“Yes, yes I would,” she said, pulling out a checkbook and starting to write. “But what about the blackmail? Will you continue to represent me? I can give you a retainer, and knowing your reputation, I am sure it should be for far more than a thousand dollars.”
“No, the amount I quoted will be sufficient for now,” Wolfe said. “Do you feel that after last night’s events, the blackmailer will continue to beset you?”
Cordelia shook her head. “I … just don’t know. I can’t say.”
“Let us see what, if anything, develops in the next few days, Miss Hutchinson. For now, Mr. Goodwin will escort you home in a taxi. You should not be venturing forth alone with that amount of money in your possession.”
As usual, Wolfe had volunteered me for a task without bothering to inform me in advance. This would, of course, mean my having a late dinner in the kitchen, since Wolfe does not delay his own dining for anything less than an earthquake—which New York rarely, if ever, gets—or a power failure. Now that I think of it, we once did have the lights go out in the middle of dinner, and on that occasion, the lord and master of the house simply had Fritz bring a candelabra into the dining room.
Chapter 14
Once we and the oh-so-precious attaché case were inside a cab and headed north, Cordelia leaned over, put a hand on my arm, and whispered, “I am so glad that you were not hurt badly, Archie.”
“We are in definite agreement on that,” I said. “Do you have any further thoughts about what happened in the park?”
She pulled away and stiffened. “Of course not. As I said in your office, I don’t know what to make of it all.”
We rode the rest of the way to Sutton Place in silence. For those unfamiliar with Manhattan geography, Sutton, a short, north-and-south thoroughfare on the Upper East Side, has long been a symbol of affluence and a home to the famous and fortunate. When someone in town becomes highly successful, Lon Cohen is fond of saying, “He just punched his ticket to Sutton Place.”
The cab pulled up to the Hutchinsons’ co-op building, a ten-story brick fortress fronted by an arched green canopy. The entrance was protected by a tall doorman clad in an elaborate blue-and-gold uniform only slightly more elegant than those worn by the guardsmen who wow tourists daily at Buckingham Palace. He actually saluted as we climbed out of the taxi.
“Evening, Miss Hutchinson,” he said.
“Good evening, Brewster. Nice weather we’re having, isn’t it?”
He nodded smartly, saluting again, as I handed Cordelia the case full of lettuce. We said our brief good-byes, and I climbed into the Yellow Cab.
Back in the kitchen of the brownstone, I ate lobster from a heated plate as Fritz fussed over me.
“How are you feeling, Archie?” he asked, his face full of concern.
“Contrary to anything you may have heard, the patient will survive,” I told him between bites. “And the best medicine, far and away, is your skill with a skillet and a stove and an oven and … I could go on and on, but you get the idea. You are a miracle worker.”
He blushed but followed it with a frown. “You are using the front door again. Is that safe?”
“Mr. Wolfe and I believe so,” I half-lied. “There is some dessert left, isn’t there? Or did our employer eat it all?”
That got a smile, a broad one. He turned to a cabinet and pulled out a plate holding a fat wedge of blueberry pie, baked earlier that day. “You would like ice cream with it?” he asked.
“Just how long have you known me, Fritz?” I didn’t wait for his answer, handing the pie back to him so that he could do the à la mode number on it with his ice cream scoop.
When I got to the office with a cup of coffee, Wolfe was seated at his desk reading his latest book, The Struggle for Europe by Chester Wilmot. I parked at my desk and pivoted to face him.
He dog-eared a page, closed the book, and set it on his blotter. “The young lady and the money were returned home without event.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course. With me on the case, could you expect anything less?”
When he didn’t answer, I added, “The young lady was hardly chatty during our ride up to that famous street paved with gold.”
“This is an interesting time for Miss Hutchinson,” Wolfe remarked, “and it may become more interesting.”
“Meaning?”
“She has a great deal to think about at the moment. It will be instructive to learn where those thoughts lead her.”
“That’s cryptic.”
“It was not meant to be. How are you feeling?”
“A little sore here, a little sore there. I try not to think about it. But since you asked, I’m more tired than is usually the case at this hour. It’s time for me to turn in.”
Wolfe nodded and returned to his book.
The next morning, I finished breakfast and had just settled in at my desk with coffee when the phone jangled. I gave my usual “Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking.”
“Goodwin? Oh yeah, you’re Wolfe’s dogsbody, aren’t you?” a gruff voice asked.
“I need to know the definition of that word before answering,” I told him, “but for the record, I do happen to be in the employ of Nero Wolfe.”
“Well listen, Goodwin, this is Parkhurst Hutchinson. That name mean anything to you?”
“I’m not sure that I have heard it before.”
“Huh. So you say, but I don’t believe you for a second. I am in the newspapers all the time. You may see it if you happen to read the business pages. And my daughter just happens to be a client of your boss.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hutchinson, but I am not able to discuss or even identify any clients without Mr. Wolfe’s permission. And he is not likely to discuss them, either, although I cannot speak for him.”
“Oh, cut the crap, Goodwin. This is my daughter I’m talking about, and I want to see Wolfe—today!”
“Mr. Wolfe is otherwise occupied at the moment, but I will relay the message to him.”
“You had damned well better, ace. And while you’re at it, stop trying to sound like Jeeves. I want to hear from him this morning, or by God, I will be banging on your door until it comes off its hinges. I realize he doesn’t leave his home on business, but I know where the fat man lives.”
He gave me a telephone number. I started to reply, but the line went dead. I began to dial up Wolfe in the greenhouse on the roof, where he and Theodore Horstmann were nurturing one of the world’s greatest collections of orchids as usual, but I had bothered him during his greenhouse time very recently and chose not to do it again. Besides, I was so put off by Parkhurst Hutchinson and his use of dogsbody and ace that, as far as I was concerned, he could wait forever to hear from Nero Wolfe. And I didn’t understand the Jeeves reference, but I had a pretty good idea it was meant as an insult.
When Wolfe came down from the plant rooms at eleven and rang for beer, I waited until he got himself settled. “Care to guess who called this morning?” I asked with a grin.
Knowing how much he hates guessing games, I was not surprised when he made a face.
“Parkhurst Hutchinson. Does that name mean anything to you?” I said, repeating the question I had gotten from our angry caller.
I was rewarded with a glower. “Of course it does. Report.”
“Mr. Hutchinson wants to see you—today. He says he’s ready to tear our front door clean off its hinges.”
Wolfe raised his eyebrows. “Is he indeed?”
I gave him the rest of our mercifully brief conversation. “He must think you have been abusing his youngest daughter. I’ll call back and tell him to push a boulder up a mountain.”
“Pfui. Telephone the man and tell him to be here at nine.”
“Do I at least have permission to be rude to him on the phone?”
“You do not. The way I may re
act in his presence is a different matter.”
I picked up my phone and dialed the number Hutchinson gave me earlier. A businesslike female voice told me I had reached “The Great Eastern and Pacific Railway System.” When she asked with whom I wished to speak, I gave Hutchinson’s name, then mine, telling her I was returning his call. I nodded to Wolfe to pick up his receiver.
“Ah, Goodwin, the loyal dogsbody. Hah! I figured that I would be hearing from you,” Hutchinson snorted. “Did you get me set up with your boss for today?”
“Mr. Hutchinson, this is Nero Wolfe. I expect you to be here at nine tonight, and alone.”
“Sorry, Mr. Wolfe, I will be at the annual banquet of the National Railroad Executives Association at the Churchill Hotel, which figures to last until at least eleven. I will come at five this afternoon, period.”
“Sir, I will not be available at that hour. If you insist on seeing me, it is nine o’clock or not at all, period.”
“Who the hell do you think you are?”
“I know very well who I am. If you wish to see me, it will be on my terms and in my office.”
Hutchinson let loose with a few words not worth repeating, then took what sounded like a deep breath. “Do you treat everybody this way?” he demanded.
“Only when I am faced with an ultimatum,” Wolfe said.
Another deep breath. “All right, nine it is, but by God, you had better come up with some answers for me.”
“That depends entirely upon the questions you ask, sir.”
Hutchinson swore again, then hung up.
“Sure you want to invite this guy into our house?” I said.
“We have hosted worse,” Wolfe replied, turning to his beer.
A few minutes before nine that night, I restocked the drink cart in the office. I had told Wolfe that, based on two brief phone conversations, Hutchinson didn’t seem like someone we should waste good alcohol on, but he pointed out, as he had numerous times, that “a guest is a jewel on the cushion of hospitality.”
“Some jewel,” I grumped.
The front doorbell chimed at nine sharp. As viewed through the one-way glass in the front door, Parkhurst Hutchinson looked like I expected him to: medium height, stocky, well dressed in a double-breasted three-piece suit, and wearing a homburg atop his head and a surly expression on his round, ruddy face.
“Yes?” I said, swinging the door open. “Can I help you?”
“Cut the comedy,” he rasped. “You know who I am and why I’m here.”
“I normally ask for some type of identification before I let anyone in, but you look harmless enough. Step across the threshold.”
Hutchinson shot me a glare that would have wilted a lesser man, but I merely smiled and took his hat as he entered, hanging it on the coat rack in the hall. “Follow me,” I ordered, leading him to the office and directing him to the red leather chair.
“Where’s Wolfe?” he barked as he sat.
“He will be along shortly. Can I get you something to drink? We have a good scotch, a good rye, a good gin, and a good almost-anything-else-you-could-possibly-want.”
“I don’t need anything, dammit, and—oh, what the hell, I’ll have a scotch on the rocks,” Hutchinson said.
I poured and handed him the drink. As he was taking a sip, Wolfe strode in, having waited in the kitchen until I pressed the buzzer under his center desk drawer, which is also the buzzer he normally uses to call for beer.
“Good evening, sir,” Wolfe said as he detoured around his desk and sat. “I see Mr. Goodwin already has provided you with refreshments. I am about to have beer myself.”
“I did not come here to socialize,” Hutchinson said, sticking out the uppermost of his double chins. “I want to talk to you about my daughter.”
“Really?” Wolfe purred. “Do I know your daughter?”
“Don’t try playing your hotshot detective games with me, Wolfe,” Hutchinson said with a snarl. “I know all about you and how you bilk your clients. I’ve had you investigated. I’m on to you.”
“It is good to know you have done your homework, sir,” Wolfe said as Fritz brought in beer and set it on the desk. “It saves time on introductions.”
“And whether you know a lot about me or not, you must be aware of my name, which is in the papers all the time. I am Parkhurst Hutchinson, as I am sure you know, although my friends call me Park.”
“I prefer Mr. Hutchinson,” Wolfe said dryly. If the railroad tycoon took that as an insult, he did not show it.
“All right, let’s get down to business,” Hutchinson said. “I’m here on a very serious matter.”
“As is everyone who sits in that chair.”
“Don’t try to play this down. It’s my youngest daughter we’re talking about, dammit. I want to know why she is seeing you. And don’t try to deny it. Cordelia’s been acting strangely of late, and I got our maid, who Cordelia confides in, to admit that she has visited you. I had to squeeze it out of her by threatening to fire her. If that shocks you, too bad. That’s how I have to operate to get things done sometimes.” Hutchinson sat back in the chair, folding his arms across his chest and smirking.
“How old is your daughter?” Wolfe asked.
“Twenty-four. What of it?”
“She is well into her majority. I suggest you ask her yourself to discuss her actions with you.”
“She may be twenty-four chronologically, but emotionally and in other ways, she’s more like a teenager,” Hutchinson huffed, “and I sure as hell don’t want people like you taking advantage of her innocence.”
Wolfe drank beer and set the glass down, dabbing his lips with a handkerchief. “So you have no idea why she might want to use the services of an investigator?”
“I asked her, but she just clammed up on me,” Hutchinson said, now sounding less cocky.
“If your daughter does not choose to share her concerns with you, I can only offer my sympathy,” Wolfe said.
“So you do not deny she has hired you?”
“I neither admit nor deny it, sir. Nor do I see any reason to justify my actions to you.”
“What if I was to hire you?”
Wolfe looked surprised. “For what purpose?”
“To, uh, help my daughter with whatever her problem is. The maid also told me that Cordelia feels very comfortable with your man here.” Hutchinson shot a glance in my direction.
“So you are suggesting that I would in effect function as a spy, reporting to you about your daughter’s activities.”
“I would not put it that way,” the railroad millionaire said, trying without success to act offended. I found it hard to believe he was ever offended.
“A rose by any other name. I am sorry, sir, but I am not for sale,” Wolfe told him. “And moments ago, you expressed concern about ‘people like me’ taking advantage of your daughter’s innocence. I can see no further benefit to either of us in continuing this conversation.”
“That’s a damned high-handed attitude you’ve got, Wolfe!” Hutchinson rasped, standing and turning toward the doorway.
Wolfe watched without reaction as the enraged man stomped out and down the hall with me in his wake. Before I could reach his homburg, he plucked it off the rack and opened the front door. He would have slammed it behind him if I hadn’t stopped it in mid-arc. He hurried down the seven steps to the street and climbed into the backseat of a burgundy Lincoln limousine idling at the curb. The uniformed chauffeur pulled away smoothly as I waved, but because it was dark, I don’t know if the gesture got returned.
When I got back to the office, Wolfe was signing the letters I had typed earlier. “Well, you may have just missed a chance at one dandy payday,” I said.
“How would you have felt if I had accepted Mr. Hutchinson’s offer?”
“Lousy.”
“Not the
word I would have chosen, but it suffices,” he said. “However, I feel confident that we have not seen the last of Mr. Hutchinson.”
“Really? Do you care to expound on that?”
“I do not,” he said, turning back to his correspondence.
Chapter 15
The next morning, I had just settled myself in the office when the telephone rang. Not a good sign as of late. I had begun toying with the idea of not answering before at least ten a.m., and telling Fritz to likewise let it ring. Trouble seems to come early. It did again.
“Hello, Archie, old pal.” It was the unmistakable voice of Lon Cohen of the Gazette.
“It’s the ‘old pal’ part of that greeting that makes me nervous,” I said. “Do I owe you money?”
“Don’t I wish! You may recall that you were the big winner at poker the other night. No, this has to do with someone from your past. And by the way, just the other day you called me ‘old pal.’ I was simply returning the friendly salutation.”
“Thanks so much. Now, who is this from my past? Please don’t keep me in suspense—let’s have it.”
“I know you recall Alan Marx, whose brother Wolfe helped send to Sing Sing’s high-voltage chair some years back.”
“Of course I remember him,” I said, my heart pumping furiously. I was not about to tell Lon that Marx had been on Wolfe’s and my mind lately. “What’s he done?”
“It’s what’s been done to him. He was found in his luxury condo in the East Eighties this morning, deader than the Knicks’ playoff chances this season.”
“Huh? Natural causes?”
“Well … no, which makes for a great story, at least for those of us who live for that sort of thing. A maid came in this morning around seven to clean, as she usually does, and she found Mr. Marx sprawled on the living room floor next to the fireplace with one side of his head caved it.
“Seems he apparently was coshed by a poker that was found lying beside him. We just got the police reports, and of course I recalled his connection to you and Wolfe. Alan Marx was outspoken about detesting both of you.”
Archie in the Crosshairs Page 10