still a throng. Tabby was almost directly behind them, and I wasn’t far off, when suddenly Mrs. Bynoe stopped short, grabbed her husband’s arms, and said to him in a sort of half-strangled scream, “I can’t stand it! I didn’t want to-here on the street-I can’t breathe! Mil, you-” She let go of his arms, straightened up, rigid, shuddered all over, and toppled. The two men had her before she went down, but then she went into convulsion, her neck and spine arching backward and she got away from them and was on the sidewalk.

  Tabby darted in from the circle of bystanders, snatched the pink spray from her shoulder, darted out again, through the circle, and sprinted for Madison Avenue.

  There was only one thing for me to do, and I did it. I went after him. For one thing, if anyone else felt like chasing him, my being ahead would show him he wasn’t needed. For another, I couldn’t have asked for a better excuse to make myself scarce. So I stretched my legs, and while I can no longer do the hundred in 10:7, I can move. So could Tabby. When he got to Madison I was still ten steps behind. He took the corner, turning downtown, without slackening, and ran into luck. Twenty yards down a taxi was discharging a couple of passengers. Tabby was there before they shut the door, and
I was too. He tumbled in, and while I didn’t tumble, I didn’t dawdle. The hackie, swiveling his neck for a look, inquired mildly, “Ghosts?”

  I controlled my panting enough to speak. “Right. My friend here had never been in a church before, and the choir’s costumes got him. Nine-eighteen West Thirty-fifth Street.”

  He surveyed the street to the rear, saw no cop or other pursuer coming for fugitives, turned and pulled the gear lever, and we rolled. When we had gone a block Tabby opened his mouth to speak, but I glared at him and he shut it again. Hackies usually have good ears, sometimes too good, and it wouldn’t help to give that one any items to remember us by. It was already bad enough. So he had heard nothing, because there was nothing for him to hear, when he deposited us at the curb in front of the old brownstone. I led the way up the seven steps of the stoop, let us in with my key, got my hat and coat on the hall rack and shelf, and was going to do likewise with Tabby’s, but he hung on to his coat, carefully inserted his hand in the left side pocket, and carefully withdrew it with thumb and forefinger closed on the stem of the spray.

  “Here it is,” he said. “Come across. I’m on my way.”

  “Hold your horses. I have to tap the till.” I put his coat on a hanger and his hat on the shelf, steered him across the hall and into the front room, told him to wait, opened the soundproofed door to the office, passed through, and shut it behind me.

  Wolfe, at his desk with sections of the Sunday paper scattered around, looked up, saw I was empty-handed except for the camera, and demanded, “Well?”

  I crossed to my desk and put the camera down, and stood. “Yes, sir. I got pictures, and he got the spray. But first I want-”

  “Where is it?”

  “Just a minute. He’s in the front room with it, hanging on to it until he sees his money, and as soon as I pay him he’ll want to skip, and there’s a complication. Mrs. Bynoe collapsed on the sidewalk, in convulsion, and while she was lying there with her head curved back nearly to her heels he dashed in and grabbed the spray and ran. It wasn’t a pretty performance and I would have liked to collar him and call a cop, but that wouldn’t have helped her any, and also there was you to consider, sitting here with your mouth watering. So I ran after him. If I had caught him in time I would have walked him here, but before I reached him he had hopped a taxi. There was no use-”