Fer-De-Lance

by Rex Stout

  I was dumb in a way though. All the time I was stewing I knew damn well Wolfe was right. It was that note I went to sleep on when I got home from the movie and found that Wolfe had already gone up to his room.

  The next morning I was awake a little after seven, but I dawdled in bed, knowing that if I got up and dressed I would have to dawdle anyway, since there was no use bringing Anna Fiore until time for Wolfe to be down from the plant-rooms. I lay, yawning, looking at the picture of the woods with grass and flowers, and at the photograph of my father and mother, and then closed my eyes, not to nap for I was all slept out, but to see how many different noises from the street I could recognize. I was doing that when there was a knock on the door and in answer to my call Fritz came in.

  “Good morning,” I said. “I’ll have grapefruit juice and just a tiny cup of chocolate.”

  Fritz smiled. He had a sweet sort of faraway smile.

  He could catch a joke but never tried to return it. “Good morning. There’s a gentleman downstairs to see Mr. Wolfe.”

  I sat up. “What’s his name?”

  “He said Anderson. He had no card.”

  “What!” I swung myself to the edge of the bed. “Well well well well. He’s not a gentleman, Fritz, he’s a noovoh reesh. Mr. Wolfe is hoping that soon he’ll be less reesh. Tell him-no, don’t bother. I’ll be right down.”

  I doused some cold water over my face, got on enough clothes for an emergency, and gave my hair a few swipes with a brush. Then I went down.

  Anderson didn’t get up from his chair when I entered the office. He was so sunburned that on the street it would have taken me a second glance to recognize him. He looked sleepy and sore and his hair hadn’t been brushed any better than mine.

  I said, “My name’s Archie Goodwin. I don’t suppose you remember me.”

  He kept his chair. “I suppose not, I’m sorry. I came to see Wolfe.”

  “Yes, sir. I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a little. Mr. Wolfe isn’t up yet.”

  “Not long I hope.”

  “I couldn’t say. I’ll see. If you’ll excuse me.”

  I beat it to the hall and stood there at the foot of the stairs. I had to decide whether this was a case when Wolfe would want to break a rule. It was a quarter to eight. Finally I went on upstairs and down the hall to a point about ten feet from his door where there was a push-button in the wall. I pushed it, and right away heard his voice faintly: “Well?”

  “Turn off the switch. I’m coming in.”

  I heard the little click and then: “Come.”

  You would never believe there was such a thing in the world as Wolfe in bed if you didn’t see it. I had seen it often, but it was still a treat. On top was a black silk puffy cover which he always used, winter and summer. From the mound in the middle it sloped precipitously on all sides, so that if you wanted to see his face you had to stand well up front, and then you had to stoop to look under the canopy arrangement that he had sticking out from the head of the bed. It was also of black silk, and extended a foot beyond his chin and hung quite low on all three sides. Inside it on the white pillow his big fat face reposed like an image in a temple.

  His hand came from beneath the cover to pull a cord that hung at his right, and the canopy folded back against the headboard. He blinked. I told him that Fletcher M. Anderson was downstairs and wanted to see him.

  He cursed. I hated to hear him curse. It got on my nerves. The reason for that, he told me once, was that whereas in most cases cursing was merely a vocal explosion, with him it was a considered expression of a profound desire. He did it seldom. That morning he cursed completely. At the end he said, “Leave, get out, go.”

  I hated to stammer, too. “But-but-Anderson-”

  “If Mr. Anderson wishes to see me he may do so at eleven o’clock. But that is unnecessary. What do I pay you for?”

  “Very well, sir. Of course you’re right. I break a rule and I get bawled out. But now that that’s done with may I suggest that it would be a good idea to see Anderson-”

  “You may not.”

  “Ten thousand dollars?”

  “No.”

  “In the name of heaven, sir, why not?”

  “Confound it, you badger me!” Wolfe’s head turne on the pillow, and he got a hand around to wiggle finger. “Yes, you badger me. But it is a valuable quality at times and I won’t cavil at it. Instead I answer your question. I shall not see Mr. Anderson for three reasons: first, being still in bed I am undressed and in an ugly temper. Second, you can do business with him just as well. Third, I understand the technique of eccentricity; it would be futile for man to labor at establishing a reputation for oddity he were ready at the slightest provocation to revert to normal action. Go. At once.”

  I left the room and went downstairs to the office and told Anderson that if he wanted to wait he could see Mr. Wolfe at eleven o’clock.

  Of course he couldn’t believe his ears. As soon e he became able to credit the fact that the message ws like that and that it was meant for him, he blew up. He seemed especially indignant that he had come straigh to Wolfe’s place from a sleeper at Grand Centr; Station, though I couldn’t see why. I explained to him several times how it was, I told him it was eccentricity and there was no help for it. I also told him that I had been to White Plains the day before and was acquainted with the situation. That seemed to calm hir a little and he began asking me questions. I fed it to him in little pieces, and had the fun of seeing the look on his face when I told him about Derwin calling Ben Cook in. When he had the whole story he sat back and rubbed his nose and looked over my head.

  Finally he brought his look down to me. “This is startling conclusion Wolfe has made. Isn’t it?”

  “Yes, sir. It is indeed.”

  “Then he must have some startling information.”

  I grinned. “Mr. Anderson, it is a pleasure to talk with you, but there’s no use wasting time. As far as startling information is concerned, Wolfe and I are the same as two mummies in a museum until that grave is opened and Barstow is cut up. Not a chance.”

  “Well. That’s too bad. I might offer Wolfe a fee as a special investigator-a sort of inquiry and report.”

  “A fee? That’s like saying as long as a piece of string.”

  “Say, five hundred dollars.”

  I shook my head. “I’m afraid he’s too busy. I’m busy too, I may have to run up to White Plains this morning.”

  “Oh.” Anderson bit his lip and looked at me. “You know, Goodwin. I rarely go out of my way to be offensive, but doesn’t it occur to you that this whole thing is fairly nasty? It might be better to say unethical.”

  I got sore at that. I looked back at him and said, “Look here, Mr. Anderson. You said you didn’t remember me. I remember you. You haven’t forgotten the Goldsmith case five years ago. It wouldn’t have hurt you a bit to let people know what Wolfe handed you on that. But let them go, let’s say you needed to keep it for yourself. We wouldn’t have minded that so much. But how ethical was it for you to turn it around so that Wolfe got a nice black eye instead of what was really coming to him? You tend to your own ethics maybe.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “All right. But if I go to White Plains today somebody will know what I’m talking about. And whatever you get this time you’ll pay for.”

  Anderson smiled and got up. “Don’t bother, Goodwin. You won’t be needed at White Plains today. On information that I have received I have decided definitely on the exhumation of Barstow’s body. You will be here throughout the day, or Wolfe? I may wish to get in touch with him later.”

  “Wolfe is always here, but you can’t get him between nine and eleven or four and six.”

  “Well. Such an eccentric!”

  “Yes, sir. Your hat’s in the hall.”

  I went to the front room window and watched his taxi roll off. Then I turned to the office, to the telephone. I hesitated; but I knew Wolfe was righi and if he
wasn’t, a little publicity wouldn’t make it an harder for us. So I called the Gazette office for Harry Foster, and by luck he was in.

  “Harry? Archie Goodwin. Here’s something for you, but keep it so quiet you can hear a pin drop. This morning at White Plains, Anderson, the District Attorney, is going to get a court order for an exhumation and autopsy on Peter Oliver Barstow. He’ll probably try to keep it mum, but I thought you might like to help him out. And listen. Some day, when the time comes, I’d be glad to tell you what it was that made Anderson so curious��� Don’t mention it.”

  I went upstairs and shaved and did my dressing over. By the time I had finished with that, and with breakfast and a little chat in the kitchen with Fritz about fish, it was nine-thirty. I went to the garage for the roadster and filled up with gas and oil, and headed south for Sullivan Street.

  Since it was school hours it wasn’t as noisy or dirty around there as it had been before, and it was different otherwise. I might have expected the decorations, but it hadn’t occurred to me. There was a big black rosette with long black ribbons hanging on the door and above it was a large wreath of leaves and flowers. A few people were standing around, mostly across the street. A little distance off a cop stood on the sidewalk looking uninterested; but when my roadster pulled up some yards short of the door with the wreath on it I saw him cock an eye at me. I got out and went over to him to say hello.

  I handed him a card. “I’m Archie Goodwin of Nero Wolfe’s office. We were engaged by Maffei’s sister to look for him the day before his body was found. I’ve come to see the landlady and check up a little.”

  “Yeah?” The cop stuck my card in a pocket. “I don’t know a thing except that I’m standing here. Archie Goodwin? Pleased to meet you.”

  We shook hands and as I moved off I asked him to keep an eye on my car.

  Mrs. Ricci didn’t seem very glad to see me, but I could understand that easy enough. That dick O’Grady had probably raked her over for letting me take stuff from Maffei’s room, of course without any right or reason, but that wouldn’t deter O’Grady. I grinned when I saw the landlady’s lips go shut, getting ready for the questions she thought I had come to ask. It’s never any fun having a murdered man lying upstairs, even when he was only a roomer. So I sympathized with her a little before I mentioned that I’d like to see Anna Fiore.

  “She’s busy.”

  “Sure. But this is important; my boss would like to see her. It would only take an hour or so, here, a couple of dollars-”

  “No! For the love of God can’t you let us alone in our house? Can’t you let the poor woman bury her brother without cackling in her ears to drive he crazy? Who are you that-”

  Of course she would have to pick me to blow-up on I saw it was hopeless to get any cooperation out of her, she wouldn’t even listen to me, so I removed myself and went back to the front hall. The door to the dining-room was open, but the room was empty. After I had slipped in there I heard footsteps in the hall, and looking through the crack between the door and the jamb I saw Mrs. Ricci start upstairs. She went on up and I could hear her continue the second flight. I stood behind the door and waited, and luck came my way. Not more than ten minutes had passed before there were steps on the stairs, and using the crack again I saw Anna. I called her name, softly. She stopped and looked around. I called still softly, “In the dining room.” She came to the threshold and I moved around where she could see me.

  “Hello, Anna. Mrs. Ricci told me to wait here till you came down.”

  “Oh. Mr. Archie.”

  “Sure. I came to take you for a ride. Mrs. Ricci was angry that I came for you, but you remember on Wednesday I gave her a dollar? Today I gave her two dollars, so she said all right. But hurry up; I told he we’d be back before noon.”

  I grabbed Anna’s hand, but she held back. “In the car like the other day?”

  “Sure. Come on.”

  “My jacket is upstairs and look at my dress.”

  “It’s too warm for a jacket. Hurry.” what if Mrs Ricci changed her mind? “We can buy you one-come on.”

  With my hand on her arm I worked her out of the dining-room and down the short hall to the entrance door, but I didn’t want to look anxious outside; there was no telling how important that cop might think he was and any interruption might queer it. So I threw the door open and said, “Go on and get in, I’ll tell Mrs. Ricci goodbye.” I waited only a few seconds before I followed her; she was at the roadster opening the door. I went around to my side and climbed in, stepped on the starter, waved to the flatfoot and shot off down Sullivan Street in second with the engine roaring so that no yelling from an upstairs window could hurt Anna’s ears.

  She certainly was a scarecrow. Her dress was a sight. But I wasn’t ashamed to have her beside me as we headed uptown again, I circled through Washington Square and rolled into Fifth Avenue. Not a bit. The clock on the dash said twenty after ten.

  Anna said, “Where are we going, Mr. Archie?”

  I said, “You see how it is about your dress in this low seat? Nobody can see you anyway except your face and there’s nothing wrong with that. What do you say we drive around Central Park? It’s a beautiful morning.”

  “Oh yes.”

  I didn’t say anything and she didn’t either for about ten blocks and then she said again, “Oh yes.”

  She was certainly having a swell time. I went on up the Avenue and into the Park at Sixtieth. Up the west side to a Hundred and Tenth, across to Riverside Drive, up to Grant’s Tomb where I circled around and turned downtown. I don’t think she glanced at the trees or the grass or the river once; she kept looking at people in other cars. It was five minutes to eleven when I drew up in front of Wolfe’s house.

  Mrs. Ricci had already telephoned twice. Fritz had a funny look when he told me about it. I settled that at once by calling her up and giving her a piece about obstructing justice. I didn’t know how much of it she heard with her yelling, but it seemed to work; I didn’t hear another peep out of her before noon, when I left to take Anna home.

  Wolfe came in while I was phoning Mrs. Ricci watched him stopping to tell the girl good morning his way to the desk. He was elegant with women. He had some sort of a perverted idea about them that I’ve never caught the hang of, but every time I had ever seen him with one he was elegant. I couldn’t describe how he did it because I couldn’t make it out myself; was hard to see how that enormous lump of flesh a folds could ever be called elegant, but he certainly was. Even when he was bullying one of them, like the time he sweated the Diplomacy Club business out Nyura Pronn. That was the best exhibition of squeezing a sponge dry I’ve ever seen.

  He started softly with Anna Fiore. After he had flipped through the mail, he turned and looked at her a minute before he said, “We no longer need to indulge in any conjectures as to the whereabouts of your friend Carlo Maffei. Accept my condolences. You have viewed the body?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It is a pity, a real pity, for he did not seek violence, he got in its path by misadventure. It is curious how slender a thread the destiny of a man may hang-for example, that of the murderer of Carlo Maffei may hang on this, Miss Fiore: when and under what circumstances did you see a golf club in Maffei’s room?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Yes. It will be easy to tell us now. Probably my question the other day recalled the occasion to your mind.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “It did?”

  She opened her mouth but said nothing. I was watching her, and she looked odd to me. Wolfe asked her again, “It did?”

  She was silent. I couldn’t see that she was a bit nervous or frightened, she was just silent.

  “When I asked you about this the other day, Miss Fiore, you seemed a little upset. I was sorry for that. Would you tell me why you were upset?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Was it perhaps your memory of something unpleasant that happened the day you saw the golf club?”

 
; Silence again. I saw that something was wrong. Wolfe hadn’t asked the last question as if it meant anything. I knew the shades of the tones of his voice, and I knew he wasn’t interested; at least, not in that question. Something had him off on another trail. All at once he shot another question at her in another tone.

  “When did you decide to say ‘Yes, sir,’ to anything I might ask you?”

  No answer; but without waiting Wolfe went on: “Miss Fiore, I would like to make you understand this. My last question had nothing whatsoever to do with a golf club or with Carlo Maffei. Don’t you see that? So if you have decided to reply nothing but ‘Yes, sir,’ to anything I may ask about Carlo Maffei that will be all right. You have an absolute right to do that because that is what you decided to do. But if I ask you about other things you have no right to say ‘Yes, sir,’ then, because that is not what you decided to do. About other things you should talk just as anyone would. So, when you decided to say nothing but ‘Yes, sir,’ to me was it on account of anything that Carlo Maffei had done?”

  Anna was looking hard at him, right at his eye. It was clear that she wasn’t suspecting him or fighting against him, she was merely trying to understand him. She looked and he looked back. After a minute of that she said: “No, sir.”

  “Ah! Good. It was not on account of anything he had done. Then it had nothing to do with him, so it is all right for you to tell me anything about it that I may ask. You see that of course. If you have decided to tell me nothing of Carlo Maffei I won’t ask you. But this other business. Did you decide to say ‘Yes, sir,’ to Mr. O’Grady, the man that came and asked you question yesterday morning?”