Over My Dead Body

by Rex Stout

  Neya merely continued to stare, but Carla jumped up, with her face white, and started to sputter at him, "But I-I only meant-"

  "I know." He showed her a palm. "You only meant to leave it there a while for safe keeping. It's even safer where I put it. The reason I mention it-"

  "Where is it?" Neya Tormic's eyes were two йpйes going through him and her tone was a dagger whizzing at him. She was up and at the edge of his desk in one swift movement that reminded me of the lunge Miltan had made with his championship sticker to show me how it was done. She threw the dagger again at short range: "Where is it?"

  She turned, because Carla was up too and had grabbed her arm. She shook herself loose, but Carla seized her elbow again and told her sharply, "Neya-Neya! Sit down! Neya-you know-"

  Neya spouted a torrent at her that I would have had no symbols for if I had been at my notebook. Carla returned it, but not in a torrent; she was cool and controlled.

  Wolfe said, "I understand Serbo-Croat."

  They both said, "Oh!"

  He nodded. "I used to knock around. I did some work for the Austrian Government when I was too young to know better. And I was in your country in 1921, and adopted a daughter-"

  "I want that paper."

  "I know you do, Miss Lovchen. But I won't even discuss it, let alone return it to you, unless you children sit down and behave yourselves. None of this jumping up and cater-wauling; I don't like it; besides, it won't do you any good. Sit down!"

  They sat.

  "That's better. I mentioned that paper only to show you how I knew you were lying when you said you aren't in this country on a political mission-and by the way, I suppose you lied to the police too? Of course you did. Now that the paper's been mentioned-where did you get it, Miss Lovchen?"

  "I…" She fingered her skirt. "I got it."

  "Where and how? Is it yours?"

  "I stole it."

  Neya snapped. "You did not! I stole it myself!"

  Wolfe shrugged. "Split the honours. Who did you steal it from?"

  "From the person who had it."

  "From the Princess Vladanka Donevitch?"

  "I won't tell you."

  "Good. That's better than trying to lie. Is the princess in New York now?"

  "I won't tell you anything about that paper."

  "You are in danger. You are actually in peril of your life. Faber's unsupported alibi is the only thing between you and an indictment for murder. Do you want my assistance in the removal of that danger?"

  "Yes." It looked for an instant as if she were going to smile at him, but she didn't. "Yes," she repeated, "I do."

  "Are you prepared to pay me-my usual fee? Several thousand dollars, for instance?"

  "My God, no." She glanced at Carla and back at him. "But… I might."

  "But when you sent Miss Lovchen here in the first place, you expected me to help you because you are my adopted daughter, didn't you?"

  She nodded. "I thought you might feel-"

  "I carry this fat to insulate my feelings. They got too strong for me once or twice and I had that idea. If I had stayed lean and kept moving around I would have been dead long ago. You are aware that I have no proof that you are my daughter. You sent Miss Lovchen here with that record of adoption bearing my signature. Another paper. Did you steal that too?"

  Carla ejaculated something indignant. Neya was on her feet, with her eyes flashing. "If you think I did that, there's no use-"

  "I don't think you did that. I just don't know. I asked you to stop jumping up. Please sit down, Miss Tormic. Thank you. I used to be idiotically romantic. I still am, but I've got it in hand. I thought it romantic, when I was a boy, twenty-five years ago, to be a secret agent of the Austrian Government. My progress towards maturity got interrupted by the World War and my experience with it. War doesn't mature men; it merely pickles them in the brine of disgust and dread. Pfui! After the war I was still lean and I moved around. In Montenegro I assumed responsibility for the sustenance and mental and physical thrift of a three-year-old orphan girl by adopting her. I did something else there, too, which advanced my maturity, but that has nothing to do with you. I saw that girl's ribs. The something else I did finished Montenegro for me, and I left the girl, I thought, in good hands, and returned to America."

  Wolfe leaned back and let his lids down a little. "You go on from there, please."

  Neya said, "You left me in Zagreb with Pero Brovnik and his wife."

  "That's right. Your name?"

  "My name was Anna. When I was eight years old they were arrested as revolutionaries and shot. I don't remember that very well, but I know all about it."

  "Yes." Wolfe looked grim. "And for three years the money I continued to send to Zagreb was appropriated by someone in Brovnik's name, and when I got suspicious and went over there, in spite of the fact that I was no longer lean, I got nowhere. I couldn't find the girl. I got no satisfaction about the money. I got put in jail, and the American Consul got me out and I was given ten hours to leave the country." He made a face. "I have not been in Europe, or in jail, since. Where were you?"

  "I was eleven years old then."

  "Yes. I can add. Where were you?"

  She looked at him a while before she spoke. "I can't tell you that."

  "You'll either tell me that or march on out of here and not come back. And I have the paper which you stole and your friend left in my book for safekeeping. Now don't start cater-wauling."

  Carla said, "Tell him, Neya."

  "But, Carla! then he'll know

  "Tell him!"

  "And tell the truth," Wolfe advised, "or I'll know that, and I'll know it even better after I've cabled Europe."

  She told him. "When the Brovniks were arrested I was sent to an institution. A year later I was taken out by a woman named Mrs Campbell."

  "Who was she?"

  "She was the English secretary of Prince Peter Donevitch."

  "What did she want with you?"

  "She visited the institution and she took a liking to me. My ribs didn't show then. She wanted to adopt me, but she couldn't, legally, on account of you."

  "Why didn't she communicate with me?"

  "Because… her connexion with Prince Donevitch. The kind of friends you had had in Yugoslavia, like the Brovniks. They knew you would make trouble, and they didn't want trouble from an American."

  "No. You can't take an American out and shoot him. So she just stole the money I sent for three years."

  "I don't know anything about that."

  "Where is she now?"

  "She died four years ago."

  "Where did you go then?"

  "I continued to live there."

  "With Donevitch?"

  "In that house."

  "Did young Prince Stefan live there?"

  "Yes, he-he and his sisters."

  "And his wife?"

  "After-of course. When he was married, two years ago."

  "Were you treated as one of the family?"

  "No." She hesitated and then said more emphatically, "No, I wasn't."

  Wolfe turned abruptly to Carla Lovchen and snapped at her, "Are you Stefan's wife-the Princess Vladanka?"

  Her eyes popped open, "Me? Boga ti! No!"

  "You had that paper which you put in my book."

  Neya said, "I told you I stole that paper. I don't always lie."

  "Where did you steal it-Zagreb or New York?"

  She shook her head. "I can't tell you about that paper. Not even-no matter what you do."

  He grunted. "Your secret political mission. I know. Die first. I used to play that silly dirty game myself. But since you lived in the same house with the Princess Vladanka, you must know her pretty well. Are you and she friends?"

  "Friends?" Neya's forehead showed a crease. "No."

  "What's she like?"

  "She is clever, beautiful, selfish, and treacherous."

  "Indeed. What does she look like?"

  "Well… she is tall. Her arms move lik
e snakes. Her face is like this." Neya described an oval with her fingers. "Her eyes are as black as mine-sometimes blacker."

  "Is she in Zagreb now?"

  "She was when I left. It was said she was going to Paris to see old Prince Peter and then to America."

  "You're lying."

  She looked straight at him. "Sometimes it is necessary to lie. There are some things I can't tell."

  "Ha, over your dead body. The curlicues of some old bandit's trade mark engraved on your heart, and what do you get out of it? When do you expect to finish this political errand you're working on?"

  She looked at him, at Carla, back at him, and said nothing. "Come, come," he insisted impatiently. "I merely ask when. Is the end in sight?"

  "I think so," she admitted. "I think it will be… tomorrow."

  "It's past midnight. Do you mean this day?"

  "Yes. But I must have that paper. You have no right to keep it. When that imbecile, that Driscoll, made the trouble about his diamonds being stolen, I thought the police might come and search everything, even my room where I live. I thought of you, the American who had adopted me when I was a baby. I had brought the record of adoption with me when I left Zagreb; Mrs Campbell had given it to me before she died. So Carla and I decided the paper would be safer with you than anywhere else, and we decided how to do it so she could easily get it again. Then you refused to help me and she had to return and let you know who I am." She stopped and smiled at him, but she was so anxious that the effort was a little cock-eyed. "I must have that paper now! I must!"

  "We'll see. You admit you stole it. So you expect to accomplish your mission this day."

  "Yes."

  "You realize, of course, that the police won't let you leave New York until they're satisfied their murder case is solved."

  "But I… you said yourself my alibi-"

  "That doesn't solve the case. Don't you do anything silly. If you do complete your errand, don't try sneaking aboard a ship disguised as a Nereid. Who is Madame Zorka?"

  They both stared at him in surprise.

  "Well?" Wolfe demanded. "You know her, don't you?"

  Carla laughed. It sounded quite natural, as though something really had struck her as funny. Neya said:

  "Why… she's nobody. She's a dressmaker."

  "So I understand. Where did she get that name-the name of the daughter of King Nikita of Montenegro."

  "But Queen Zorka has been dead-"

  "I know that. Where did this dressmaker get the name?"

  Carla laughed again. "She must have found it in a book."

  "Who is she?"

  Neya shrugged and upturned her palms. "We know nothing about her."

  Wolfe eyed them a moment and then sighed. "All right. It's late and you ought to be in bed, since you have to get up early to visit Mr Rowcliff. That smile ought to help with him. When you are through there, come here, and I'll see you at eleven o'clock and give you that paper."

  "I want it now!"

  "You can't have it now. It isn't here. I will-"

  Neya jumped up. "What did you-where is it?"

  "Stop screaming at me. It's safe. I'll give it to you at eleven o'clock. Sit down-no, don't bother to sit down; you're going. Remember, now, don't do anything silly. As for you, Miss Lovchen, I would advise you to do nothing whatever except eat and sleep. I say that on account of your performance yesterday when you hid that paper in my book-asking Mr Goodwin if I had read it and did I study and was he reading it. Unbelievable!"

  Carla flushed. "I thought… I was casual-"

  "Good heavens! Casual? I still suspect you meant us to find it, though I can't imagine what for. Well, good-night. By the way, Miss Tormic, about your being my client. I'll return that adoption paper to you in the morning along with the other; it seems likely that it belongs to you; but I am cautious and sceptical and I don't like misunderstandings. You are my client only so long as it remains established that you are the girl whose ribs I saw in 1921. I am your protector, but if it turns out that you have duped me on that, I shall be your enemy. I don't like to be fooled."

  "I doubt if I could fool you if I wanted to." She met his eye and suddenly smiled at him. "You can feel my ribs if you want to, but as for looking at them-"

  "Oh, no. No, thank you. Good-night. Good-night, Miss Lovchen."

  I went with them and extended the courtesies of the hall, and when they were out I shot the night bolt on the door. Then I went back to the office and stood and looked down at Wolfe's colossal countenance, immobile with closed eyes, and treated myself to an unrestricted stretch and yawn.

  "Hvala Bogu," I declared. "I like Montenegrin girls, but it's time to go to bed. They're all right. I offered to take them home and they refused to let me. In spite of which, I have to run up to 48th Street before I turn in, to get the damn roadster I left there. This is a very peculiar case. I've got a feeling in my bones that there is going to be a strange romantic twist to it by the time we get through. I have an inner conviction that when the full moon comes I'll be standing right here in this office asking you formally for the hand of your daughter in marriage. You've got something there, gospodar. Only you'll have to help me break her of lying."

  "Shut up."

  "Shall I go up for the roadster?"

  "I suppose you'll have to." Wolfe shuddered. Out into the night like that. "What time will Saul be here in the morning?"

  "Nine o'clock."

  "Phone him and tell him to bring that envelope."

  "Yes, sir. Are you really going to hand it over to her?"

  "I am. I want to see what she is going to do with it. Will Fred and Orrie also be here at nine?"

  "Yes, sir. Who do you want to tail whom?"

  "Tailing may not be necessary. On the other hand, it may be, for her protection. Mr Faber wanted that paper."

  "Not only did he want it, he knew where to look for it," I yawned. "And since Carla put it there, did she tell him about it? Or did he learn it from a member of your family?"

  "I have no family."

  "A daughter is commonly considered to be a member of one's family. In this case it would hardly be too much to say that a daughter is a family." I made my voice grave and respectful. "When I marry her, I guess it will be unavoidable for me to call you Dad."

  "Archie, I swear by all-"

  "And I would be your heir in case you die. I would be the beneficiary on your life insurance. We could play in father and son golf tournaments. Later on you could hold the baby. Babies. When the time comes for the divorce-now what the hell!"

  The doorbell was ringing.

  Chapter Nine

  At half past one in the morning, with me yawning my head off and an outside errand still to do, the doorbell should ring.

  I went to the front and unlocked, leaving the chain bolt on so that the door only opened to a five-inch crack, and peered through at the male figure standing there.

  "Well?"

  "I want to see Nero Wolfe."

  "Name, please?"

  "Open the door!" He was a bit peremptory.

  "Tut-tut," I said. "It's after office hours. If you don't like your own name, make up one. But it had better be a good one, at this time of night."

  "My name is Donald Barrett."

  "Oh. Okay. Hold that pose. I'll be back."

  I went to the office and told Wolfe. He opened his eyes, frowned, muttered something and nodded. I returned to the front and let the night-walker in, flunkeyed for him, and escorted him to the office. In the bright light he looked handsome and harassed, with his white tie somewhat crooked and his hair disarranged. He blinked at Wolfe and said he was Donald Barrett.

  "So I understand. Sit down."

  "Thanks." He lodged his sitter on the edge of a chair in a temporary manner. "This is a frightful stink, this thing."

  Wolfe's brows went slightly up. "This thing?"

  "This-up at Miltan's. Ludlow. It's murder, you know."

  "I believe it is. You were among those present."
/>
  "Yes, I was, damn it. Of course, you got that from this fellow you sent up there."

  "Excuse me," Wolfe murmured. "I thought you two had met. Mr Barrett, this is Mr Goodwin, my assistant."

  "Oh, we met. We spoke a few words. He was guarding the door, and I asked him to let a young lady through to keep an important appointment, and he wouldn't do it."

  Wolfe nodded. "That was Miss Reade."

  "Oh? He told you that too?"

  "Mr Goodwin tells me everything."

  "I suppose he would. Naturally. He was damn bull-headed about letting Miss Reade out. He said the worst thing she could do was to leave the place and start the cops looking for her; and then, by God, he gets out himself somehow and starts them looking for him!"

  "I know. He goes by whim." Wolfe was sympathetic. "Is that what you came to see me for? To reproach me for Mr Goodwin's behaviour?"

  Barrett looked at him suspiciously, but Wolfe's expression was bland. "No," he said, "I just mentioned it. He was damn bull-headed. There was no reason in the world why Miss Reade should have been kept there. As far as I myself was concerned, I was perfectly willing to stand the inconvenience. But I came to see you regarding another… well, another angle. This fellow that you sent up there-you sent him to represent Miss Tormic, didn't you?"

  "What fellow?"

  "Your assistant, damn it!" His head went sidewise in my direction. "Goodwin."

  "Yes. I'm not really obtuse, Mr Barrett, only I like the custom of designating people by their names; it's so handy. Yes, Mr Goodwin was there in the interest of Miss Tormic."

  "That's what he said."

  "She agreed, didn't she?"

  "Sure. That was all right. But that was about that business of Driscoll's diamonds-the damn fool. What I want to know is, are you still representing her? I mean, in connexion with the murder."

  "Do you ask that question as a curious friend?"

  "Why, I-a friend, yes. It's not just curiosity."

  "Well, I am representing Miss Tormic. What moved you besides curiosity?"

  "Oh, just…" He hesitated. He put his hand up to smooth his straggled hair, shifted in his chair, and cleared his throat. "Frankly, just that I'm a little interested in Miss Tormic, and I should hate it… you know? Such a frightful stink! I only met her a couple of months ago, and I got her and Miss Lovchen their jobs at Miltan's-and I feel some responsibility about that too. She's a stranger in New York, and I wanted to be sure she has proper and competent advice. Of course, if you're representing her…"