by Rex Stout
Wolfe was frowning at him. A baby? Mrs. Valdon's baby?
I didn't say her baby. I said there's a baby in her house.
Indeed. I'll ask her, Mr. Upton. If it is somehow connected with the letters she must be aware of it. By the way, I have advised her to mention the letters to no one. No exceptions. As you gentlemen know, she didn't mention them to you. The matter is in my hands.
All right, handle it. Upton got to his feet. His weight was just about half of Wolfe's, but from the effort it took to get it up from a chair it might have been the other way around. From the way you're handling us, or trying to, you'll hash it up. I don't owe Lucy Valdon anything. If she wants a favor from me she can ask me.
He headed for the door, jostling Leo Bingham's elbow as he passed, and Bingham's other hand darted out and gave him a shove. Because a guest is a guest, and also because I doubted if he had the vim and vigor to shut the door, I got up and went, passed him in the hall, and saw him out. When I returned to the office Julian Haft was speaking.
… but before I do so I want to speak with Mrs. Valdon. I don't agree with Mr. Upton, I don't say you're handling it badly, but what you ask is rather uh unusual. He put the cheaters back on and turned. Of course I agree with you, Willie, about people who send anonymous letters. I suppose you think I'm being overcautious.
That's your privilege, Krug said.
To hell with privilege, Bingham said. He flashed the big smile at Haft. I wouldn't say overcautious, I'd say cagey. You were born scared, Julian.
You have to make allowances. Buyers and sellers. To a literary agent a publisher is a customer, but to a television producer he's just another peddler. I have before me a copy of the expense account of the case in the files under V for Valdon. Its second stage, working on the names on the lists furnished by Willis Krug, Leo Bingham, Julian Haft, and the client (we never got one from Manuel Upton) lasted twenty-six days, from June 12 to July 7, and cost the client $8,674.30, not including any part of my salary, which is covered by the fee and is never itemized.
Lucy's list had 47 names, Haft's 81, Bingham's 106, and Krug's 55. One of Upton's daughters, married, was on Haft's and Bingham's lists, but not on Krug's. Haft's married daughter was on Lucy's list but none of the others. A certain friend of Bingham's was on nobody's list; Orrie picked up her name along the way. Of course there were many duplications on the four lists, but there were 148 different names, as follows:
Section Number Status A 57 Single B 52 Married, living with husbands C 18 Divorced D 11 Widowed E 10 Married, separated. Another statistic, those in each section who had babies between December 1, 1961, and February 28, 1962:
Section Number
A 1
B 2
C 0
D 1
E 0.
The one in Section A (single) who had a baby worked in Krug's office, but everybody knew about it and the baby had been legally given (or sold) to an adoption service. It took Saul nearly two weeks to cinch it that the baby had not got sidetracked somehow and ended up in Mrs. Valdon's vestibule. The one in Section D (widowed) may have been a problem for her friends and enemies, but not for us. Her husband had died two years before the baby came, but she was keeping it and didn't care who knew it. I saw it.
The two babies in Section B (married, living with husbands) were really three; one was twins. They were all living with their parents. Fred saw the twins and Orrie saw the single.
Besides the mothers, two girls in Section A, two women in B, two in C, and one in D, had been away from their homes and/or jobs for a part or all of the period. Orrie had to take a plane to France, the Riviera, to settle one of them, and Fred had to fly to Arizona to settle another one.
There has never been a smoother operation since Whosis scattered the dust on the temple floor. Absolutely flawless. Orrie got taken to an apartment-house superintendent by a doorman, but it wasn't his fault, and Fred got bounced from backstage in a theater, but a bounce is all in the day's work. As an example of superlative snoopery it was a perfect performance. And when Saul phoned at half past three Saturday afternoon, July 7, to report that he had closed the last little gap in the adoption and had actually seen the baby, and the operation was complete, we were precisely where we had been on June 12, twenty-six days earlier.
With a difference, though. There had been a couple of developments, but we hadn't done the developing. One, the minor one, was that I was no longer the last person known to have seen Ellen Tenzer alive. That Friday afternoon she had called at the home of a Mrs. James R. Nesbitt on East 68th Street, an ex-patient from her New York nursing days. Mrs. Nesbitt had waited nearly two weeks to mention it because she didn't want her name to appear in connection with a murder, but had finally decided she must. Presumably the DA had promised her that her name would not appear, but some journalist had somehow got it, and hooray for freedom of the press. Not that Mrs. Nesbitt was really any help. Ellen Tenzer had merely said she needed advice about something from a lawyer and had asked Mrs. Nesbitt to tell her the name of one who could be trusted, and she had done so and had phoned the lawyer to make an appointment. But Ellen Tenzer hadn't kept the appointment. She hadn't told Mrs. Nesbitt why she needed a lawyer. Mrs. Nesbitt was added to Saul's list of names, just in case, but she hadn't had a baby for ten years and her twenty-year-old daughter had never had one.
The other development, the major one, was that the client came within an ace of quitting. She phoned at a quarter after four on Monday, July 2. Of course I had kept in touch with her; when you're spending more than three Cs a day of a client's money and getting nothing for it, the least you can do is give her a ring, or drop in and say hello, it's a fine day but I guess they need rain in the country. I had watched her feed the baby once, lunched with her once, dined with her twice, taught her to play pinochle, and listened to her playing the piano for a total of about six hours. Also we had done a little dancing, to records in the dining room, which wasn't carpeted. She was plenty good enough to spend an evening with at the Flamingo or Gillotti's, but that would have to wait, since it would have broken security. If you ask, would I have gone to so much trouble to keep a client patient if she had been cross-eyed or fat-ankled? the answer is no.
When I answered the phone at a quarter after four on July 2 and started the formula, Nero Wolfe's she broke in, Can you come, Archie? Right away?
I could, sure. Why?
A man was here, a policeman. He just left. He asked when I hired Nero Wolfe, and he asked about the baby. Will you come?
What did you tell him?
Nothing, of course. I said he had no right to ask about my private affairs. That's what you told me to say.
Right. Did you get his name?
He told me, but I was so I don't know.
Was it Cramer?
Cramer… no. Rowcliff?
No.
Stebbins?
That sounds like it. Stebbins. Yes, I think so.
Big and solid with a broad nose and a wide mouth and trying hard to be polite?
Yes.
Okay. My favorite cop. At ease. Play the piano. I can do it in twenty minutes since I won't have to bother about a tail.
You're coming?
Certainly.
I hung up, got the house phone, buzzed the plant rooms, and after a wait had Wolfe's voice: Yes?
Mrs. Valdon phoned. Purley Stebbins came and asked her about you and the baby. She told him nothing. She wants me to come and I'm leaving. Any instructions?
No. Confound it.
Yes, sir. Bring her?
Not unless you must. He hung up.
I went to the kitchen to tell Fritz the phone and the door were his until he saw me again, and was off. As I descended the stoop to the sidewalk and turned east I automatically glanced around, but actually I didn't give a damn, now, if I had a shadow or not. Almost certainly there was an eye on the Valdon house anyway.
I walked it. The live 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 by 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 necessary, 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.
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.
