by Rex Stout
I walked it. The five minutes a hack might have saved didn't matter, and my legs like to feel that they're helping out. When I turned into Eleventh Street and neared the house, again I glanced around automatically, but again it didn't matter. The fat was in the fire, and the problem was dodging the spatters. I mounted the four steps to the vestibule, but didn't have to push the button, because the door was standing open and Lucy herself was there. She didn't speak. When I had crossed the sill she closed the door, turned, and made for the stairs. I followed. Apparently she had forgotten the progress we had made in cordial relations. One flight up she entered the big room, shut the door when I was in, faced me, and said, "He asked me if I knew Ellen Tenzer."
"Sure. Naturally."
"You stand there and say naturally! I should never—if I hadn't gone to Nero Wolfe—you know that, Archie!"
"Call me Mr. Goodwin."
Her big gray eyes widened.
"The point is," I said, "that mixing personal relations and business relations is bad for both. If you want to hold hands, fine. If you want to be a huffy client, okay. But it's not fair for a huffy client to call me Archie."
"I'm not huffy!"
"All right, crabby."
"I'm not crabby. You know it's true, if I hadn't gone to Nero Wolfe and you hadn't found that woman she wouldn't have been murdered. I hate it! And now they know about Nero Wolfe and they know about the baby. I'm going to tell them everything. That's why I asked you to come—to tell me where I go and who I tell. The District Attorney? And I wanted to ask you—will you go with me?"
"No. May I use your phone?"
"Why, yes, if—What for?"
"To tell Mr. Wolfe he's fired, so he can—"
"I didn't say he's fired!"
I raised the brows. "You're rattled, Mrs. Valdon. We've discussed this several times, what would happen if they got to you and came at you. The understanding was that we would hang on unless it got too hot to handle, and you would let us decide if and when it did. You wanted me to explain the rules, about withholding evidence and obstructing justice and so on, and I did so. It was clearly understood that if and when it was decided to let go, Mr. Wolfe would do it. Now you have decided to let go, so I'll phone him and tell him to go ahead. As for your firing him, call it something else if you prefer—that you're releasing him from his commitment. It does sound better. I'll use the phone downstairs." I turned.
Fingers gripped my arm. "Archie."
I turned back. "Listen," I said, "I'm not putting on an act. But I'll be damned if I'm going to squat and take your shoes off and rub your cold feet."
Her arms went around my neck and she was against me.
So fifteen minutes later, or maybe twenty, we were seated on the couch with martinis and she was saying, "What you said about mixing personal relations and business relations, you know that's silly. We've been doing it for nearly a month, and here we are. I started the first time you were here, exchanging sips with you and telling you I wasn't trying to flirt with you. Why didn't you laugh at me?"
"I did. I told you oysters flirt and you walked out."
She smiled. "I'm going to admit something."
"Good. We'll take turns."
"When I said that, I honestly thought I wasn't trying to flirt with you. How can you stand a woman as stupid as that?"
"I can't. I couldn't."
"What?" She frowned. "Oh. Thank you very much, but I am. When you were talking about phoning Nero Wolfe, of course I should have been thinking about what was going to happen, whether I should ask you not to, what I was going to do—all that—but I was thinking he'll never kiss me again. I've always known I'm not very smart. For instance, when you asked me just now if that man gave me any hint how he found out I had hired Nero Wolfe—if I had been smart I would have got a hint out of him. Wouldn't I?"
"No. Not out of Purley Stebbins. Sometimes he has trouble deciding what to say next, but he always knows what not to say." I took a sip. "Since we're back on business, let's get it clear. I may be under a false impression. Are you still a client?"
"Yes."
"You're absolutely sure you want to stick it out?"
"Here." She put a hand out and I took it. That was how our cordial relations had started, three weeks back, when I had spent a long evening with her, making up her list and picking the four men to be asked to help. When a handshake goes beyond routine even one second, it's a test. If you both decide it's enough at the same instant, fine. But if she's through before you are, or vice versa, look out. You don't fit. Lucy and I had been simultaneous the first time. We were this time too.
"Okay," I said. "It's quite a limb we're out on. I don't have to describe it, you know it as well as I do. Your part may be tough, but it's simple. You simply say nothing and answer no questions whatever, no matter who asks them. Right?"
"Right."
"If you are invited to call at the District Attorney's office, decline the invitation. If Stebbins or someone else calls here, see him or not as you please, but tell him nothing, and do not try to drag hints out of him. As for how they got onto your hiring Nero Wolfe, and the baby, it doesn't matter how. My guess would be Manuel Upton, but I wouldn't give a nickel to know. If it was Upton, some of the questions you won't answer may be about the anonymous letters. They could turn out to be the toughest item for Mr. Wolfe and me, but we knew that. He told four men they were in his safe. If a court orders him to produce them and he says they never existed, we could be charged with destroying evidence, which is worse than withholding evidence. That would be very funny and I must remember to laugh."
"Archie."
"Yes?"
"Just six weeks ago I was just going along. There was no baby upstairs, I had never seen you, I wouldn't have dreamed it would ever be … like this. When I say I hate it you understand, don't you?"
"Sure I do." I glanced at my watch, finished the martini, put the glass down, and rose. "I'd better mosey."
"Must you? Why not stay for dinner?"
"I don't dare. It's half past five. It's even money that either Stebbins or Inspector Cramer will turn up at six or soon after, and I should be there."
She pulled her shoulders in, released them, and left the couch. "And all I have to do is say nothing." She stood, her head tilted up. "Then come back later and tell me. Business relations."
I don't know what it was, what she said or the way she said it or something in her eyes. Whatever it was, I smiled and then I laughed, and then she was laughing too. Half an hour earlier it wouldn't have been reasonable to suppose that we would so soon be having a good laugh together. Obviously it was a good way to end a conversation, so I turned and went.
It was two minutes short of six o'clock when I used my key on the door of the old brownstone, went to the kitchen to tell Fritz I was back, and then to the office. Even people who know better ask a lot of unnecessary questions—for instance, my asking Fritz if there had been any phone calls. In the first place, he would have told me without being asked, and in the second place, Cramer or Stebbins hardly ever phoned. They just came, and nearly always at eleven a.m. or around half past two, after lunch, or at six p.m., since they knew Wolfe's schedule. As I entered the office the elevator was whining down the shaft.
Wolfe walked in. Usually he goes to his desk before asking or looking a question, but that time he stopped short of it, glowered at me, and growled, "Well?"
"Well enough," I said. "What you would expect. Being set for a jolt is one thing and actually getting it is another. She was shying a little. She needed some assurance that you can stay in the saddle and I supplied it. She understands why she makes no exceptions when she's not answering questions. Purley asked her if she knew Ellen Tenzer. I assume we're standing pat."
"Yes." He crossed to the bookshelves and looked at titles. I had stopped long ago being nervous when his eyes went up to the two top shelves. If he decided to have another go at one of the books up out of reach he would get the ladder, mount it as high as necessar
y, and step down, and he wouldn't even wobble, let alone tumble. This time no title, high or low, appealed to him, and he moved to the big globe and started twirling it, slow motion. Presumably looking for a spot where the mother of a discarded baby might be hiding out, or perhaps for one where he could light when he had to blow town.
At dinnertime no company had come. There had been two phone calls, but not on official business. One was from Saul, reporting that two more names had been crossed off, and the other was Orrie. He had eliminated one more and had only two left. Fred was in Arizona. We were about to the end of the string.
At the table, when Wolfe finished his strawberries Romanoff, used his napkin, and pushed his chair back, I got to my feet and said, "I won't join you for coffee. They never come after dinner unless it's urgent, and I have a sort of a date."
He grunted. "Can I reach you?"
"Sure. At Mrs. Valdon's number. It's on the card."
He looked at me. "Is this flummery? You said she shied but you reassured her. Is she in fact in a pucker?"
"No, sir. She's set. But she may be afraid that you might pull out. She asked me to come and report after I spoke with you."
"Pfui."
"Yes, but she doesn't know you as well as I do. You don't know her as well as I do, either." I dropped my napkin on the table and departed.
Chapter 11
CRAMER CAME AT a quarter past eleven in the morning, Tuesday, July 3. When the doorbell rang I was on the phone, a purely personal matter. Back in May I had accepted an invitation to spend a five-day weekend, ending on the Fourth of July, at a friend's place up in Westchester. The marathon mother hunt had forced me to cancel, and the phone call was from the friend, to say that if I would drive up for the Fourth I would find a box of firecrackers and a toy cannon waiting for me. When the doorbell rang I said, "You know I would love to, but a police inspector is on the stoop right now, or maybe a sergeant, wanting in. I may spend the night in the jug. See you in court."
As I hung up the doorbell rang again. I went to the hall for a look through the one-way glass, and when I told Wolfe it was Cramer he merely tightened his lips. I went to the front, opened the door wide, and said, "Greetings. Mr. Wolfe is a little grumpy. He was expecting you yesterday." Most of that was wasted, at his back as he marched down the hall and into the office. I followed. Cramer removed the old felt hat he wears winter and summer, rain or shine, sat in the red leather chair, no hurry, put the hat on the stand, and focused on Wolfe. Wolfe focused back. They held it for a good five seconds, just focusing. It wasn't a staring match; neither one had any idea he could out-eye the other one; they were just getting their dukes up.
Cramer spoke. "It's been twenty-three days." He was hoarse. That was unusual. Usually it took ten minutes or so with Wolfe to get him hoarse. Also his big round face was a little redder than normal, but that could have been the July heat.
"Twenty-five," Wolfe said. "Ellen Tenzer died the night of June eighth."
"Twenty-three since I was here." Cramer settled back. "What's the matter? Are you blocked?"
"Yes, sir."
"The hell you are. By what or whom?"
A corner of Wolfe's mouth went up an eighth of an inch. "I couldn't answer that without telling you what I'm after."
"I know you couldn't. I'm listening."
Wolfe shook his head. "Mr. Cramer. I am precisely where I was twenty-three days ago. I have no information for you."
"That's hard to believe. I've never known you to mark time for over three weeks. Do you know who killed Ellen Tenzer?"
"I can answer that. No."
"I think you do. Have you any other client at present than Mrs. Richard Valdon?"
"I can answer that too. No."
"Then I think you know who killed Ellen Tenzer. Obviously there's a connection between her murder and whatever Mrs. Valdon hired you to do. I don't need to spell it all out—the buttons, Anne Tenzer, the overalls, the baby Ellen Tenzer had boarded, the baby in Mrs. Valdon's house, Goodwin's going to Mahopac to see Ellen Tenzer, her sudden departure after he had seen her. Do you deny that there is a direct connection between Goodwin's seeing Ellen Tenzer and the murder?"
"No. Nor affirm it. I don't know. Neither do you."
"Nuts." Cramer was getting hoarser. "You can add as well as I can. If you mean neither of us can prove it, okay, but you intend to. I don't know what Mrs. Valdon hired you to do, but I know damn well you intend to tag that murderer, provided it wasn't her. I don't think it was, because I think you know who it was, and if it was her you would have got from under before now. I can tell you why I think you know."
"Please do."
"I'm damn sure you would like to know. Do you deny that?"
"I'll concede it as a hypothesis."
"All right. You're spending Mrs. Valdon's money like water. Panzer and Durkin and Cather have been on the job for three weeks. They're here every day, and sometimes twice a day. I don't know what they're doing, but I know what they're not doing, and Goodwin too. They're absolutely ignoring Ellen Tenzer. None of them has been to Mahopac, or seen that Mrs. Nesbitt, or seen Anne Tenzer, or dug into Ellen Tenzer's record, or questioned her friends or neighbors, or contacted any of my men. They haven't shown the slightest interest in her, including Goodwin. But you would like to know who killed her. So you already know."
Wolfe grunted. "That's admirably specious, but drop it. I give you my word that I haven't the faintest notion of who killed Ellen Tenzer."
Cramer eyed him. "Your word?"
"Yes, sir."
That settled that. Cramer knew from experience that when Wolfe said "my word" it was straight and there was no catch in it. "Then what the hell," he demanded, "are Panzer and Durkin and Cather doing? And Goodwin?"
Wolfe shook his head. "No, sir. You have just said that you know what they're not doing. They're not trespassing in your province. They're not investigating a homicide. Nor Mr. Goodwin. Nor I."
Cramer looked at me. "You're under bail."
I nodded. "You ought to know."
"You spent the night in Mrs. Valdon's house. Last night."
I raised a brow. "There are two things wrong with that statement. First, it's not true. Second, even if it were true, what would it have to do with homicide?"
"What time did you leave?"
"I didn't. I'm still there."
He turned a hand over. "Look, Goodwin. You know I've got to depend on reports. The eight-to-two man says you entered at nine-twenty-five and didn't come out. The two-to-eight man says you didn't come out. I want to know which one missed you. What time did you leave?"
"I was wondering what you came for," I said. "I knew it couldn't be homicide, the way you were flopping around. So you're checking on the boys. Fine. By a quarter to two Mrs. Valdon and I were somewhat high, and we went out to dance on the sidewalk in the summer night. At a quarter past two she went back in and I left. So they both missed me. Also, of course—"
"You're a clown and a liar." He slowly raised a hand and pinched his nose. He looked at Wolfe. He got a cigar from his pocket, glared at it, rolled it between his palms, stuck it in his mouth, and clamped his teeth on it. "I could get your licenses with a phone call to Albany," he said.
Wolfe nodded. "No doubt."
"But you're so goddam pigheaded." He removed the cigar. "You know I can get your license. You know I can take you down and book you as a material witness. You know you'll be wide open on a felony charge if you get stuck in the mud. But you're so goddam bullnecked I'm not going to waste my breath trying to put the screw on you."
"That's rational."
"Yeah. But you've got a client. Mrs. Richard Valdon. You're not only withholding evidence yourself, you and Goodwin, you have told her to."
"Does she say so?"
"She doesn't have to. Don't possum. Of course you have. She's your client and she's clammed up. The DA has asked her down and she won't go. So we'll take her."
"Isn't that a little brash? A citizen with her backgr
ound and standing?"
"Not with what we know she knows. It was the buttons on the overalls that sent Goodwin to see Ellen Tenzer. The overalls were on the baby that Mrs. Valdon says was left in her vestibule and is now in her house. So—"
"You said Mrs. Valdon is mute."
"She told at least two people the baby was left in her vestibule—when she was alone in the house. She hasn't told us, but if she has any sense she will, if she's clean. She'll tell us everything she knows if she's clean, including what she hired you to do and what you've done. I don't think it was anything as raw as kidnapping because she had a lawyer make it legal on a temporary basis. But I'm damn sure the baby in her house is the one Ellen Tenzer had in her house until around May twentieth. There were two overalls in Ellen Tenzer's house exactly like the ones Goodwin showed to Anne Tenzer, with the same kind of buttons. Those goddam buttons."
It seemed to me beside the point for him to be nursing an anti-button grudge, but maybe he had had an interview with Nicholas Losseff.
He was going on. "So I want to know what Mrs. Valdon knows, and what you know, about that baby. The DA can't get anything out of her lawyer or her doctor, and of course they're privileged. The nurse and the maid and the cook aren't privileged, but if they know anything they've been corked. The nurse claims that all she knows about it is that it's a boy, it's healthy, and it's between five and seven months old. So Mrs. Valdon is not its mother. She didn't have a baby in December or January."
"I have given you my word," Wolfe said, "that I have no notion of who killed Ellen Tenzer."
"I heard you."
"I now give you my word that I know no more about that baby—its parentage, its background, who put it in Mrs. Valdon's vestibule—than you do."
"I don't believe it."
"Nonsense. Certainly you do. You know quite well I wouldn't dishonor that fine old phrase."
Cramer glared. "Then what in the name of God do you know? What did she hire you to do? Why have you kept her covered? Why have you told her to clam?"