Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 01

by Fer-De-Lance

  “Oh no,” I said. “Whatever you bet on, don’t bet on that. I haven’t finished yet with Nero Wolfe’s bet. The rest of it is that somewhere in Barstow’s belly, probably just below the stomach, somewhere between one and three inches in from the skin, will be found a short, sharp, thin needle, probably of steel but possibly of very hard wood. It will be pointing upward, approximately at an angle of forty-five degrees if not deflected by a bone.”

  Derwin kept staring at me. When I stopped he tried his trick laugh again, but it didn’t work so well. “This is about as big a bunch of nonsense as I’ve ever heard,” he said. “I suppose there is a point to it somewhere, if you’re not crazy too.”

  “There’s a point all right.” I reached in my pocket for the check Wolfe had given me. “There are very few people in the world who would risk ten thousand on a bunch of nonsense, and you can take it from me that Nero Wolfe isn’t one of them. Peter Oliver Barstow was murdered, and he’s got that needle in him. I say it, Nero Wolfe says it, and this ten grand says it. That’s a lot of testimony, Mr. Derwin.”

  The lawyer was beginning to look not nearly as happy and pleased as he had when I went in. He got up from his chair and then sat down again. I waited. He said, “It’s preposterous. Absolutely preposterous.”

  “Wolfe isn’t betting on that.” I grinned. “He’s just betting that it’s true.”

  “But it can’t be. It’s merely preposterous and—and monstrous. Whatever the stunt may be you’re trying to pull, you’ve hit the wrong man; I happen to be acquainted with the Barstow family and therefore know the facts. I won’t recite them to you; such idiotic nonsense. Do you know who signed the death certificate? I don’t suppose—”

  “Sure,” I put in, “Dr. Nathaniel Bradford. Coronary thrombosis. But if all the doctors in the world were as good as him, and if they all said coronary thrombosis, Nero Wolfe’s money is still right here ready to talk.”

  I had seen the change come over Derwin’s face; he had got over his shock and was now ready to be clever. His voice was sharp. “See here, what’s your game?”

  “No game at all. None. Except to win ten grand.”

  “Let me see that check.”

  I handed it to him. He looked it over thoroughly and then pulled his desk telephone over, took off the receiver and in a moment spoke to someone: “Miss Ritter, please get me the Thirty-fourth Street branch of the Metropolitan Trust Company.” He sat and looked at the check and I folded my arms and got patient. When the bell rang he took the phone again and began asking questions, plenty of them; he certainly made sure there could be no mistake. When he hung up I said pleasantly:

  “Anyway we’re getting started, now that you know it’s real dollars.”

  He paid no attention, but just sat frowning at the check. Finally he said in a shrewd voice, “Do you mean that you are actually empowered to wager this money on that proposition as you stated it?”

  “Yes, sir. That check is made out to me, and certified. I can endorse it just like that. If you want to phone Wolfe, the number is Bryant nine, two-eight-two-eight. In order to avoid any misunderstanding, I would suggest that you have your stenographer type a memorandum of the details for us to sign. I should tell you that Wolfe undertakes to furnish no reasons or suggestions or clues and will not discuss the matter. It’s a bet, that’s all.”

  “Bet, hell. You’re not expecting any bet. Who do you expect to bet with you, Westchester County?”

  I grinned. “We hoped for Mr. Anderson, but lacking him we’re not particular. Anyone with ten thousand dollars; Wolfe wouldn’t care; a chief of police or a newspaper editor or maybe some prominent Democrat with a strong sense of civic duty.”

  “Indeed!”

  “Yes, sir, indeed. My instructions are to do my best to get the money covered before dark.”

  Derwin got up, kicking his chair back. “Hah! Bet? Bluff.”

  “You think so, sir? Try me. Try covering it.”

  Evidently he had decided something, for with my words he was crossing the room. At the door he turned to say, “Will you wait here for me ten minutes? I imagine you will, since I have your check in my pocket.”

  It wasn’t endorsed. He was gone before I could toss a nod at him. I settled down to wait. How was it going, I wondered. Had I passed up any advantages? Would it have been better to postpone my last threat for more stubbornness if he had it in him? How could I force him to act quick? And after all, did this third-rater have the authority or the guts to undertake a thing like this with his boss gone? What Wolfe wanted was quick action; of course I knew he no more expected a bet than I expected him to give me the ten grand for my birthday; he was after an autopsy and that needle. I could see now how he had guessed the needle, but how he had ever connected it with Carlo Maffei in the first place—I stopped myself to switch back to the immediate job. If this Derwin laid down and played dead on me, where would I go next? Between four and six I would have to use my own judgment; I wouldn’t dare to interrupt Wolfe with a phone call while he was upstairs with the damn plants. It was now two-fifty. Derwin had been gone ten minutes. I began to feel silly. What if he left me sitting there holding my fingers all afternoon, and him with the check? If I let a third-rate brief-shark do that to me I’d never be able to look Wolfe in his big fat face again. I should never have let him out of my sight, certainly not without getting the check back. I jumped out of my chair and crossed the room, but at the door I calmed down and took it easy; softly I turned the knob and pulled and stuck my head out. There was a dinky hall leading to the outer office, and I could hear the girl on the telephone.

  “No, operator, person-to-person. No one but Mr. Anderson will do.”

  I waited till she had hung up, then I went on out and over to her desk. “Would it be much bother to tell me where Mr. Derwin has gone to?”

  She seemed interested in me; she took a good look. But she answered straight enough. “He’s in Mr. Anderson’s room telephoning.”

  “You wouldn’t lie to me just for practice?”

  “I don’t need any practice, thanks.”

  “All right. If you don’t mind, I’ll try one of these chairs. It was awful in there all alone.”

  I sat down within three feet of the entrance door, and I had no sooner got disposed than the door opened and a man came in, a husky, busy-looking man in a blue suit and black shoes, with a stiff straw hat. From where I sat, as he went toward the girl with his back to me, it was easy to see that he had a gun on his hip. The girl said, “Howdedo, Mr. Cook, Mr. Derwin’s in Mr. Anderson’s room.” When the man had gone on through another door I said to the girl, “Ben Cook maybe?” She nodded without looking at me, and I grinned, and sat and waited.

  It was all of fifteen minutes more before the door of Anderson’s room opened again and Derwin appeared and called to me, “Come in here, Goodwin.”

  I went. When I got inside and saw that they had actually staged me it was too funny not to laugh. Ben Cook was in a chair that had been drawn alongside the one by the desk—that one of course for Derwin—and one had been placed just right for me, quite close and facing them and the light.

  “Amused, huh,” the husky man grunted. Derwin waited till he was back in his chair to inform me. “This is the chief of police.”

  I was pretending to blink at the light. “Don’t tell me,” I said. “Do you think Ben Cook’s reputation stops at Bronx Park?”

  Derwin went stern on me. Lord, it was funny. He even went so far as to shake a finger at me. “Goodwin, I’ve been pretty busy for half an hour, and now I’m ready to tell you what comes next. You’ll tell us what you know, if anything, while we’re waiting for Wolfe. What reason have you—”

  I hated to interrupt the show, but I couldn’t help it. It was involuntary. “Waiting for Wolfe? Here?”

  “Certainly, here. If he knows what’s good for him, and I think I made that plain on the telephone.”

  I didn’t laugh. I just said, “Listen, Mr. Derwin. This is one of your b
ad days. You never had a chance at so many rotten bets in your life. Nero Wolfe is about as apt to come here as I am to tell you who killed Barstow.”

  “Yeah?” It was Ben Cook. “You’ll tell us plenty. Plenty.”

  “Maybe. But I won’t tell you who killed Barstow, because I don’t know. Now if you want to ask about roads, for instance—”

  “Cut it out.” Derwin got sterner. “Goodwin, you have made a most startling accusation in a most sensational manner. I won’t pretend that I have a lot of questions ready for you, because I obviously have nothing to base them on. I have just one question, and I want a prompt and complete answer. For what reason and for what purpose did your employer send you here today?”

  I sighed and looked solemn. “I’ve told you, Mr. Derwin, to get a bet down.”

  “Come on, act as if you had some sense. You can’t get away with that, you know damn well you can’t. Come on. Let’s hear it.”

  Ben Cook said, “Don’t try to be bright. You’d be surprised how we treat bright boys up here sometimes.”

  I could have kept it going all night, I suppose, if I had wanted to, but time was passing and they gave me a pain. I said, “Listen a minute, gentlemen. Of course you’re peeved and that’s too bad, but I can’t help it. Let’s say I tell you to go to hell and get up and walk out, what are you going to do—? Yes, Chief, I know it’s only a short distance to the station, but I’m not going that way. Honest, you’re acting like a pair of dumb flatfeet. I’m surprised at you, Mr. Derwin. Nero Wolfe offers to let you in right at the beginning of a big thing, and the first thing you do is spill it to Ben Cook and the next is to drive me to take it away from both of you and toss it to the wolves. You can’t touch me, don’t be silly. Nero Wolfe would love a suit for false arrest, and I never go to police stations except to visit friends unless you can show me a warrant, and think how funny it would be after the reporters got my story and then the proof followed of Barstow’s murder. As a matter of fact, I’m beginning to get a little bit sore and I’ve got half a mind to demand that check back and walk out on you. Get this: I’ll tell you exactly nothing. You understand that maybe? Now you can give me that check or talk sense yourself.”

  Derwin sat with his arms folded and looked at me without making any effort to open his mouth. Ben Cook said, “So you’ve come out to the country to show the hayseeds how it’s done. Sonny, I’m plenty big enough to take you to the station with nothing at all but the inclination. That’s all I need.”

  “You can afford to be breezy,” I told him. “Derwin has handed you a firecracker that he might have to set off himself, and you know it.” I turned to Derwin. “Who did you telephone to in New York? Headquarters?”

  “No. The District Attorney.”

  “Did you get him?”

  Derwin unfolded his arms, pulled himself back in his chair and looked at me helplessly. “I got Morley.”

  I nodded. “Dick Morley. What did he tell you?”

  He told me that if Nero Wolfe was offering to bet ten thousand dollars on anything whatever he would appreciate it if I’d take him on for another thousand, only he would give me ten to one.”

  I was too sore to grin. I said, “And still you invite me in here to tea instead of getting a spade and beating it to Agawalk Cemetery. I repeat that I’ll tell you nothing and Wolfe will tell you nothing, but if ever you had a sure thing to go on it’s right now. The next thing to do is to give me back that check, and then what?”

  Derwin let out a sigh and cleared his throat, but he had to clear it again. “Goodwin,” he said, “I’ll be frank with you. I’m out of my depth. That’s not for publication, Ben, but it’s a fact anyhow. I’m clear out of my depth. Good Lord, don’t you know what it would mean—an exhumation and autopsy on Peter Oliver Barstow?”

  I put in, “Rot. Any of a dozen excuses is enough.”

  “Well, maybe I’m not good at excuses. Anyway, I know that family. I can’t do it. I’ve telephoned Anderson at Lake Placid and couldn’t get him. I’ll have him before six o’clock, before seven sure. He can take a sleeper and be here tomorrow morning. He can decide it then.”

  “That lets today out,” I said.

  “Yes. Not a chance. I won’t do it.”

  “All right.” I got up. “I’ll go down to the corner and phone Wolfe and see if he’ll wait that long, and if he says okay I’ll head south away from the hayseeds. I might as well have that check.”

  Derwin took it from his pocket and handed it to me.

  I grinned at Ben Cook. “Shall I give you a lift as far as the station, Chief?”

  “Run along, sonny, run along.”

  Chapter 5

  Wolfe was as nice as pie that evening. I got home in time to eat dinner with him. He wouldn’t let me say anything about White Plains until the meal was over; in fact, there wasn’t any conversation to speak of about anything, for he had the radio going. He was accustomed to say that this was the perfect era for the sedentary man; formerly such a man could satisfy any amount of curiosity regarding bygone times by sitting down with Gibbon or Ranke or Tacitus or Greene but if he wanted to meet his contemporaries he had to take to the highways, whereas the man of today, tiring for the moment of Galba or Vitellius, had only to turn on the radio and resume his chair. One program Wolfe rarely missed was the Joy Boys. I never knew why. He would side with his fingers interlaced on his belly, his eyes half closed, and his mouth screwed up as if there was something in it he would spit out any minute. Frequently I went for a walk at that time, but of course when dinner was a little early so that it came then I was caught. I have my radio favorites all right, but the Joy Boys seem to me pretty damn vulgar. In the office after dinner it didn’t take me long to report. I hated apologizing to Wolfe because he was so invariably nice about it; he always took it for granted that I had done everything possible and that there was nothing to criticize but the contrariety of the environment, as he put it. He made no comments and didn’t seem much interested in the report or the apology either. I tried to get him started, tried for instance to find out if he had really had some sort of wild idea that I might kid a District Attorney into covering a bet of ten thousand dollars just like that, but he only stayed nice and quiet. I asked him if he thought it likely that I could have taken any line at all that would have persuaded Derwin to start the digging that afternoon. He said probably not.

  “Frogs don’t fly.” He was sitting at his desk examining with a magnifying glass the rostellum from a Cymbidium Alexanderi that Horstmann had brought down wilty on the stem. “He would have needed a touch of imagination, just a touch, but I would judge from your description that he lacks it. I beg you not to reproach yourself. This affair may prove unprofitable in the end. With Fletcher M. Anderson it might have been different. He is a rich man with professional ambitions, and no fool. He might easily have reflected that if a quiet and unadvertised autopsy proved me wrong he would win ten thousand dollars; if it proved me right he would have to pay me, but he would get a remarkable and sensational case in return, and he might also infer that having pocketed his money I would have further information to be placed at his disposal. Your errand at White Plains was in essence a primitive business enterprise: an offer to exchange something for something else. If Mr. Anderson had only been there he would probably have seen it so. It may yet materialze; it is still worth some small effort. I believe though it is getting ready to rain.”

  “What are you doing now, changing the subject?” I stuck to the chair near his desk, though I saw that I was being regarded as a mild nuisance, for I had some questions to ask. “It was clouding up as I came in. Is it going to rain all over your clues?”

  He was placid, still bent over the magnifying glass. “Some day, Archie, when I decide you are no longer worth tolerating, you will have to marry a woman of very modest mental capacity to get an appropriate audience for your wretched sarcasms. When I mentioned the rain I had your own convenience and comfort in mind. This afternoon it struck me as desirable that y
ou should visit Sullivan Street, but tomorrow will do as well.

  It was hard to believe unless you were as well acquainted with him as I was; I knew that he was really serious, he thought that leaving the house at any time was an unpleasant venture, but to go out in the rain was next to foolhardy. I said, “What do you think I am, the Chinese army? Of course I’ll go. That was one of my questions. Why do you suppose Anna Fiore closed up so hard on O’Grady? Because he wasn’t all grace and charm like you and me?”

  “Likely. Excellent conjecture, Archie. The more so because when I sent Panzer for her today she confessed only reluctantly to her name and she would not budge. So your grace and charm will be needed. If it would be convenient have her here in the morning at eleven. It’s not of great importance but can do no harm for passing the time, and such stubbornness deserves a siege.”

  “I’ll go get her now.”

  “No. Really. Tomorrow. Sit down. I would prefer to have you here, idle and useless, while I purposelessly inspect this futile flower. Futile and sterile apparently. As I have remarked before, to have you with me like this is always refreshing because it constantly reminds me how distressing it would be to have someone present—a wife, for instance—whom I could not dismiss at will.”

  “Yes, sir.” I grinned. “Go on with the rest of it.”

  “Not just now. Not with the rain falling. I dislike it.”

  “All right, then tell me a few things. How did you know Carlo Maffei had been murdered? How do you know Barstow was poisoned? How do you know he’s got a needle in him? Of course I see how it got there since you had the boy from Corliss Holmes show us, but how did you get that far?”

  Wolfe laid down his magnifying glass and sighed. I knew I was making him uncomfortable, but aside from curiosity it was a matter of business. He never seemed to realize that while it was all very well for me to feel in my bones that he would never get us committed to a mistake, I could do my part with a little more intelligence if I knew what was making the wheels go round. I don’t believe he ever would have opened up once, on any case big or little, if I hadn’t kept nudging him.