The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

by Rex Stout

  Naturally she wanted to know what we were going to do now. I told her if I knew the answer to that I wouldn't be there with her, I would be somewhere else, doing it. The difficulty, I said, is that Mr. Wolfe is a genius. A genius can't be bothered with just plain work like having someone tailed. He has to do stunts. He has to take a short cut. Anybody can get a rabbit out of a hat, so he has to get a hat out of a rabbit. This evening he will be sitting in the office, leaning back with his eyes closed, working his lips, pushing them out and pulling them in, out and in. That's probably how Newton discovered the law of gravitation, leaning back with his ayes closed and working his lips.

  He did not. It was an apple falling.

  Sure. His eyes were closed and it hit him on the nose.

  When I got back to the old brownstone a little after midnight I was expecting to find on my desk a note telling me to come to Wolfe's room at 8:15 in the morning, but it wasn't there. Evidently his imagination and wit hadn't delivered. Fritz's had. In the kitchen there was a dish of Lobster Cardinal and a saucer with Parmesan ready grated. I sprinkled the cheese on and put it in the broiler, and drank milk and made coffee while it was browning, and while I was thinking that when Fritz came down after taking up the breakfast tray he might have word that I was to go up for instructions. Now that we had flushed the mother we had damn well better get a gun up.

  Nothing doing. When Fritz returned to the kitchen at 8:20 Saturday morning, no word; and I had done with only six hours' sleep in order to be on tap. I decided to poke him, and it would be better to get him in his room before he went up to the orchids, so I speeded up with the poached eggs Creole and toasted muffins and skipped the second cup of coffee; and I was pushing my chair back when the phone rang.

  It was Saul. He asked if I had listened to the 8:30 news, and I said no, I had been brooding.

  Then I'm bad news, he said. About three hours ago a cop found a corpse in an alley off of Perry Street and it has been identified as Carol Mardus. She was strangled.

  I said something but it didn't get out. My throat was clogged. I cleared it. Anything else?

  No, that was all.

  Thank you very much. I don't have to tell you to bite your tongue.

  Of course.

  And stand by. I hung up.

  I looked at my watch: 8:53. I went to the hall, to the stairs, mounted a flight, found the door standing open, and entered. Wolfe had finished breakfast and was on his feet, shirt-sleeved, his jacket in his hand.

  Yes? he demanded.

  Saul just phoned an item from the eight-thirty news. The body of Carol Mardus was found in an alley by a cop. Strangled.

  He glared. No.

  Yes.

  He threw the jacket at me.

  It came close, but I didn't catch it; I was too stunned. I couldn't believe he had actually done it. As I stood and stared he moved. He went to the house phone, on the table by a window, pushed the button, and lifted the receiver, and in a moment said in a voice tight with rage, Good morning, Theodore. I won't be with you this morning. He cradled the phone and started pacing back and forth. He never paced. After half a dozen turns he came and picked up the jacket, put it on, and headed for the door.

  Where are you bound for? I demanded.

  The plant rooms, he said, and kept going, and the sound came of the elevator. He was off his hinges. I went down to the kitchen and got my second cup of coffee. When Wolfe entered the office at eleven o'clock, assuming that he followed his schedule, he found on his desk a note which read as follows: 9:22 a.m. I am leaving for the beach, having phoned Mrs. Valdon that I'm coming. If she hears a news broadcast it might hit her as hard as it did you and she might do something undesirable. I'm assuming that we intend to hold on and will tell her so. I should be back by lunchtime. The phone number of the cottage is on the card. AG

  Actually the phone number was useless if he had something urgent to say, because at the moment he was reading the note I was in the Heron with the client beside me, parked under a tree at the roadside. There were two weekend guests at the cottage, in addition to the maid and cook and nurse, not a good setting for a strictly private conversation, and I had got Lucy in the car and away before telling her the news. Now, parked, I could give her my whole attention, and she needed it. She had a grip on my arm and her teeth were clamped on her lip.

  Okay, I said, it's tough. It's damn tough. All the ifs. If you hadn't hired Nero Wolfe I wouldn't have found Ellen Tenzer, and if I hadn't found her she wouldn't have been murdered. If you hadn't helped with that article in the paper and the baby-carriage act we wouldn't have found Carol Mardus, and if we hadn't found her she wouldn't have been murdered. But you have simply Do you know that, Archie?

  No. I only know what Saul told me and what I heard on the radio on the way here. Just what I told you. But it's a million to one that that's why she got it. You have simply got to ignore the ifs. If you want to turn loose because of the risks you'll be taking if you don't, that might be sensible I don't want to turn loose.

  I guess I gawked. You don't?

  No. I want Nero Wolfe to find him. To get him. The man who the murderer he killed both of them, didn't he?

  Yes.

  He put the baby in my vestibule, didn't he?

  Yes. Almost certainly.

  Then I want Nero Wolfe to get him.

  The cops would get him sooner or later.

  I want Nero Wolfe to get him.

  I thought to myself, you never know. I had wasted my breath on the ifs; they were no longer bothering her. Maybe it was merely a matter of quantity; she could feel responsible for one murder but not for two. Anyhow, my errand had turned out to be quite different from what I had expected.

  Mr. Wolfe would certainly like to get him, I said. So would I. But you're his client and you must understand that this changes the situation. On Ellen Tenzer we could claim that no connection had been established between her death and the job you hired Mr. Wolfe to do, and probably get away with it. Not on Carol Mardus. If we don't tell what we know about her, and the we' includes you, we are definitely withholding important evidence in a homicide case, and we couldn't claim we didn't know it was important evidence. Of course we know. So if we don't tell, and the cops dig it up themselves and get the murderer before we do, we're sunk. Mr. Wolfe and I would not only lose our licenses, we would also probably be sent up on a felony charge. You have no Archie, I don't Let me finish. You have no license to lose, but you would also be open to the felony charge. I doubt very much if they would press it, they probably wouldn't even charge you, but you would be wide open. I want to make that absolutely clear before you decide what to do.

  But you mean… you would go to jail?

  Probably.

  All right.

  All right what?

  I'll turn loose.

  Damn it, Lucy, you've twisted it all around. Or I have. We don't want you to turn loose. We positively don't. Mr. Wolfe is stiff with fury. He resented Ellen Tenzer being killed because he sent me to her, but that was nothing compared to this. If he doesn't nail the man who killed Carol Mardus he won't eat for a year. I merely had to make it plain what you might be in for if you stick.

  But you'll go to jail.

  That's my funeral. Also my business, I'm a detective. Leave that to us. The cops don't know there is any connection between Carol Mardus and Ellen Tenzer and you and us, and with any kind of a break they won't know until we've got the murderer, and then it won't matter. Have you mentioned Carol Mardus to anybody?

  No.

  Positive?

  Yes. You ordered me not to.

  So I did. I now order you to forget Mr. Wolfe and me and think only of yourself. Do you stick or let go?

  She gripped my arm again. Her fingers were stronger than you would expect. Tell me honestly, Archie. Do you want me to stick? Thinking only of yourself?

  Yes.

  Then I stick. Kiss me.

  That sounds like an order.

  It is.

 
Twenty minutes later I turned the Heron into the driveway, circled around the curve, and stopped at the door of the cottage. No one was visible; they were all on the beach side. As Lucy was getting out I spoke. I just had an idea. I have one a year. I might possibly be walking past the house and feel like dropping in. May I have a key?

  Her eyes widened. Nine hundred and ninety-nine women out of a thousand, as things stood between us, would have said, Of course, but why? She said only, Of course, swung the car door shut, and went. In a couple of minutes she was back. She handed me the key, said, No phone call for you, and tried hard to smile. I pressed the gas pedal and was off.

  One of the various prospects for the future that I didn't care for was sitting down for lunch with Wolfe. It would be painful. He always talked at table, and one of two things would happen. Either he would grump through it without even trying, or worse, he would pick something as far as possible from babies or murders, say the influence of Freud on theological dogma, and fight his way through. The prospect was bad enough without that. So I stopped at a place along the way and ate duckling, with a sauce that Fritz would have turned up his nose at, and it was five minutes to two when, after leaving the Heron at the garage around the corner, I mounted the stoop of the old brownstone and used my key.

  Wolfe would be toward the end of lunch. But he wasn't. Not in the dining room. Crossing the hall to the office door, I glanced in. He wasn't there either, but someone else was. Leo Bingham was in the red leather chair, and Julian Haft was in one of the yellow ones. Their heads turned to me, and their faces were not cheerful. I beat it to the kitchen, and there was Wolfe at my breakfast table, with a board of cheese, crackers, and coffee. He looked up, grunted, and chewed. Fritz said, The duckling's warm, Archie. Flemish olive sauce.

  I swear I hadn't known duckling was on for lunch when I ordered it on the way. I had a bite at the beach, I lied. To Wolfe: Mrs. Valdon wants you to get the murderer. I told her the cops would get him sooner or later if she wanted to pull out, but she said, quote, I want Nero Wolfe to get him.' Unquote.

  He growled. You know quite well that that locution is vile.

  I feel vile. Do you know you have company?

  Yes. Mr. Bingham came half an hour ago. I was at lunch; I haven't seen him. I told him through Fritz that I would not see him unless he got Mr. Haft and Mr. Krug to come, and he used the telephone. He was putting Brie on a cracker. What took you so long? Was she difficult?

  No. I dawdled. I was afraid to lunch with you. I thought you might throw your plate at me. Is Krug coming?

  I don't know.

  You actually wouldn't have seen Bingham if he had balked?

  Certainty I would. But he had to wait until I finished lunch, and he might as well try to get the others. He aimed a finger at me. Archie. I am making an effort to control myself. I advise you to do the same. I realize that the provocation is as insupportable for you. The doorbell rang. I moved, but Wolfe snapped, No. Fritz will go. Have some cheese. Coffee? Get a cup.

  Fritz had gone. I got a cup and poured, and plastered a cracker with Brie. I was controlling myself. It might be Willis Krug at the door, but it might be Inspector Cramer, and if so, fur would fly. But when Fritz returned he said he had shown Mr. Krug to the office, and I took too big a sip of hot coffee and scalded my tongue. Wolfe took another cracker, and cheese, and then another. Finally he asked me politely if I wanted more, pushed his chair back, rose, thanked Fritz for the meal as always, and moved. I followed.

  As we entered the office Leo Bingham bounced up out of the red leather chair and boomed, Who the hell do you think you are?

  Wolfe detoured around him. My route was between Wolfe's desk and the other two. Wolfe sat and said, Sit down, Mr. Bingham.

  By God, if you. Sit down! Wolfe roared.

  I want to. Sit down!

  Bingham sat.

  Wolfe eyed him. In my house I do the bawling, he said. You came to see me, uninvited. What do you want?

  I was invited, Julian Haft said. What do you want? His thin tenor was close to a squeak.

  I didn't come to go on the air, Bingham said. You wanted Krug and Haft, and here they are. When you're through with them I'll speak with you privately.

  Wolfe's head turned slowly to the right, to take his eyes past Haft to Krug, who was nearest me, and back again to the left. It saves time, he said, to have all three of you, because I wish to ask each of you the same question. And no doubt each of you would like to ask me the same question. Your question would be, why was a picture of Carol Mardus among those I sent you on Tuesday? My question is, why did none of you identify it?

  Bingham blurted, You sent it to them too?

  I did.

  Where did you get it?

  I'm going to tell you, but with a long preamble. First, to clear the way, you should know that what I told you in this room nearly six weeks ago was pure invention. Mrs. Valdon had received no anonymous letters.

  Bingham and Krug made noises. Haft adjusted his balloon-tired cheaters to stare better.

  Wolfe ignored the noises. It wasn't about anonymous letters that Mrs. Valdon came to me, it was about a baby that had been left in the vestibule of her house. She hired me to learn who had left it there and who its mother was. And father. I failed miserably. After a week of fruitless effort I decided to try the conjecture that Mrs. Valdon's late husband had been the father, and I asked her to get the cooperation of three or four of his close associates. You know how that resulted. Mr. Upton refused my request. Each of you three gave me a list of the names of women who had been in contact with Mr. Valdon in the spring of last year, the period when the baby had been conceived. I remark in passing that the name of Carol Mardus was on none of the lists.

  She's dead, Bingham blurted. She is indeed. Of course the procedure was to learn if any of the women listed had given birth to a baby at the time indicated. Four of them had, but the babies were all accounted for. That effort, again fruitless, took nearly four weeks. Close to desperation, I tried another conjecture, that the mother of the baby would like to see it, and I arranged for publication but perhaps you saw the page in the Gazette about Mrs. Valdon?

  They all had.

  It worked. Hidden cameras were attached to the baby carriage, and pictures were taken of everyone who stopped for a look. That was the source of the pictures that were sent to each of you gentlemen on Monday and Tuesday. Each of you reported that he recognized none of them, but Mrs. Valdon recognized Carol Mardus and named her. Inquiry disclosed that she had gone to Florida last September, had remained there into the winter, had entered a hospital on January sixteenth under an alias and given birth to a baby, and had returned to New York on February fifth, with the baby. Obviously I had found the mother of the baby left in Mrs. Valdon's vestibule, since the newspaper article had lured her to Washington Square to look at it. Naturally I wished to see her, and yesterday morning Mr. Goodwin was going to telephone her, but she anticipated him. She phoned when, Archie?

  Ten minutes to nine.

  And came shortly after twelve. She had She came here? Leo Bingham. Yes, sir. She had learned that inquiries had been made about her and wanted to know why. I told her, and I asked questions, but she answered only three of them that she knew you, Mr. Bingham, and you, Mr. Haft, and that neither of you, nor Mr. Krug, her former husband, was the father of the baby. She sat there he pointed to Bingham in the red leather chair while I asked several other questions, but answered none of them, and rose abruptly and departed. And now she's dead.

  No one spoke. Bingham was leaning forward, his elbows on the chair arms, his jaw clamped, his eyes fastened on Wolfe. Krug's eyes were closed. In profile his long bony face looked even longer. Haft's mouth was screwed up and he was blinking. From the side I could see his eyelashes flick behind the cheaters.

  So that's why she… Krug said, and let it hang.

  You've admitted you're a liar, Bingham said.

  You say she didn't answer your questions, Haft said. Then she didn't say
she was the mother of the baby.

  In words, no. Implicitly, yes. I am being open. Since she is dead, and since Mr. Goodwin was present, we could give any account we pleased. I am reporting candidly. It is indubitable that Carol Mardus was the mother of the baby left in Mrs. Valdon's vestibule and that she was gravely disquieted to learn that I knew it and could demonstrate it. It is all but certain that some other person, X, was in some manner deeply involved, that she told X of her conversation with me, and that X, fearing that she would disclose his involvement, killed her. I am going to find X and expose him.

  This is… fantastic, Krug said.

  You may be candid, Haft said, but it seems to me what kind of involvement? He killed her just because he was involved in leaving a baby in a vestibule?

  No. Does the name Ellen Tenzer mean anything to you, Mr. Haft?

  No.

  To you, Mr. Krug?

  Ellen Tenzer? No.

  Bingham asked, Wasn't that the name of the woman whose body was found in a car? Strangled? A few weeks ago?

  It was. She was a retired nurse. She had boarded the baby that was left in Mrs. Valdon's vestibule, and Mr. Goodwin found her and spoke with her, and X killed her. The menace from Carol Mardus was not only that she would disclose his involvement with the baby, whatever it was, but that she knew he had murdered Ellen Tenzer.

  How did she know that? Haft demanded.

  Presumably by inference. Presumably she knew that her baby had been in the care of Ellen Tenzer. Presumably she read newspapers, and knew what had happened to Ellen Tenzer, and knew that Mr. Goodwin had gone to ask her about buttons on a baby's overalls, and knew that the police inquiry was centered on the baby she had recently boarded. As you see, I am being candid. I could simply say that Carol Mardus admitted this or that, and Mr. Goodwin would confirm it. I prefer to be open because I need your help.

  Are you open? Bingham demanded.

  Yes.

  All this is straight the baby, Lucy Valdon, Carol here yesterday, Ellen Tenzer?

  It is.

  Have you told the police?