“I am.”
“It’s just possible that Miss Tescher is a sensible young woman. If she tries to bull it through on the basis of what was agreed last night, after what has happened, she may end up by wishing she’d never heard of the damn contest. I think the rest of us might get together with her and suggest that we split it up five ways. The first five prizes total eight hundred and seventy thousand dollars, so that would make it one hundred and seventy-four thousand apiece. That ought to satisfy everybody, and I don’t see why you people would object to it. As it stands now—was that a knock at the door?”
“It sounded like it.”
“I told them I didn’t want … oh well. Come in!”
The door opened slowly and there was Carol Wheelock, without coat or hat. As I left my chair she stopped, and apparently was about to turn and scoot, but I spoke. “Hello there. Come on in.”
“Leave the door open,” Younger said.
“I’m here,” I told him.
“I know you are. With a woman in my hotel room the door stays open.”
“I shouldn’t have come.” She stood. “I should have phoned, but with all the wiretapping—”
“It’s all right.” I was moving another chair up. “Mr. Younger is resting because he had a little paroxysm, nothing serious.”
“Crap,” Younger said. “Sit down. I want to talk to you anyway.”
She still hesitated, then came on and sat. If she had eaten anything there was no noticeable result. She looked at me. “Does he know about Miss Frazee?”
I shook my head. “I hadn’t got to that yet.”
She looked at Younger. “I couldn’t reach Miss Tescher, and I wanted to speak to you before Mr. Rollins. You know Miss Frazee is the head of the Women’s Nature League. You remember it was mentioned last evening, and Mr. Dahlmann was very witty about it. He thought it would be amusing for her to win a prize, and of course she was going to, one of the first five.”
“I didn’t think he was witty,” Younger declared.
She didn’t press it. “Well, he thought he was. What I wanted to tell you, three hundred women, members of her league, have been working with Miss Frazee on the contest, and she has sent them the verses we got last night by long distance telephone, and they’re working on them now—three hundred of them.”
“Just a minute,” I put in. “As Mr. Wolfe told you, she said they helped her, but not that they have the new verses. That’s an assumption. I admit it has four legs.”
Younger had raised himself to an elbow, and the open front of his pajama top showed a hairy chest. “Three hundred women?” he demanded.
“Right. So I doubt if you can sell Miss Frazee on your plan to split it five ways. You’ll have to think up—”
“Get out!” he commanded. Not me; it was for Mrs. Wheelock. “Get out of here. I’m getting up and I haven’t got any pants on.—Wait a minute! You’ll be in your room? Stay in your room until you hear from me. I’m going to find Rollins and the three of us are going to fight. We’ll blow it so high they won’t find any pieces. Stay in your room!”
He gave the covers a kick, proving he had been right about the pants, and she ran. I looked at my watch, and took my hat from the back of the chair.
“I have an appointment,” I told him, “and anyway, you’re going to be busy.”
Chapter 7
Up in the plant rooms on the roof it was Cattleya mossiae time. In the cool room, the first one you enter from the vestibule, the odontoglossums were sporting their sprays, and in the middle room, the tropical room, two benches of Phalaenopsis, the hardiest of all to grow well, were crowding the aisle with racemes two feet long, but at mossiae time the big show was in the third room. Of Wolfe’s fourteen varieties of mossiae my favorite was reineckiana, with its white, yellow, lilac, and violet. But then, passing through, I only had time for a glance at them.
Wolfe, in the potting-room, washing his hands at the sink and talking with Theodore, growled at me. “Couldn’t it wait?”
“Just rhetoric,” I said. “It’s ten to six and Miss Tescher may be there when you come down, and you might want a report on Younger before you see her. If not, I’ll go look at orchids.”
“Very well. Since you’re here.”
I gave it to him verbatim. He had no questions and no comments. By the time I finished he had his hands and nails clean and had moved to the workbench to frown at a bedraggled specimen in a pot.
“Look at this Oncidium varicosum,” he grumbled. “Dry rot in April. It has never happened before and there is no explanation. Theodore is certain—”
The buzz of the house phone kept me from learning what Theodore was certain of. Instead, I learned what had upset Fritz downstairs: “Archie, you only told me to admit a Miss Susan Tescher. She has come, but there are three men with her. What do I do?”
“Are they in?”
“Of course not. They’re out on the stoop and it has started to rain.”
I said I’d be right down, told Wolfe Miss Tescher had arrived with outriders, and beat it. I rarely use the elevator, and never squeeze in together with Wolfe’s bulk. Descending the three flights to the main hall, and taking a look through the one-way glass panel, I saw that Fritz’s count was accurate. One female and three males were standing in the April shower, glaring in my direction but not seeing me. The men were strangers but not dicks unless they had changed brands without telling me, and it seemed unnecessary to let them get any wetter, so I went and unbolted the door and swung it open, and in they came. A remark about rain being wet might have been expected from the males, but they started removing their coats with no remarks at all. The female said in a clear strong capable voice, “I’m Susan Tescher.”
I told her who I was and hung her coat up for her. She was fairly tall, slender but not thin, and not at all poorly furnished with features. From a first glance, and I try to make first glances count, everything about her was smart, with the exception of the ear-rings, which were enameled clock dials the size of a quarter. She had gray eyes and brassy hair and very good skin and lipstick.
As we were starting for the office the elevator door opened and Wolfe emerged. He stopped, facing her.
“I’m Susan Tescher,” she said.
He bowed. “I’m Nero Wolfe. And these gentlemen?”
She used a hand. “Mr. Hibbard, of the legal staff of Clock.” Mr. Hibbard was tall and skinny. “Mr. Schultz, an associate editor of Clock.” Mr. Schultz was tall and broad. “Mr. Knudsen, a senior editor of Clock.” Mr. Knudsen was tall and bony.
I had edged on ahead, to be there to get her into the red leather chair, which was where Wolfe always wanted the target, without any fuss. There was no problem. The men were perfectly satisfied with the three smaller chairs I placed for them, off to my right and facing Wolfe at his desk. All three crossed their legs, settled back, and clasped their hands. When I got out my notebook Schultz called Hibbard’s attention, and Hibbard called Knudsen’s attention, but there was no comment.
“If you please,” Wolfe asked, “in what capacity are these gentlemen present?”
He was looking at them, but Miss Tescher answered. “I suppose you know that I am assistant director of research at Clock.”
“At least I know it now.”
“The publicity about the contest, after what happened last night and this morning, and my connection with it, was discussed at a conference this afternoon. I can tell you confidentially that Mr. Tite himself was there. I thought I would be fired, but Mr. Tite is a very fair man and very loyal to his employees. All my work on the contest was done on my own time—of course I’m a highly trained researcher. So it was decided that Mr. Hibbard and Mr. Knudsen and Mr. Schultz should come with me here. They want to be available for advice if I need it.”
“Mr. Hibbard is a counselor-at-law?”
“Yes.”
“Is he your attorney?”
“Why—I don’t—” She looked at Hibbard. He moved his head, once to the left and
back again. “No,” she said, “he isn’t.” She cocked her head. “I want to say something.”
“Go ahead.”
“I came here only as a favor to Lippert, Buff and Assa, because Mr. Assa asked me to. The conditions for breaking the tie in the contest were agreed to last evening by all of us, and they can be changed only by changing the agreement, and it remains the same. So there is really nothing to discuss. That’s the way it looks to me and I wanted you to understand it.”
Wolfe grunted. She went on, “But of course there’s nothing personal about it—I mean personal towards you. I happen to know a lot about you because I researched you two years ago, when you were on the list of cover prospects for Clock, but don’t ask me why they didn’t use you because I don’t know. Of course there are always dozens on the list, and they can’t all—”
Knudsen cleared his throat, rather loud, and she looked at him. There was no additional signal that I caught, but evidently she didn’t need one. She let it lay. Returning to Wolfe, “So,” she said, “it’s not personal. It’s just that there is nothing to discuss.”
“From your point of view,” Wolfe conceded, “there probably isn’t. And naturally, for you, as a consequence of the peculiar constitution of the human ego, your point of view is paramount. But your ego is bound to be jostled by other egos, and efforts to counteract the jostling by ignoring it have rarely succeeded. It is frequently advisable, and sometimes necessary, to give a little ground. For example, suppose I ask you for information in which you have no monopoly because it is shared with others. Suppose I ask you: at the meeting last evening, after Mr. Dahlmann displayed a paper and said it contained the answers, what remarks were made about it by any of the contestants? What did you say, and what did you hear any of them say?”
“Are you supposing or asking?”
“I’m asking.”
She looked at Knudsen. His head moved. At Schultz. His head moved. At Hibbard. His head moved. She returned to Wolfe. “When Mr. Assa asked me to come to see you he said it was about the contest, and that has no bearing on it.”
“Then you decline to answer?”
“Yes, I think I should.”
“The police must have asked you. Did you decline to answer?”
“I don’t think I should tell you anything about what the police asked me or what I said to them.”
“Nor, evidently, anything about what the other contestants have said to you or you have said to them.”
“My contact with the other contestants has been very limited. Just that meeting last evening.”
Wolfe lifted a hand and ran a finger tip along the side of his nose a few times. He was being patient. “I may say, Miss Tescher, that my contact with the other contestants, mine and Mr. Goodwin’s, has been a little broader. Several courses have been suggested. One was that all five of you agree that the first five prizes be pooled, and that each of you accept one-fifth of the total as your share. The suggestion was not made by my clients or by me; I am merely asking you, without prejudice, would you consider such a proposal?”
She didn’t need guidance on that one. “Of course I wouldn’t. Why should I?”
“So you don’t concede that the manner of Mr. Dahlmann’s death, and the circumstances, call for reconsideration of anything whatever connected with the contest?”
She pushed her head forward, and it reminded me of something, I couldn’t remember what. She said slowly and distinctly and positively, “I don’t concede anything at all, Mr. Wolfe.”
She pulled her head back, and I remembered. A vulture I had seen at the zoo—exactly the same movement. Aside from the movement there was no resemblance; certainly the vulture hadn’t looked anything like as smart as she did, and had no lipstick, no earrings, and no hair on its head.
“All the same,” Wolfe persisted, “there are the other egos and other viewpoints. I accept the validity of yours, but theirs cannot be brushed aside. Each of you has made a huge investment of time and energy and ingenuity. How much time have you spent on it since the beginning?”
“I don’t know. Hundreds and hundreds of hours.”
“The rules didn’t forbid help. Have you had any?”
“No. A friend of mine with a large library let me use it nights and early mornings before I went to work, but she didn’t help. I’m very expert at researching. When they gave me five to do in one week, to break the tie—that was on March twenty-eighth—I took a week off without pay.”
Wolfe nodded. “And of course the others made similar sacrifices and endured similar strains. Look at them now. They are detained here willy-nilly, far from their base of operations, by no fault of their own—except possibly for one of them, but that’s moot. Whereas you’re at home and can proceed as usual. You have an overwhelming advantage and it is fortuitous. Can you pursue it without a qualm? Can you justify it?”
“I don’t have to justify it. We made an agreement and I’m not breaking it. And I can’t proceed as usual—if I could I’d be at the library now, working. I’ve got another week off, but I had to spend today with the police and the conference at the office and now here with you. I’ll work tonight, but I don’t know what tomorrow will be like.”
“Would you accept an invitation to meet with the others and discuss a new arrangement?”
“I would not. There’s nothing to discuss.”
“You are admirably single-minded, Miss Tescher.” Wolfe leaned back with his elbows on the chair arms and matched his finger tips. “I must tell you about Miss Frazee—she is in a situation comparable to yours. Her home is in Los Angeles, where three hundred of her friends, fellow members of a league of which she is president, have worked with her on the contest throughout. It is presumed, though not established, that she has telephoned them the verses that were distributed last evening, and that they are busy with them. A situation comparable to yours, though by no means identical. Have you any comment?”
She was staring at him, speechless.
“Because,” Wolfe went on, “while there may be no infraction of the rules or the agreement, it is surely an unfair advantage—even against you, since you have already lost a day and there’s no telling how much you’ll be harassed the rest of the week; but Miss Frazee’s friends can proceed unhampered. Don’t you think that’s worth discussing?”
From the look on Susan’s face she would have liked to discuss it with Miss Frazee herself, with fingernails and teeth at ten inches. Before she found any words Knudsen arose, crooked his finger at the other two men and at Susan, and headed for the door. They all got up and followed. Wolfe sat and gazed at their receding backs. Not knowing whether they were adjourning or only taking a recess, I sat pat until I saw that Schultz, out last, was shutting the door to the hall, then I thought I’d better investigate, put down my notebook, went to the door and opened it, and crossed the sill. The quartet was in a close huddle over by the big walnut rack.
“Need any help?” I asked brightly.
“No,” Susan said. “We’re conferring.”
I re-entered the office, closed the door, and told Wolfe, “They’re in conference. If I go in the front room and put my ear to the keyhole of the door to the hall I can catch it. After all, it’s your house.”
“Pfui,” he said, and shut his eyes. I treated myself to a good yawn and stretch, and looked at my wrist. Twenty to seven.
For the second time that day we had a king-size wait. At six-forty-five I turned on the radio to see how the Giants had made out with the Phillies, and got no glow out of that. I would have gone to the kitchen for a glass of milk, since dinner would be late, but the only route was through the rear of the hall, and I didn’t want to disturb the conference. At six-fifty-five I reminded Wolfe that Harold Rollins was due in five minutes, and he only nodded without opening his eyes. At seven-two the doorbell rang, and I went.
Still in a huddle at the rack, they broke off as I appeared and gave me their faces. Out on the stoop was a lone male. I went on by the huddle, opened the
door, and said, “Mr. Rollins? Come in.”
My own idea would have been to put him in the front room until the conference was over and we had got the score, but if Wolfe had wanted that he would have said so, and I’m perfectly willing to let him have things his way unless his ego is jostling mine. So I took Rollins’ hat and coat and ushered him along to the office. I was inside too and was shutting the door when Susan’s voice came. “Mr. Goodwin!”
I pulled the door to with me on the hall side. As I approached she asked, “Wasn’t that one of them? The one named Rollins?”
“Right. Harold Rollins, Burlington, Iowa, professor of history at Bemis College.”
She looked at her pals. Their heads all moved, an inch to the left and back again. She looked at me. “Mr. Wolfe asked me if I had any comment about what he told me about Miss Frazee. He asked me if I thought it was worth discussing. I have no comment now, but I will have. It’s absolutely outrageous to expect—”
A quick tug at her sleeve by Knudsen stopped her. She shot him a glance and then pushed her head forward at me. “No comment!” she shrilled, and turned to reach to the rack for her coat. The men simultaneously reached for theirs.
“If you gentlemen don’t mind,” I said, perfectly friendly, “my grandmother out in Ohio used to ask me if the cat had my tongue. I’ve always wondered about it. Was it a cat in your case?”
No soap. Not a peep. I gave up and opened the door to let them out.
Chapter 8
Back in the office, I attended to the lights before going to my desk. There are eight different lights—one in the ceiling above a big bowl of banded Oriental alabaster, which is on the wall switch, one on the wall behind Wolfe’s chair, one on his desk, one on my desk, one flooding the big globe, and three for the book shelves. The one on Wolfe’s desk is strictly for business, like crossword puzzles. The one on the wall behind him is for reading. He likes all the others turned on, and after making the rounds I sat, picked up my notebook, and gave Harold Rollins a look.
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