by Rex Stout
“But, my dear man, you did neither. You're loony.” His eyes narrowed. “Don't think you're going to hold me up. Don't think-”
Wolfe snapped, “Ten thousand dollars. And you will wait here while the check is being certified.”
“You're crazy.” Frost was sputtering again. “I haven't got ten thousand dollars.
My show's going big, but I had a lot of debts and still have. And even if I had it-what's the idea? Blackmail? If you're that kind151”
“Please, Mr. Frost. I beg you. May I speak?”
Llewellyn glared at him.
Wolfe settled back in his chair. “There are three things I like about you, sir, but you have several bad habits. One is your assumption that words are brickbats to be hurled at people in an effort to stun them. You must learn to stop that.
Another is your childish readiness to rush into action without stopping to consider the consequences. Before you definitely hired me to undertake an investigation you should have scrutinized the possibilities. But the point is that you hired me; and let me tell you, you burned all bridges when you goaded me into that mad sortie to Fifty-second Street. That will have to be paid for.
You and I are bound by contract; I am bound to pursue a certain inquiry, and you are bound to pay my reasonable and commensurate charge. And when, for personal and peculiar reasons, you grow to dislike the contract, what do you do? You come to my office and try to knock me out of my chair by propelling words like
‘blackmail’ at me! Pfui! The insolence of a spoiled child!”
He poured beer, and drank. Llewellyn Frost watched him. I, after getting it into my notebook, nodded my head at him in encouraging approval of one of his better efforts.
The client finally spoke. “But look here, Mr. Wolfe. I didn't agree to let you go up there and… that is…I didn't have any idea you were going…” He stopped on that, and gave it up. “I'm not denying the contract. I didn't come here and start throwing brickbats. I just asked, if we call it off now, how much do I owe you?”
“And I told you.”
“But I haven't got ten thousand dollars, not this minute. I think I could have it in a week. But even if I did, my God, just for a couple of hours' work-”
“It is not the work.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “It is simply that I will not permit my self-conceit to be bruised by the sort of handling you are trying to give it. It is true that I hire out my abilities for money, but I assure you that I am not to be regarded as a mere peddler of gewgaws or tricks. I am an artist or nothing. Would you commission Matisse to do a painting, and, when he had scribbled his first rough sketch, snatch it from him and crumple it up and tell him, That's enough, how much do I owe you?' No, you wouldn't do that. You think the comparison is fanciful? I don't. Every artist has his own conceit. I have mine. I know you are young, and your training has left vacant lots in your brain; you don't realize how offensively you have acted.”
“For God's sake.” The client sat back. “Well.” He looked at me as if I might suggest something, and then back at Wolfe. He spread out his hands, palms up.
“All right, you're an artist. You're it. I've told you, I haven't got ten thousand dollars. How about a check dated a week from today?”
Wolfe shook his head. “You could stop payment. I don't trust you; you are incensed; the flame of fear and resentment is burning in you. Besides, you should get more for your money, and I should do more to earn it. The only sensible course-”
The ring of the telephone interrupted him. I swung around to my desk and got it.
I acknowledged my identity to a gruff male inquiry, waited a minute, and heard the familiar tones of another male voice. What it said induced a grin.
I turned to Wolfe: “Inspector Cramer says that one of his men saw you up at
McNair's place this morning, and nearly died of the shock. So did he when he heard it. He says it would be a pleasure to discuss the case with you a while on the telephone.”
“Not for me. I am engaged.”
I returned to the wire and had more talk. Cramer was as amiable as a guy stopping you on a lonely hill because he's out of gas. I turned to Wolfe again:
“He'd like to stop in at six o'clock to smoke a cigar. He says, to compare notes. He means S O S.”
Wolfe nodded.
I told Cramer sure, come ahead, and rang off.
The client had stood up. He looked back and forth from me to Wolfe, and said with no belligerence at all, “Was that Inspector Cramer? He-he's coming here?”
“Yeah, a little later.” I answered because Wolfe had leaned back and closed his eyes. “He often drops around for a friendly chat when he has a case so easy it bores him.”
“But he…I…” Llewellyn was groggy. He straightened up. “Listen, goddam it. I want to use that phone.”
“Help yourself. Take my chair.”
I vacated and he moved in. He started dialing without having to look up the number. He was jerky about it, but seemed to know what he was doing. I stood and listened.
“Hello, hello! That you, Styce? This is Lew Frost. Is my father still there? Try
Mr. McNair's office. Yes, please… Hello, Dad? Lew… No… No, wait a minute.
Is Aunt Gallic still there? Waiting for me? Yeah, I know… No, listen, I'm talking from Nero Wolfe's office, 918 West 35th Street. I want you and Aunt
Callie to come down here right away… There's no use explaining on the phone, you'll have to come…I can't explain that… Well, bring her anyway… Now,
Dad, I'm doing the best I can… Right. You can make it in ten minutes… No, it's a private house…”
Wolfe's eyes were closed.
Chapter Four
That conference was a lulu. On several occasions I have run through pages of my notebook where I took it down, just for the entertainment. Dudley Frost was one of the very few people who have sat in that office and talked Nero Wolfe to a frazzle. Of course, he did it more by volume than by vigor, but he did it.
It was after three when they got there. Fritz ushered them in. Calida Frost,
Helen's mother, Lew's Aunt Callie-though I suppose it would be more genteel to introduce her as Mrs. Edwin Frost, since I never got to be cronies with her-she came first, and sure enough, she was the medium-sized woman with the straight back and proud mouth. She was good-looking and well made, with deep but direct eyes of an off color, something like the reddish brown of dark beer, and you wouldn't have thought she was old enough to be the mother of a grownup goddess.
Dudley Frost, Lew's father, weighed two hundred pounds, from size rather than fat. He had gray hair and a trimmed gray moustache. Some rude collision had pushed his nose slightly off center, but only a dose observer like me would have noticed it. He had on a beautiful gray pin-stripe suit and sported a red flower in his lapel.
Llewellyn went to the office door and brought them across and introduced them.
Dudley Frost rumbled at Wolfe, “How do you do.” He gave me one too. “How do you do.” I was getting chairs under them. He turned to our client: “What's all this, now? What's the trouble, son? Look out, Calida, your bag's going to fall. What's up here, Mr. Wolfe? I was hoping to get in some bridge this afternoon. What's the difficulty? My son has explained to me-and to Mrs. Frost-my sister-in-law-we thought it best for him to come straight down here-”
Llewellyn blurted at him, “Mr. Wolfe wants ten thousand dollars.”
He cackled. “God bless me, so do I. Though I've seen the time-but that's past.”
He gazed at Wolfe and in a change of pace ran all his words together: “What do you want ten thousand dollars for, Mr. Wolfe?”
Wolfe looked grim, seeing already that he was up against it. He said in one of his deeper tones, “To deposit in my bank account.”
“Ha! Good. Damn good and I asked for it. Strictly speaking, that was the only proper reply to my question. I should have said, let me see, for what reason do you expect to get ten thousand dollars from anyone, and from whom do you expec
t it? I hope not from me, for I haven't got it. My son has explained to us that he engaged you tenta-tentatively for a certain kind of job in a fit of foolishness.
My son is a donkey, but surely you don't expect him to give you ten thousand dollars merely because he's a donkey? I hope not, for he hasn't got it either.
Nor has my sister-in-law-have you, Calida? What do you think, Calida? Shall I go on with this? Do you think I'm getting anywhere?”
Mrs. Edwin Frost was looking at Wolfe, and didn't bother to turn to her brother-in-law. She said in a low pleasant tone, “I think the most important thing is to explain to Mr. Wolfe that he jumped to a wrong conclusion about what
Helen said.” She smiled at Wolfe. “My daughter Helen. But first, since Lew thought it necessary for us to come down here, perhaps we should hear what Mr.
Wolfe has to say.”
Wolfe aimed his half-shut eyes at her. “Very little, madam. Your nephew commissioned me to perform an inquiry, and persuaded me to take an unprecedented step which was highly distasteful to me. I no sooner began it than he informed me it was a flop and asked me how much he owed me. I told him, and on account of the unusual circumstances demanded immediate cash payment. In a panic, he telephoned his father.”
Her brow was wrinkled. “You asked for ten thousand dollars?”
Wolfe inclined his head, and raised it.
“But, Mr. Wolfe.” She hesitated. “Of course I am not familiar with your business”-she smiled at him-”or is it a profession? But surely that is a remarkable sum. Is that your usual rate?”
“Now see here.” Dudley Frost had been squirming in his chair. “After all, this thing is simple. There are just certain points. In the first place, the thing was purely tentative. It must have been tentative, because how could Mr. Wolfe tell what he might or might not be able to find out until he had gone up there and looked things over? In the second place, figure Mr. Wolfe's time at twenty dollars an hour, and Lew owes him forty dollars. I've paid good lawyers less than that. In the third place, there's no sense in talking about ten thousand dollars, because we haven't got it.” He leaned forward and put a paw on the desk. “That's being frank with you, Mr. Wolfe. My sister-in-law hasn't got a cent, no one knows that better than I do. Her daughter-my niece-has got all that's left of my father's fortune. We're a pauper family, except for Helen. My son here seems to think he has got something started, but he has thought that before. I doubt if you could collect, but of course the only way to settle that is a lawsuit. Then it would drag along, and eventually you'd compromise on it-”
Our client had called at him several times-”Dad!…Dad!” in an effort to stop him, but with no success. Now Llewellyn reached across and gripped his father's knee. “Listen to me a minute, will you? If you'd give me a chance-Mr. Wolfe isn't letting it drag alongl Inspector Cramer is coming here at six o'clock to compare notes with him. About this.”
“Well? You don't need to crush my leg to a pulp. Who the deuce is Inspector
Cramer?”
“You know very well who he is. Head of the Homicide Bureau.”
“Oh, that chap. How do you know he's coming here? Who said he was?”
“He telephoned. Just before I phoned you. That's why I asked you and Aunt Gallic to come down here.”
I saw the glint in Dudley Frost's eye, as swift as it was, and wondered if Wolfe caught it too. It disappeared as fast as it came. He asked his son, “Who talked to Inspector Cramer? You?”
I put in, brusque, “No. Me.”
“Ah.” Dudley Frost smiled at me broadly, with understanding; he transferred it to Wolfe, and then back to me again. “You seem to have gone to a good deal of trouble around here. Of course I can see that that was the best way to get your threat in, to arrange for a call with my son in your office. But the point is-”
Wolfe snapped, “Put him out, Archie.”
I laid the pencil and notebook on the desk and got up. Llewellyn arose and stood like a pigeon. I noticed that all his aunt did was lift one brow a little.
Dudley Frost laughed. “Now, Mr. Wolfe. Sit down boys.” He goggled at Wolfe. “God bless me, I don't blame you for trying to make an impression. Quite a natural-”
“Mr. Frost.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “Your suggestion that I need to fake a phone call to impress your son is highly offensive. Retract it, or go.”
Frost laughed again. “Well, let's say you did it to impress me.”
“That, sir, is worse.”
“Then my sister-in-law. Are you impressed, Calida? I must admit I am. This is what it looks like. Mr. Wolfe wants ten thousand dollars. If he doesn't get it he intends to see Inspector Cramer-where and when doesn't matter-and tell him that Helen has said she saw that box of candy before Molly Lauck did. Of course
Helen didn't tell him that, but that won't keep the police from tormenting her, and possibly the rest of us, and it might even get into the papers. In my position as the trustee of Helen's property, my responsibility is as great as yours, Calida, though she is your daughter.” He turned to goggle at his son.
“It's your fault, Lew. Absolutely. You offered this man Wolfe his opportunity.
Haven't you time and time again-”
Wolfe leaned far forward in his chair and reached until the tip of his finger hovered delicately within an inch of the brown tweed of Mrs. Frost's coat. He appealed to her: “Please. Stop him.”
She shrugged her shoulders. Her brother-in-law was going right on. Then abruptly she rose from her chair, stepped around behind the others, and approached me.
She came close enough to ask quietly, “Have you any good Irish whiskey?”
“Sure,” I said. “Is that it?”
She nodded. “Straight. Double. With plain water.”
I went to the cabinet and found the bottle of Old Corcoran. I made it plenty double, got a glass of water, put them on a tray stand, and took it over and deposited it beside the orator's chair. He looked at it and then at me.
“What the deuce is it? What? Where's the bottle?” He lifted it to his off-center nose and sniffed. “Oh! Well.” His eyes circled the group. “Won't anyone join me?
Calida? Lew?” He sniffed the Irish again. “No? To the Frosts, dead and alive,
God bless 'em!” He neither sipped it nor tossed it off, but drank it like milk.
He lifted the glass of water and took a dainty sip, about half a teaspoonful, put it down again, leaned back in his chair and thoughtfully caressed his moustache with the tip of his finger. Wolfe was watching him like a hawk.
Mrs. Frost asked quietly, “What is that about Inspector Cramer?”
Wolfe shifted to her. “Nothing, madam, beyond what your nephew has told you.”
“He is coming here to consult with you?”
“So he said.”
“Regarding the…the death of Miss Lauck?”
“So he said.”
“Isn't that…” She hesitated. “Is it usual for you to confer with the police about the affairs of your clients?”
“It is usual for me to confer with anyone who might have useful information.”
Wolfe glanced at the clock. “Let's see if we can't cut across, Mrs. Frost. It is ten minutes to four. I permit nothing to interfere with my custom of spending the hours from four to six with my plants upstairs. As your brother-in-law said with amazing coherence, this thing is simple. I do not deliver an ultimatum to
Mr. Llewellyn Frost, I merely offer him an alternative. Either he can pay me at once the amount I would have charged him for completing his commission-he knew before he came here that I ask high fees for my services-and dismiss me, or he can expect me to pursue the investigation to a conclusion and send him a bill.
Of course it will be much more difficult for me if his own family tries to obstruct-”
Mrs. Frost shook her head. “We have no wish to obstruct,” she said gently. “But it is apparent that you have misconstrued a remark my daughter Helen made while you were questioning her, and we…naturally, we a
re concerned about that. And then…if you are about to confer with the police, surely it would be desirable for you to understand…”
“I understand, Mrs. Frost.” Wolfe glanced at the clock. “You would like to be assured that I shall not inform Inspector Cramer of my misconstruction of your daughter's remark. I'm sorry, I can't commit myself on that, unless I am either dismissed from the case now with payment in full, or am assured by Mr. Llewellyn
Frost-and, under the circumstances, by you and your brother-in-law also-that I am to continue the investigation for which I was engaged. I may add, you people are quite unreasonably alarmed, which is to be expected with persons of your station in society. It is highly unlikely that your daughter has any guilty connection with the murder of Miss Lauck; and if by chance she possesses an important bit of information which discretion has caused her to conceal, the sooner she discloses it the better, before the police do somehow get wind of it.”
Mrs. Frost was frowning. “My daughter has no information whatever.”
“Without offense-I would need to ask her about that myself.”
“And you…wish to be permitted to continue. If you are not, you intend to tell
Inspector Cramer-”
“I have not said what I intend.”
“But you wish to continue.”
Wolfe nodded. “Either that, or my fee now.”
“Listen, Calida. I've been sitting here thinking.” It was Dudley Frost. He sat up straight. I saw Wolfe get his hands on the arms of his chair. Frost was going on: “Why don't we get Helen down here? This man Wolfe is throwing a bluff. If we're not careful we'll find ourselves coughing up ten thousand dollars of
Helen's money, and since I'm responsible for it, it's up to me to prevent it.
Lew says hell have it next week, but I've heard that before. A trustee is under the most sacred obligation to preserve the property under his care, and it couldn't be paid out of surplus income because you don't leave any surplus. The only way is to call this fellow's bluff-”