by Rex Stout
“Yeah, I might.” He leaned forward. “Look, Mr. Wolfe. Maybe you’ve got it right, your deductions and assumptions, and maybe not. If you have and you find the money, okay, I’ll get mine and you’ll get yours. I don’t owe my uncle a damn thing, and God knows I don’t owe that lawyer, Andrew Frost, anything. He talked my mother out of letting me have—oh, to hell with it. As for my sister, I’m not her keeper, repeat not—she can look out for herself. You try putting it to her tactfully and see what—”
The phone rang. I swiveled and got it. “Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.”
“This is Margot Tedder. I’d like to speak to Mr. Wolfe.”
I told her to hold it and turned. “Margot Tedder wants to speak to you.”
Noel made a noise. Wolfe frowned at his phone to remind it that he resents being summoned by it, no matter who, then reached for it. “Yes, Miss Tedder?”
“Nero Wolfe?”
“Yes.”
“You never go anywhere, do you?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll have to come there. I’ll come now.”
“You won’t be admitted. I’ll be at dinner. Why do you wish to come?”
“I want you to help me do something.”
“What?”
“I’d rather— Oh, it doesn’t matter. About the money my mother gave the kidnapers. You know about that.”
“Yes, What about it?”
“She has told me that if I can find it I can have it, and I want you to help me. We’ll have to hurry. I’ll come now. Your dinner can wait.”
“I can’t. More precisely, I won’t. You may come at nine o’clock, not before. I’m busy. You will excuse me. I’m hanging up.” He cradled the phone and turned. “Your sister says that her mother told her that if she finds the money paid to the kidnaper she can have it, and she is coming at nine o’clock to enlist my help. I’ll tell her you have already engaged me. We have twenty minutes until my dinnertime. Where were you from eight o’clock Sunday evening until eight o’clock Wednesday morning?”
8
A man’s time-and-place record as given by him may or may not prove anything, even if it doesn’t check. There are a lot of people who wouldn’t tell you exactly where they had been and what they had done between eight p.m. Sunday and eight a.m. Wednesday even if they hadn’t kidnaped or murdered anybody. Wolfe, knowing how easy it is to frame an alibi, has seldom tried to crack one. In all the years I have been with him I haven’t checked more than four or five. He has sometimes had Saul Panzer or Fred Durkin or Orrie Gather look into one, but not often. I put what Noel Tedder told him in my notebook, but I knew it wouldn’t be checked unless developments nominated Noel for the tag. Besides, only one time and place was essential, either for Noel or for one of the others. It didn’t have to be that he himself had snatched Jimmy Vail Sunday evening, or had helped to keep him wherever he had been kept, or had put notes in telephone books Tuesday evening, or had been at Iron Mine Road Tuesday night. The one essential time and place was the Harold F. Tedder library Wednesday evening, and we knew he had been there. They all had. The question had to be asked; if Noel had gone up in a balloon with six United States Senators Sunday morning and hadn’t come down until Wednesday noon, he couldn’t be expected to know where the money was, and that was the point. But I won’t waste my space and your time reporting his whereabouts for those sixty hours.
More interesting was his reaction to the news that Margot was coming to see Wolfe. It fussed him more than anything Wolfe had said to him. When he said he didn’t believe his mother had told her that, he had to squeeze it through his teeth. Evidently he had some strong feeling about his sister, and it wasn’t brotherly love. Wolfe tried to ask him questions about Dinah Utley and her relations with Purcell and Frost and Margot, but got no usable answers. Noel wanted to be damn sure that Wolfe wasn’t going to let Margot talk him into switching to her. He even offered to bring Uncle Ralph that evening and Andrew Frost in the morning. When Fritz announced dinner he followed Wolfe to the dining-room door, and I had to take his arm and start him to the front.
Returning and entering the dining room, I found that Wolfe had pulled his chair out but hadn’t sat. “A grotesque venture,” he grunted. “Preposterous. Will that woman be punctual?”
“Probably not.” I pulled my chair back. “She’s not the punctual type.”
“But she may be. You’ll have to be at the phone with your coffee to get Saul and Fred and Orrie. In my room in the morning at eight, and in the office with you at nine.” Fritz was there with the stuffed clams, and he sat and took the spoon and fork. He couldn’t have sat before giving me instructions because that would have been talking business during a meal, and by heck a rule is a rule is a rule. As I helped myself to clams I held my breath because if you smell them, mixed with shallots, chives, chervil, mushrooms, bread crumbs, sherry, and dry white wine, you take so many that you don’t leave enough room for the duckling roasted in cider with Spanish sauce as revised by Wolfe and Fritz, leaving out the carrot and parsley and putting anchovies in. As I ate the clams I remarked to myself that we darned well had better find at least some leavings of the half a million, since Saul and Fred and Orrie came to twenty-five bucks an hour, plus expenses.
I don’t know how Wolfe first got the notion that when I’ve had one good look at a woman and heard her speak, especially if she’s under thirty, I can answer any question he wants to ask about her, but I know he still has it, chiefly on account of little items like my saying that Margot Tedder wouldn’t be punctual. She was twenty-five minutes late. Of course if she had been on time I would have commented that she must need some ready cash quick. When you once get a reputation, or it gets you, you’re stuck with it for good.
I have said that from hearsay she kept her chin up so she could look down her nose, and her manners when she entered the old brownstone didn’t contradict it. Crossing the threshold, she gave me a nod for a butler, though I hadn’t seen one at 994 Fifth Avenue, and when I took her to the office she stopped at the edge of the big rug, looked it over from side to side and end to end, and asked Wolfe, “Is that a Kazak?”
“No,” he said. “Shirvan.”
“You can’t possibly appreciate it. Is it yours?”
“I doubt it. It was given to me in nineteen thirty-two, in Cairo, by a man to whom I had rendered a service, and I suspected he had stolen it in Kandahar. If it wasn’t rightfully his, it isn’t rightfully mine. But of course illegality of ownership does not extend indefinitely. If my possession of that rug were challenged by an heir of the Kandahar prince who once owned it, or by one of his wives or concubines, I would enter a defense. It would be a borderline case. After sufficient time legal ownership is undisputed. Your grandfather was a bandit; some of his forays were almost certainly actionable. But if a descendant of one of his victims tried to claim that fur thing you are wearing, she would be laughed at I’m pleased that you recognize the quality of the rug, though only an ignoramus could mistake it for a Kazak. Kazaks have a long pile. You are Margot Tedder? I am Nero Wolfe.” He pointed to the red leather chair. “Sit down and tell me what you want.”
She had opened her mouth a couple of times to cut in on him, but Wolfe in full voice is not easy to interrupt, particularly if his eyes are pinning you. “I told you on the phone what I want,” she said.
“You will please sit down, Miss Tedder. I like eyes at a level.”
She glanced at me. The poor girl was stuck. She didn’t want to sit down because he had ordered her to, but to stay on her feet would be silly. She compromised. One of the yellow chairs was at the end of my desk, and she came and sat on it. As I have said, when she walked you might have thought her hips were in a cast, but sitting she wasn’t at all hard to look at.
“I didn’t come,” she said, “to listen to a lecture about legal ownership by a detective. You know what I came for. My mother paid you sixty thousand dollars for nothing. All you did was put that thing in the paper. For six
ty thousand dollars you certainly ought to help me find the money my mother gave the kidnaper. That’s more than ten per cent.”
Wolfe grunted. “Twelve. That might be thought adequate. How would I go about it? Have you a suggestion?”
“Of course not. You would go about it the way any detective would. That’s your business.”
“Could I count on your cooperation?”
She frowned at him, her chin up. “How could I cooperate?”
He didn’t frown back. Having put her in her place, he didn’t mind if she didn’t stay put. “That would depend on developments,” he said. “Take a hypothesis. Do you know what a hypothesis is?”
“You’re being impertinent.”
“Not without provocation. You didn’t know what a Shirvan is. The hypothesis: If I took the job you offer, I would want to begin by asking you some questions. For example, what were your relations with Dinah Utley?”
She stared. “What on earth has that got to do with finding the money?”
He nodded. “I thought so. You’re under a misapprehension. You expected me to pit my wits and Mr. Goodwin’s eyes and legs against the horde of official investigators who are combing the countryside and looking under every stone. Pfui. That would be infantile. I would have to approach it differently, and the best way—indeed, the only way—would be through Dinah Utley. You know that Mr. Goodwin and I suspected that she was implicated in the kidnaping; you heard your mother and Mr. Goodwin discuss it Wednesday afternoon. Now we don’t suspect it; we know it. Therefore—”
“How do you know it? Because she was there and was killed?”
“Partly that, but there were other factors. She was here Tuesday afternoon. Therefore at least one of the kidnapers was someone with whom she had had contacts, and I would want to learn all I could about her. How well did you know her?”
“Why—she was my mother’s secretary. She lived in the house, but she didn’t regard herself as a servant. I thought my mother let her take too many liberties.”
“What kind of liberties?”
“Different kinds. She ate with us. If we had people in for cocktails, she came in if she felt like it. If I asked her to do something, she might and she might not. You might have thought we were equals. You know, I must say, I think this is clever. Perhaps you are clever. I should have thought of this myself, about Dinah, only I really don’t know much about her. She was there seven years, and I suppose she had friends of her own class, but I never saw them.”
“Would your brother know more about her?”
“He might.” She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he would. He did things with her just to irritate me—like playing cards with her. Gin rummy in the library. You might have thought they were equals, and perhaps they should have been. Once he took her to a prizefight.”
“That sounds promising. I would want to talk with him. I don’t want to shock you, Miss Tedder, but the question should be asked. Is it conceivable that the kidnaping was a joint enterprise of Miss Utley and your brother? That your brother had a hand in it?”
“Good heavens.” Her lips parted. She stared. “Of course it’s conceivable. That’s the second thing you’ve thought of that I should have thought of.”
“Given time, undoubtedly you would have. Your emotions have interfered with your mental processes. We would—”
“But if he—Noel—then he knows where the money is! He has the money?”
“Not too fast, Miss Tedder. That’s merely a surmise. We would have to consider all possibilities, all those who had frequent opportunity to see Miss Utley. I understand that your mother’s brother, Ralph Purcell, lives in that house. Was he on good terms with her?”
She was only half listening. He had darned near lost her with his suggestion about Noel. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had bounced up, granting that a person of her class and with her hips could bounce, and gone to have it out with her brother. Wolfe saw he would have to repeat his question, and did so.
“Oh,” she said, “he’s on good terms with everybody, or he tries to be. He ran errands for Dinah, but of course he would. He runs errands for me too. He’s all right, I like him, I really do, but he’s so—oh, well. He just doesn’t belong. He certainly wouldn’t have anything to do with any kidnaping; he wouldn’t have the nerve.”
“But he was friendly enough with Miss Utley to make it plausible that he knows the names of her associates not of your class, and possibly has met some of them.”
“Yes. No doubt of that. You won’t have to talk with my brother. I’ll talk with him.”
“That would help. That was the sort of thing I had in mind when I asked if I could count on your cooperation. I believe I have named all those who had— No, there’s another possibility. I saw in the newspaper the name of your mother’s attorney—Frost, I think?”
“Yes. Andrew Frost.”
“It might be that an attorney would have frequent contacts with a client’s secretary, especially if he is also the client’s business adviser. Did Mr. Frost see much of Miss Utley?”
“I suppose he did, but I don’t know, after she came to work for my mother. Of course he saw her when she worked for him. She was his secretary. He let my mother take her. It was supposed to be a great favor, but he really did it for my father. My father died not long after that. My father was a true gentleman. I’d like to tell you something, I don’t know why, if you’ll promise not to repeat it. Do you promise?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes came to me. “Do you?”
“Sure.”
She went back to Wolfe. “My father told me once that his father was a bandit.”
There you are. She was actually human.
Wolfe nodded. “Then I merely corroborated him. I am obliged to you, Miss Tedder. Manifestly, if I took the job you offer, I would need to speak with Mr. Purcell and Mr. Frost. I would also need to be informed about the gathering in the library of your home Wednesday evening. For example, I understand that drinks were served. Who served them?”
She frowned again. “Why? Why do you need to know that?”
“You conceded the possibility that I am clever. Any discussion in which Mr. Purcell and Mr. Frost and your brother took part may be informative. You say that Mr. Purcell likes to do errands. Did he serve the drinks?”
“No. The bar cart was there and we served ourselves, or someone—you know how it is. I think—yes, Uncle Ralph took brandy to Mr. Frost. My mother likes a champagne cobbler after dinner, and she mixes it herself. She poured me some champagne, but I didn’t drink much.”
“What did your brother have?”
“Champagne. He gulps it.”
“And Mr. Vail?”
“I didn’t notice, but probably bourbon and water. No matter how clever you are, this can’t possibly mean anything. You’re just trying to impress me.” She glanced at her wristwatch. “Do you want to see my uncle first? He would come tonight if I tell him to.”
“Not tonight.” Wolfe cocked his head. “I’m not trying to impress you, but I have imposed on you. I must reject your demand, Miss Tedder—I shouldn’t have called it an offer, since you have offered nothing. Your brother has. He was here this afternoon, and I have engaged with him to recover the money. My share will be one-fifth.”
She was gawking. Of course a person of her class shouldn’t gawk, but you can’t blame her. A person of my class would have thrown something at him. “You’re lying,” she said. “You’re trying to make me say you can have part of it. Of course one-fifth would be ridiculous. You already have more than enough from my mother, but I suppose, if you—very well, if you get it I’ll give you ten thousand dollars. If you get all of it. Of course you’ll have to do it, after everything I’ve told you.”
Wolfe was slowly moving his head from side to side. “Amazing,” he said. “How old are you?”
“I’m not a minor, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m twenty-one.”
“Amazing that a creature so obtuse could live so l
ong without meeting disaster. I was at pains to make it clear that we were discussing a hypothesis, and the idea that you were being gulled never entered your mind. I don’t know how a brain that is never used passes the time. It will be futile to try to browbeat your brother into deferring to you; I shall hold him to his engagement with me. I was not lying when I said that he anticipated you. He was here when you telephoned.”
I suppose her father, Harold F. Tedder, was responsible for the way she took it. Naturally a true gentleman would teach his children never to argue with underlings. Since she couldn’t very well order him to leave, his office and his house, there was only one thing to do, and she did it. She got up and walked out, stiff hips and all. She did it all right, too, no hurry and no prolonging it. I got to the hall ahead of her and had the door open when she reached the front, and she said thank you as she passed. Breeding will tell. I shut the door, bolted it for the night, returned to the office, and told Wolfe, “Taking candy from a baby.”
He grunted and pushed his chair back. “An insupportable day. I’m going to my bed.” He rose.
“What about Saul and Fred and Orrie?”
“The morning will do.” He moved.
9
Saturday morning I heard the seven-o’clock news on the radio in my room, and the eight-o’clock news on the radio in the kitchen. Saul and Fred and Orrie had come and had gone up to Wolfe’s room. I was listening to the nine-o’clock news on the radio in the office when they came down. Ordinarily two or three times a day is often enough, but ordinarily I am not curious as to whether some dick or state cop or FBI hero has found half a million bucks, with or without a Mr. Knapp in illegal possession of it.
I had also read the morning paper. The DA’s office was playing it safe on the death of Jimmy Vail. The cause of death had been Benjamin Franklin, definitely, and there was no evidence or information to indicate that it had not been an accident, but it was still under investigation. I doubted that last. The DA had to say it, to guard against the chance of something popping up, but I doubted if the five people who had last seem him alive were being pestered much.