Fer-De-Lance

by Rex Stout

  I heard Fritz back in the kitchen starting the water. Wolfe wouldn���t budge, and the Lord knows I couldn���t budge him. He shook his head and wiggled a finger at me.

  “Archie, please. Stop that! Don���t touch anything. There is no bomb. They tick or they sizzle, and I have good ears and have listened. Besides, Mr. Kimball has not had time since his call to construct a good one, and he would use no other. It is not a bomb.-I beg you, no trepidation; drama, but not trepidation. I have reflected, and I have felt. Consider: when Mr. Kimball was in this room he saw me make no movement worthy the name but one. He saw me open the drawer of my desk and put my hand in it. If that suggests nothing to you, I am sure it did to him. We shall see.

  I jumped at him, for I thought he was going to open the drawer, but he waved me back; he was merely getting ready to leave his chair. He said, “Get my red thorn walking stick.-Confound it, will you do as I say?”

  I ran to the hall and got the stick from the stand and ran back. Wolfe was moving around the desk. He came clear around to the side opposite his chair, and reached over for the tray and pulled it across to him, with the glass and bottles still on it.

  “Now,” he said, “please do it this way.-No, first close the door to the hall.” I went and closed the door and returned. “Thank you. Grasp the stick by its other end. Reach across the desk and catch the tip of the handle on the lower edge of the drawer-front. Push, and the drawer will open.-Wait. Open it, if you can, quite slowly; and be ready to free the stick quickly should it occur to you to use it for any other purpose. Proceed.”

  I proceeded. The tip of the handle���s curve caught nicely under the edge of the drawer, but on account of the angle I had to keep the drawer wouldn���t start. I tried to push so as to open the drawer gradually, but I had to push harder, and suddenly the drawer popped out half a foot and I nearly dropped the stick. I lifted up to get the stick loose, and yelled: “Look out!”

  Wolfe had a beer bottle in each hand, by the neck, and he brought one of them crashing onto the desk but missed the thing that had come out of the drawer. It was coming fast and its head was nearly to the edge of the desk where we were while its tail was still in the drawer. I had got the stick loose and was pounding at its head but it kept slashing around and I couldn���t hit it, and the desk was covered with beer and the pieces of the broken bottle. I was ready to jump back and was grabbing Wolfe to pull him back with me when he came down with the second bottle right square on the ugly head and smashed it flat as a piece of tripe. The long brown body writhed all over the desk, but it was done for.

  The second bottle had busted too, and we were splattered all over. Wolfe stepped back and pulled out his handkerchief and began to wipe his face. I held on to the stick.

  “Nom de Diem!”

  It was Fritz, horrified.

  Wolfe nodded. “Yes. Fritz, here���s a mess for you. I���m sorry. Get things.”

  CHAPTER 16

  I tried it again. “Fair-duh-lahnss?”

  Wolfe nodded. “Somewhat better. Still too much ‘n’ and not enough nose. You are not a born linguist, Archie. Your defect is probably not mechanical. To pronounce French properly you must have within you a deep antipathy, not to say scorn, for some of the most sacred of the Anglo-Saxon prejudices. In some manner you manage without that scorn, I do not quite know how. Yes, fer-de-lance. Bothrops atrox. Except for the bushmaster, it is the most dreaded of all the vipers.”

  Fritz had cleaned up the mess, with my help, and served lunch, and we had eaten. When the snake had finished writhing I had stretched it out on the kitchen floor and measured it: six feet, three inches. At the middle it was almost as thick as my wrist. It was a dirty yellowish brown, and even dead it looked damn mean. After measuring it I stood up and, poking at it with the yardstick, wondered what to do with it-observing to Wolfe, standing near, that I couldn���t just stuff it in the garbage pail. Should I take it and throw it in the river?

  Wolfe���s cheeks folded. “No, Archie, that would be a pity. Get a carton and excelsior from the basement, pack it nicely, and address it to Mr. Manuel Kimball. Fritz can take it to the post office. It will relieve Mr. Kimball���s mind.”

  That had been done, and it hadn���t spoiled my lunch. Now we were back in the office, waiting for Maria Maffei, whom Wolfe had telephoned after receiving my call from Fordham Road.

  I said, “It comes from South America.”

  Wolfe was leaning back in his chair content, with half-shut eyes. He was not at all displeased that it had been his blow that had killed it, though he had expressed regret for the beer. He murmured, “It does. It is a crotalid, and one of the few snakes that will strike without challenge or warning. Only last week I was looking at a picture of it, in one of the books you procured for me. It is abundant throughout South America.”

  “They found snake venom in Barstow.”

  “Yes. That could have been suspected when the analysis was found difficult. The needle must have been well smeared. These considerations, Archie, will become of moment if Anna Fiore fails us and we must have recourse to a siege. Many things will be discoverable with sufficient patience and-well, abandonment of reserve. Is there somewhere on the Kimball estate a pit where Manuel has carried rats to his fer-de-lance? Did he extract the venom himself by teasing its bite into the pulp of a banana? Unlikely. Has he an Argentine friend who sent the poison to him? More likely. The young man-dark and handsome, Fritz says-who brought the note not from Miss Barstow, and who is admirably deft with vipers, will he be found to be on duller days an usher in a 116th Street movie theater? Or a seaman on a South American boat, providentially arrived at the port of New York only yesterday? Difficult questions, but each has its answer, if it comes to a siege. It is likely that Manuel Kimball arranged some time ago for the journey of the fer-de-lance, as a second string to his bow; thinking that if the contrivance designed by man should for any reason fail it would be well to give nature���s own mechanism a chance. Then, when it arrived, there was a more urgent need for it; vengeance stepped back for safety. And now, to this moment at least, he has neither.”

  “Maybe. But he just barely missed getting one, and he may get the other any minute.”

  Wolfe wiggled a finger at me. “Faulty, Archie, inexcusably faulty. Vengeance will continue to wait. Mr. Manuel Kimball is not a creature of impulse. Should circumstances render him suddenly desperate he would act with desperation, but even then not impulsively.-But Miss Maffei is due in half an hour, and you should know the arrangements before she arrives. Your notebook.”

  I got at my desk, and he dictated twenty minutes without stopping. After the first two minutes I put on a grin, and kept it on till the end. It was beautiful, it was without a flaw, and it covered every detail. He had even allowed for Maria Maffei���s refusal or her inability to persuade Anna; in that case the action was approximately the same, but the characters were shifted around; I was to take it with Anna. He had telephoned Burke Williamson and arranged for a clear stage for us, and Saul Panzer was to call at the office at six o���clock for the sedan and his instructions. When he had finished dictating it was all so clear that there were few questions for me to ask. I asked those few, and ran back over the pages. He was leaning back in his chair, full of beer, pretending he wasn���t pleased with himself.

  I said, “All right, I admit it, you���re a genius. This will get it if she���s got it.”

  He nodded without concern.

  Maria Maffei arrived on the dot. I was waiting for her on my toes and got to the door before Fritz was out of the kitchen. She was dressed in black, and if I had met her on the street I doubt if I would have known her, she looked so worn out. I was so full of Wolfe���s program that I had a grin ready for her, but I killed it in time. She wasn���t having any grins. After I saw her I didn���t feel like grinning anyway; it sobered me up to see what the death of a brother might do to a woman. She was ten years old
er and the bright life in her eyes was gone.

  I took her to the office and moved a chair in front of Wolfe for her and went to my desk.

  She exchanged greetings with Wolfe and said, “I suppose you want money.”

  “Money for what?” Wolfe asked.

  “For finding my brother Carlo. You didn���t find him. Neither did the police. Some boys found him. I won���t pay you any money.”

  “You might.” Wolfe sighed. “I hadn���t thought of that, Miss Maffei. I���m sorry you suggested it. It arouses me to sordid considerations. But for the moment let us forget it; you owe me nothing. Forget it. But let me ask you-I am sorry if it is painful, but it is necessary-you saw your brother���s body?”

  Her eyes were dull on him, but I saw that I had been wrong: the life in them was not gone, it had merely sunk within, waiting back there as if in ambush. She said quietly, “I saw him.”

  “You saw perhaps the hole in his back. The hole made by the knife of the man who killed him.”

  “I saw it.”

  “Good. And if there was a chance of my discovering the man who used that knife and bringing him to punishment, and needed your help, would you help me?”

  In the dull eyes a gleam came and went. Maria Maffei said, “I would pay you money for that, Mr. Wolfe.”

  “I suspect you would. But we shall forget that for the present. It is another kind of assistance I require. Since you are intelligent enough to make reasonable assumptions, and therefore to be made uncomfortable when only reasonable ones are available, I had better explain to you. The man who murdered your brother is sought by me, and by others, for another act he committed. An act more sensational and not less deplorable. I know who he is, but your help is needed-”

  “You know? Tell me!” Maria Maffei had jerked forward in her chair, and this time the gleam in her eyes stayed.

  Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “Easy, Miss Maffei. I am afraid you must delegate your vengeance. Remember that those of us who are both civilized and prudent commit our murders only under the complicated rules which permit us to avoid personal responsibility. Let us get on. You can help. You must trust me. Your friend Fanny���s husband, Mr. Durkin, will tell you that I am to be trusted; besides, he will also help. I wish to speak of Miss Anna Fiore, the girl who works at the rooming house where your brother lived. You know her?”

  “Of course I know her.”

  Th “Does she like you and trust you?”

  “I don���t know. She is a girl who hides her flowers.”

  “If any? A tender way of putting it; thank you. Could you go in my automobile this evening, with a driver, and persuade Miss Fiore to take a long ride with you; give her a good excuse, so she would go willingly?”

  Maria Maffei looked at him; after a moment she nodded. “She would go. It would be a strange thing, I would have to think-”

  “You will have time for that. I prefer to leave it to your wit to invent the excuse; you will use it better if it is your own. But that is all that will be left to you; one of my men will drive the car; in all the rest you must carefully and precisely follow my instructions. Or rather, Mr. Goodwin���s instructions. Archie, if you please.” Wolfe put his hands on the edge of the desk and shoved his chair back, and got himself up. “You will forgive me for leaving you, Miss Maffei, it is the hour for my plants. Perhaps when you and Mr. Goodwin have finished you would like him to bring you up to see them.”

  He left us.

  I didn���t take Maria Maffei upstairs to see the orchids that day; it was nearly five o���clock when I had finished with her, and I had something else to do. She didn���t balk at all, but it took a lot of explaining, and then I went over the details three times to make sure she wouldn���t get excited and ball it up. We decided it would be better for her to make a preliminary call on Anna and get it arranged, so I took her out and put her in a taxi and saw her headed for Sullivan Street.

  Then I started on my own details. I had to get the knife and the masks and the guns ready, and arrange with the garage for hiring a car, since we couldn���t take a chance on Anna recognizing the roadster, and get hold of Bill Gore and Orrie Cather. I had suggested them, and Wolfe said okay. He had already told Durkin to report at seven o���clock.

  I got it all done, but without any time to spare. At six-thirty I ate a hurry-up dinner in the kitchen, while Wolfe was in the office with Saul Panzer. On his way out Saul looked in at the kitchen to make a face at me, as if his ugly mug wasn���t good enough without any embroidery. He called in to me, “Enjoy it, Arch, it may be your last meal, you���re not dealing with a quitter this night!”

  I had my mouth full, so I only said, “Shrivel, shrimp.”

  Bill Gore and Durkin were there on time, and Orrie wasn���t late enough to matter. I gave them the story, and rehearsed Orrie several times because a lot depended on him. We hadn���t been together on anything for over two years, and it seemed like old times to see him again twisting his thin lips and looking around for a place to squirt his tobacco juice.

  Wolfe was still in at his dinner when we got away a little before eight o���clock. The garage had given me a black Buick sedan, and it had four wheels and an engine but it wasn���t the roadster. Orrie got in front with me and Bill Gore and Durkin in the back. I thought to myself that it was too bad it was only a set-up, because with those three birds I would have contracted to stop anything from a Jersey bus to a truck of hooch. Orrie said I should have hung a sign on the radiator, Highwaymen���s Special. I grinned, but only with my mouth. I knew everything had to go exactly right and it was up to me. What Wolfe had said about Anna Fiore was true: her mental vision was limited, but within its limits she might see things that a broader vision would miss entirely.

  I went up the west side and got onto the Sawmill River Road. The Williamson place was in the back country east of Tarrytown, on a secondary road; I knew the way as well as I knew 35th Street on account of my trips there four years before. I had expected to make it by nine-thirty but traffic up to Yonkers had held me up a little, and it was a few minutes later than that and I had the lights on when I turned into the drive where I had once picked Mrs. Williamson up in a faint and carried her to the pond to throw water on her.

  I drove on up to the house, about a third of a mile, and left the three in the car and went and rang the doorbell. Tanzer, the butler, remembered me and we shook hands. I told him I wouldn���t go in, I just wanted to speak to his boss a minute. Burke Williamson came right away; he shook hands too and said he was sorry they had missed me Friday night. I said I was sorry too.

  “I���m a little late, Mr. Williamson, I came on up just to make sure that everything���s set. No loose servants out hunting lightning bugs? Can we go ahead?”

  “Everything���s arranged.” He laughed. “No one will disturb your sinister plot. Of course we���re all itching with curiosity. I don���t suppose we could get behind a bush and watch?”

  I shook my head. “You���d better stay in the house, if you don���t mind. I won���t see you again, I���ve got to make a quick getaway. Wolfe will phone you tomorrow, I expect, to thank you.”

  “He needn���t bother. I���ll never do enough to make Nero Wolfe owe me any thanks.”

  I went back to the car and turned it around and started back down the drive. I had the spot picked out, about halfway down, a full three hundred yards from the public road, where high shrubbery was on both sides with trees just beyond and it would be good and dark. There the drive was narrow enough so that I could block it with the sedan without bothering to swing it crosswise.

  I got the sedan into position and turned off the lights and we all got out. It was nearly ten o���clock and our prey was due at a quarter past. I passed around the guns and gave Orrie the knife, and then handed out the masks and we put them on. We were a hard-looking bunch and I couldn���t help
grinning at Orrie���s wisecracks, though to tell the truth I was pretty much keyed-up. The thing had to go absolutely right. I went over it again with them. They had it pat, and we scattered into the bushes. It was plenty dark. They began calling back and forth to one another, and pretty soon I told them to shut up so I could listen.

  After a couple of minutes the sound came up from below of Wolfe���s sedan going into second on the grade. I couldn���t see the lights on account of the bushes, but soon I did. They got brighter, and then I saw the car. It buzzed along, getting close, and when the driver saw my sedan right ahead it slowed down. I left the bushes on a run, jumped to the running board of Wolfe���s sedan just as it came to a stop, and shoved my gun into the face of Saul Panzer in the driver���s seat.

  The others were with me. Bill Gore was on my side, on the running board, sticking his gun through the open window; One, with Durkin behind him, was opening the other tonneau door. Maria Maffei was screaming. There was no sound from Anna.

  Orrie said, “Get out of there quick. Come on, do you want me to put a hole in you?”

  Anna came out and stood on the ground by the running board. Bill Gore went in and got Maria Maffei and hauled her out. Orrie growled, “Shut your trap, you.” He called to me, “If that driver grunts let him have it. Put out the lights.”

  Bill Gore said, “I���ve got her purse, it���s fat.”

  “Which one?”

  “This one.”

  “All right, keep it, and keep her trap shut. If she yells rap her one.” Orrie turned to Durkin. “Here, hold this one while I put a light on her.”

  Durkin moved behind Anna and gripped her arms, and Orrie put a flashlight on her face. She looked pale and her lips were clamped tight; she hadn���t let out a chirp. Ornie held his light right against her and his masked face was just behind it. He said, “It���s you all right. By God, I���ve got you. So you will tell people about Carlo Maffei cutting out newspaper clippings and talking on the phone and everything you ought to forget. Will you? You won���t any more. The knife that was good enough for Carlo Maffei is good enough for you. Tell him hello for me.”