by Rex Stout
After the sound came of the elevator starting up I sat and looked it over from every angle. It was nice to know the next step was obvious, but it would have been even nicer to know what it was.
15
I didn't know then, and I still don't, exactly how long it took the city employees to find out why Floyd Vance killed Elinor Denovo. I mean really wrap it up. All I know is that Cramer's phone call didn't come until 6:38 p.m. Thursday, just in time to make me late at the poker party again. And I still didn't know what the obvious step was. One of the eighty-seven facts about Wolfe that I would change if I knew how is that he doesn't believe in talking merely to satisfy anyone's curiosity, even mine. I admit that in this case there might have been other factors -for instance, he might have wanted to see if I would dope it out for myself and make some suggestions. You probably have, but maybe you wouldn't if you had been in my shoes, waiting for a development which depended entirely on other people, and you didn't know what they were doing and not doing.
I did do one thing. When I learned from the noon news broadcast on Wednesday that Floyd Vance was being held without bail, and rang Lon Cohen to check it, I phoned Lily Rowan to say I wanted to see the client and was invited to lunch; and after we had finished the lobster salad and cantaloupe mousse and had gone out' to the terrace, I told Amy that there was no more danger of her being a special target and if she went out for a walk her chances of getting back in one piece were as good as anybody else's. Naturally she wanted to know what had happened, and Lily did too, and I think that was the first and only time that Lily suspected me of putting on an act in connection with my work. She remembered that she had a date, some kind of a committee
meeting, which I doubted, and left me there with Amy. I admit she thought she was being considerate, but it was no favor to me. I had been stalling Amy for two weeks and she wanted to know, and I couldn't blame her. Usually you can tell a client something, but I had already told her that her mother's name was Carlotta Vaughn, and there was absolutely nothing that I was ready to add. When I left I wasn't at all sure that I was still the one man in the world she could trust.
Of course I read every word in the Wednesday and Thursday papers about the hit-and-run driver the police had nabbed after three months, but learned nothing about motive. I got the impression that the fingerprints which had identified him had been secured by extremely competent detective work by the Homicide Bureau, but there were no published details about it. There was no mention of Nero Wolfe or Archie Goodwin. There was a lot of new information, new to me, about Floyd Vance, and one item cleared up a point that I had wondered about. In 1944 he had been in his late twenties and single, and why hadn't he been sent, either to Europe or to Asia, to help several million of his fellow citizens do some expert handling of the public image of the United States of America? According to Wednesday's Gazette and News, and Thursday's Times, he had been excused because he had some kind of a trick knee. Other items, though they cleared up nothing, told me more about him-for instance, that he had always been a tadpole in a big frog pond as a public-relations counselor. Evidently he had had very little effect on the dignity of man, either way.
When the phone rang at 6:38 p.m. Thursday, I was at my desk working on germination records and Wolfe was at his with a book he had just started on, an advance copy of The Future of Germany, by Karl Jaspers. I reached for the receiver.
"Nero Wolfe's office, Archie-"
"I want Wolfe, Goodwin. Cramer."
"Greetings." Without bothering to cover the transmitter, I turned my head and said, "Cramer," perhaps a little louder than usual, and Wolfe reached for his phone, perhaps a little faster than usual. I kept mine.
"Yes, Mr. Cramer?"
"About Floyd Vance. You read the papers."
"Yes."
"We're going for first-degree and we expect it to stick. We've followed the new rules and we don't even ask him if he's thirsty unless his lawyer's present. I'rh willing to give you some information we haven't released if you give me your word that you'll keep it in confidence."
"That's rather difficult. Information that I can't use won't help."
"I doubt if you can use it. If you can use it without divulging it, okay."
"Very well. You have my word."
"For what you want, it's negative. For at least a year and probably longer, we're still digging at it, Elinor De-novo was knifing him. She must have been a slick article. We can't find that she ever once actually mentioned his name, but last spring the only two clients he had that amounted to anything left him, and we have it in writing that they switched to a firm that was suggested and recommended by Elinor Denovo. Those are the two outstanding cases, but there are several others, and by the time it gets to trial we'll have a good file on it. As it stands now his lawyer would like to cop a plea for second-degree, but we want to wrap it up for first and I think we will. Evidently she decided, I think about a year and a half ago, to make it impossible for him to operate and she was doing a damn good job of it. You worked on him. Didn't you get any line on it?"
"No."
"You wouldn't withhold information."
"Sarcasm isn't your best blade, Mr. Cramer."
"That's why I never use it. And I doubt if you can use what I'm giving you. We've got a motive for Floyd Vance that's plenty good enough and it will be even better before we're through, but her motive for cooking him is your problem, not mine. It could be that she decided to even up for something that happened back in nineteen forty-. four, but I'm glad we don't have to dig that deep. If you want to try, you're welcome, but Goodwin can't get him to come and spend another evening in that chair. He's not available."
"No. I was hoping for something useful, and apparently
I'll have to accept defeat. But I am obliged to you. Sincerely obliged."
"Thafs a line to hang up on," Cramer said, and hung up.
Wolfe took a deep breath and a corner of his mouth went up a full quarter of an inch. He looked at me and said, "Satisfactory."
"Satisfactory hell," I said, "it's perfect. Simply marvelous. Do I make out a check for Miss Denovo for twenty grand?"
"Not now. That may come later." He looked at the clock. "Get Mr. Jarrett. I'll talk."
My brows went up. "Father or son?"
"Mr. Cyrus M. Jarrett."
I nodded. "Yeah. I admit I'm fairly good at filling orders, but this time I need specifications. My batting record for getting Cyrus M. Jarrett to the phone is nothing for two. I think the person I get is named Oscar."
"I'll speak with Oscar."
My brows were up again as I swiveled, got the phone, and dialed area code 914 and a number. Wolfe had his receiver to his ear, so all my part needed was a finger, but I stayed on. After four rings the remembered male voice said, "Mr. Jarrett's residence."
"My name is Nero Wolfe. I am calling from New York. I wish to speak to Mr. Jarrett. Tell him-don't interrupt me. Tell him that I wish to speak with him about Floyd Vance. Repeat that name."
"But Mr. Jarrett is eating-"
"I told you to repeat that name. Floyd Vance."
"Floyd Vance."
"Good. Mr. Jarrett will be able to hear you. He doesn't eat with his ears. Tell him that I must speak with him now about Floyd Vance. You have my name?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'll hold the wire, but don't keep me waiting."
I probably wasn't breathing. It was a king-size gamble, and I was posting no odds. Too much depended on it. So the obvious step was drawing to what could be an inside straight. Not only was it possible that there was no close connection between Jarrett and Floyd Vance, and there was some other explanation for the checks Jarrett had
sent, it was even conceivable that he had never heard of Floyd Vance. It could be that the next thing we would hear would be Oscar, if it was Oscar, hanging up.
But it wasn't. I didn't time it because I was hanging on a cliff, but I think it was about three hours. I mean three minutes.
"You're interrup
ting my dinner."
I nodded at Wolfe. It was him.
"Mr. Jarrett?"
"Yes."
"My name is Nero Wolfe. I don't like to interrupt any man's meal, but it's urgent. I have a decision to make that can't be delayed. I just now conversed with the police officer who is in charge of the investigation of the murder of Elinor Denovo, and I can tell you in confidence that Mr. Archie Goodwin, who has been to see you twice, and I are responsible for the arrest of Floyd Vance as the culprit. To justify a charge of first-degree murder the police wish to establish a motive, arid it is manifest that it would help them to have your name so they can ask you about the association of Floyd Vance and Elinor Denovo twenty-three years ago. That would inevitably lead to your appearance on the witness stand at the trial of Floyd Vance, and I am reluctant to take the responsibility for exposing a man of your standing to such an ordeal. Before disclosing your name I would like to discuss the situation with you, and I'll expect you here, at my office, at eleven o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Was my name mentioned in your talk with the police officer?"
"No."
"I know nothing about the association of Floyd Vance and Elinor Denovo twenty-three years ago."
"Pfui. I'll call Mr. McCray at once and advise him to make sure that certain checks in the files of the Seaboard Bank and Trust Company are not disturbed. If the police want them they can get a court order."
"Why should the police want them?"
"They customarily want everything that is, or may be, relevant to a murder investigation. I can ask Inspector Cramer's opinion after I have explained their significance. Do you want me to do that?"
"No. If I had known the day Goodwin came…"He decided to let the if go. "I'll expect you here in the morning."
"I handle business only in my office. I am showing you more consideration than you deserve, sir. Will you be here tomorrow at eleven or not?"
"In the afternoon. Late afternoon."
"No. At eleven or not at all."
"At my age mornings are often difficult."
"Start it earlier. Rise earlier. At eleven or don't come."
"Damn you. I'll be there."
The connection went. I pushed the phone back, turned, and said, "I suppose you didn't lose an ounce. I lost ten pounds."
He grunted. "I'm not as phlegmatic as you think I am. It was that or nothing."
"Well, it's that. He's not only hooked, he's boated. Have you decided what the tie is? Him and Vance?"
"No."
"He's Vance's father."
He nodded. "That would be the most serviceable, for our purpose. Is there a noticeable resemblance?"
"Noticeable, no."
"That point isn't vital, but it would help to know. We will. On another point I need your opinion. Should Miss Denovo be here?"
"That is a point. She has been on my mind the last two days. I want to make a speech."
"Go ahead."
"She's a nice girl and a good client, and for a week I've been sorry we were going to have to tell her that Floyd Vance is her father. And since Tuesday morning I have been even sorrier. It's a damn shame that she has to know not only that such a character as Vance is her father but also that he killed her mother. I have thought of three possible ways to handle it without telling her, but none of them is really neat. I invite suggestions."
"I have none. I have an argument."
"Go ahead."
"I too have had reflections, if not identical with yours at least similar. It's desirable for a client to be satisfied not only with our performance but also with its result
With Miss Denovo that's impossible. Circumstances forbid it. So the question is, What will dissatisfy her least? There are very few questions about any woman that I would undertake to answer with confidence, but you don't have that restraint and you know Miss Denovo. If she were offered the alternative, which would she choose? To know definitely that Floyd Vance, with all his grievous flaws, is her father? Or to remain all her life in the state of ignorance that brought her here three weeks ago with that money? Not how do you feel about her, but how would she feel?"
I didn't need to take a full minute to look at it, but I did, for the sake of appearances. "She would rather know," I said.
"Then she should be here tomorrow morning. In the alcove. Arrange it. Make certain that she will not intrude, no matter what she hears. You know her. Perhaps Saul should come to be with her. You will see him this evening?"
"I hope to. Depending on how long it takes to get her. She's loose now." I swung around to get the phone.
That was why I was late for poker. It was going on ten o'clock when I finally got Amy, at her apartment. Again I couldn't tell her anything, except to be at the office at half past ten in the morning, but at least that indicated that something was stirring. I told Saul ten-thirty too. The shape New York is in, you had better allow half an hour even with a Saul Panzer if you want to be sure.
16
I looked it up once. To eavesdrop means to stand under the eaves to listen to what is said inside a house. But to listen to what is said inside Wolfe's office you don't stand under the eaves; you stand in the alcove, which is at the rear end of the hall, to the left as you approach the kitchen. At eye level, if you are about the height of Wolfe or me, there is a rectangular hole in the wall, seven inches high and twelve inches wide. On the alcove side of the hole there is a panel which slides open silently, and on the office side there is a trick picture of a waterfall; "trick" because through the one-way picture you can not only eaves-hear from the alcove but also eaves-see nearly all of the office.
In arranging for Amy Denovo, who was eight inches shorter than me, to hear and see from the alcove I could have put phone books for her to stand on, but the show might last an hour or more, and for her price of admission, of twenty grand she deserved something better than standing room. So after breakfast Friday morning I took the kitchen stepladder to the alcove, sat on it, and found that my eyes were five inches above the center of the hole. I had never measured Amy and me to determine how much of my extra eight inches was below the hips and how much was above, but I decided that would be close enough.
Amy arrived at 10:21 and Saul at 10:29. I took Amy to the alcove, had her perch on the stepladder, slid the panel open, and saw that her eyes were about right. "The size of that seat," I said, "it's a good thing it's your fanny and not Mr. Wolfe's."
"What is this?" she demanded.
"For you, spectator sport. You're going to hear and see the man who sent those two hundred and sixty-four checks to your mother. Cyrus M. Jarrett is due at eleven o'clock, by appointment. We thought you ought to hear it firsthand, and with him in the red leather chair his face will be about ten feet from yours. Take a look."
She leaned to get her eyes closer to the hole. "Won't he see me?"
"No. From that side it's just a picture."
She turned to me, "But why do… What's he going to say?"
"We're waiting to hear him. Among other things he may tell us, and you, the name of your father. That may-"
The doorbell rang and I went, and it was Saul. I had told him what the program was and needed only to take him to the alcove and introduce him to the client who had paid him, through me, a little less than a grand in two weeks.
"Since you call me Archie," I told Amy, "you'll have to call him Saul not to hurt his feelings. He'll be here with you and if you get the idea that we're not asking Jarrett the right questions and decide to come and help, Saul will block you. Jarrett must not suspect that he has any audience but Mr. Wolfe and me. Have your shoes off, and if you feel a cough or a sneeze coming, for God's sake feel it soon enough to beat it to the kitchen." I looked at my watch. "He's due in twenty-five minutes, but he's driving ninety miles and he might be early. Saul will now take you to the kitchen for a coffee break. I'll be in the office taking tranquilizers to steady my nerves."
"You won't," Amy said. '
"Then I won't," I said, and left
them. It would take Saul about five minutes to get acquainted with her.
There had been one big danger. A man of Jarrett's position, financially and otherwise, might be able to put enough pressure on someone like the Police Commissioner or the Mayor or the New York Secretary of State, who issues private investigator licenses, to gag us. I blamed that fact, which had been on my mind ever since Jarrett had hung up, for something that had happened Thurs-
day evening, when I had let Lon Cohen rake in a fat pot without showing, though it was at least three to two that my tens would have taken it. But now, as eleven o'clock came closer and closer, that danger got slimmer and slimmer, and it looked surer and surer that Jarrett's tie-in was so very personal that he couldn't risk it.
Wolfe came down at eleven on the dot, put the daily display in the vase on his desk, sat, and went at the morning mail. I had the expense book at my desk, checking entries and additions and getting totals, on the theory that they were final totals, except for Saul today. Just a pair of private detectives starting the daily grind, yeah. The reason they weren't holding their breath was that a man can't hold his breath more than about two minutes, and the doorbell didn't ring until a quarter past eleven.
The first two things I noticed when I opened the front door were that the car Jarrett had come in was a Heron town car, and that his eyes were exactly the same as they had been two weeks ago. I felt that I deserved a credit mark for the way I said, "Good morning." I could have made it a jab or even a jeer, but I swear it was just a cordial welcome.
He also said, "Good morning," but it wasn't a cordial anything. It was probably merely the way he had always said good morning, and always would, to everybody from the office boy to the senior vice-president. What was different from before was his walk as he went down the hall to the office. He didn't totter, but his steps were short and he made sure of each one before he took the next one. I waited until he had got safely lowered into the red leather chair to say, "Mr. Jarrett. Mr. Wolfe."