“Lord, I don’t know. Vukčić is a Montenegrin—”
“Gibberish.”
I waved a hand. “All right, then the immigrant girl did it, and she’s either an obnoxious Balkan princess or she’s not, and so what and why? Is she in cahoots with evil forces in America, and will Mr. Stahl come back with a search warrant and find it and throw you in the coop? Is it a plant? Or did she swipe it from the princess and come here to cache it—”
“Archie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Address an envelope to Miss Carla Lovchen in care of the Nikola Miltan studio—get the address from the phone book. Put this thing in it and mail it at once. I don’t want it here. I’ll have nothing to do with it. I don’t want—I send money to those young people over there because I know it’s hard for even a Montenegrin to be brave on an empty stomach, but it’s their stable now, not mine, and they’ll have to clean it out. This is the first time—well, Fritz?”
Fritz Brenner, entering, advanced his three paces and announced:
“A young lady to see you, sir. Miss Carla Lovchen.”
I made a noise. Wolfe blinked at him.
Fritz held to his formal stance, waiting. He had to wait a full two minutes, for Wolfe sat motionless, his lips puckered up, his forehead creased with a frown. Finally:
“Where is she?”
“In the front room, sir. I always think—”
“Shut that door and come here.”
Fritz obeyed and was standing by the desk. Wolfe turned to me: “Address an envelope to Saul Panzer at his home and put a stamp on it.”
I elevated the typewriter and followed instructions. As I put the stamp in the corner I inquired, “Registered or special?”
“No. Neither. That’s another point for America, mail gets delivered intact and promptly. Let me have it.” He inserted the folded paper in the envelope, licked the flap and pressed it down. “Here, Fritz, go to the box at the corner and drop it in. Immediately.”
“The young lady—”
“We’ll attend to her.”
Fritz departed. Wolfe cocked an ear and waited until the sound of the street door opening and closing reached us, and then told me, “Remember to phone Saul and tell him to expect that envelope and to take care of it.” He slid United Yugoslavia across the desk. “Put this away before you bring her in.”
I returned the book to its place on the shelf and then went to the front room for her. “This way, please. Sorry you had to wait.” As I stood back to let her precede me into the office, I inspected her build and swing and the set of her head from the fresh viewpoint of the princess theory, but the first strong impression I had had of her was the way she said pliz, and to me she was still an immigrant girl and in my opinion always would be. Anyway, judging from various pictures of princesses I had seen, from brats on up, I was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that she had swiped that paper from the rightful owner.
She thanked me for the chair and I returned to my own. I had a notion to warn her to lay off on the hvala Bogu stuff, but decided that Wolfe was in no mood for the light touch. He was upright in his chair with his eyes narrowed at her.
“I sent you a message this morning, Miss Lovchen,” he said dryly, “by Mr. Goodwin, that I would be unable to help you out in your trouble. Your friend’s trouble.”
She nodded. “I got it. I was disappointed, very much, because we’re from Yugoslavia and we know you have been there, and we’re strangers and there was no one else to go to.” She kept the lashes up, her dark eyes at him straight. “I told Neya—my friend—and she was disappointed too. It is a very extremely serious trouble. We talked it over, and there is only one thing to do, and that is you must get her out of it.”
“No.” Wolfe was still dry, and positive. “I can’t engage to do that. But I would like to ask—”
“Pliz!” She snapped it out. “It must be done quick now, because they will all be there at five o’clock to settle it, and that man is not only an American fool, he is the kind of man who would simply make trouble anywhere. And somehow there is a terrible mistake. There is no one we can go to but you. So we talked it over and I said the only thing to do is to tell you the very good reason why you must help her, and she agreed to it because she had to. The reason is that my friend, Neya Tormic, is your daughter.”
Wolfe’s eyes popped open to a new record. Not liking the sight of that, I transferred my astonished stare to the girl.
Wolfe exploded: “My daughter? What’s this flummery?”
“She is your daughter.”
“My daugh—” Wolfe was speechless. He found a piece of his voice:
“You said her name is Tormic.”
“I told you her name in America is Neya Tormic just as mine is Carla Lovchen.”
Wolfe, erect, was glaring at her. She glared back. They stayed that way.
Wolfe blurted, “I don’t believe it. It’s flummery. My daughter disappeared. I have no daughter.”
“You haven’t seen her since she was three years old. Have you?”
“No.”
“You should. Now you will. She’s very good-looking.” She opened her handbag and fished in it. “I suspected you wouldn’t want to believe me, so I got this from Neya and brought it along. Here.” She reached to hand him a paper. “There is your name where you signed it …”
She went on talking. Wolfe was scowling at the paper. He went over it slowly and carefully, holding it at an angle for better light from the window. His jaw was clamped. I watched him and listened to her. What with the paper hid in his book and now this, it began to look as if the Montenegrin female situation held great promise.
He finished inspecting the thing, folded it with deliberation, and stuck it in his pocket.
Miss Lovchen extended a hand. “No, you must give it back. I must return it to Neya. Unless you take it to her yourself?”
Wolfe regarded her. He grunted. “I don’t know anything about this. The paper’s all right. That is my signature. It belonged to that girl. It still does, if she lives. How do I know it wasn’t stolen?”
“For what?” She shrugged. “You’re suspicious beyond anything to be expected. Stolen to be brought across the ocean for what? To have an effect on you, here in America? No, you are famous, but not as famous as all that. It was not stolen from her. She sent me to show it to you and to tell you. She is in trouble!” Her eyes flashed at him. “What are you in your opinion, a rock on Durmitor for a goat to stand on? You will see your grown daughter for the first time perhaps in a jail?”
“I don’t know. I am not in my opinion a rock. Neither am I a gull. I couldn’t find that girl when I went back to Yugoslavia to look for her. I don’t know her.”
“But your America will know her! The daughter of Nero Wolfe! In jail for stealing! Only she didn’t steal! She is no thief!” She sprang up and put her hands on his desk and leaned across at him. “Pfui!” She sat down again and flashed her eyes at me to let me know she was making no exceptions. I winked at her. Admitting the princess theory and counting me as a peasant. I suppose it was out of character.
Wolfe sighed, long and deep. There was a silence during which I could hear both of them breathing. At length he muttered:
“It’s preposterous. Grotesque. No matter how many tricks you learn, life knows a better one. I’ve put many people in jail, and kept many out. Now this. Archie, your notebook. Miss Lovchen, please give Mr. Goodwin the details of this trouble your friend had got into.” He leaned back and shut his eyes.
She told it and I put it down. It looked to me, as it unfolded, as if somebody’s confidence in someone’s daughter might turn out to be misplaced. The two girls taught both dancing and fencing at Nikola Miltan’s studio on East 48th Street. It was an exclusive joint with a pedigreed clientele and appropriate prices for lessons. They had got their jobs through an introduction from Donald Barrett, son of John P. Barrett of Barrett & De Russy, the bankers. Dancing lessons were given in private rooms. The salle d�
��armes, on the floor above, consisted of a large room and two smaller ones, and there were two locker rooms, one for men and one for women, where clients exchanged street clothes for fencing costumes.
One of the fencing pupils was a man named Nat Driscoll. She pronounced it Nawht. He was middle-aged or more and fat and rich. Yesterday afternoon he had informed Nikola Miltan that upon going to the locker room after completing his fencing lesson, which had been given by Carla Lovchen, he had seen the other female fencing instructor, namely Neya Tormic, standing by the open door of the locker, in the act of returning the coat of his street suit, on its hanger, to its hook within the locker; and that she had then closed the locker door and departed by the door to the hall. Upon inspection, to which he had proceeded as soon as possible, he had found that his gold cigarette case and wallet, the contents intact, were in the pockets where they belonged, and it was not until after he got dressed that he remembered about the diamonds, in a pillbox, which should be there too. They were gone. He had carefully explored each and every pocket. They were not there. He demanded their immediate recovery.
Miss Tormic, summoned by Nikola Miltan, denied any knowledge of the diamonds, and further denied that she had opened Mr. Driscoll’s locker or touched his clothing. The accusation, she said, was outrageous, infamous, and false. She had not been in the locker room. Had she been in the locker room for any conceivable purpose, it would not have been to go through men’s clothes. Had she gone through a man’s clothes, it would not have been Mr. Driscoll’s clothes; it was beyond the bounds of possibility that she should have the faintest interest in the contents of Mr. Driscoll’s pockets. She had been justly and somewhat violently indignant.
She had submitted to a search of her person, performed by Jeanne Miltan, Nikola’s wife. Every body at that time in the studio, on both floors, employees and clients alike, had been questioned by Miltan, and a search of the premises conducted. Driscoll stated positively he had seen Neya Tormic’s face, from the side, as she stood by the locker, and furthermore that she was wearing her fencing costume. Neya and Carla had both insisted that they be searched again before leaving the studio to go home. Miltan was half frantic at the threat of disgrace to the reputation of his place and had successfully resisted Driscoll’s demand that the police be called. In the morning—this day—he had spent two hours pleading with Neya to tell where the diamonds were, what she had done with them, to whom she had given them, who was her accomplice, and had met with the disdain which his assumption deserved. In a desperate effort to solve the affair without police or publicity, he had arranged for everyone concerned, all who had been on the premises yesterday afternoon, to meet in his office at five o’clock today. In Neya Tormic’s presence he had told his wife that he would engage the services of Nero Wolfe; and Neya, knowing Nero Wolfe to be her father, had promptly stated that he would be present in her behalf. But Neya had a strong disinclination to reveal her identity to her father, for reasons understandable to him, and therefore Carla, hotfooting it for Wolfe’s office, had been instructed not to divulge it.
That was the crop. Miss Lovchen, looking at her wrist and stating that it was five minutes to four, added that Wolfe must come immediately. Fast.
Without moving, even his eyelids, Wolfe growled:
“Why didn’t Mr. Driscoll challenge Miss Tormic on the spot, seeing her with his coat?”
“He was naked. He came from the shower bath.”
“Is he too fat to be seen even at the risk of losing diamonds?”
“He says he is modest. He also says he was too surprised to speak, and she moved rapidly and went away at once. Then his wallet and cigarette case were there, and he forgot about the diamonds until he was dressed. He is not nearly as fat as you are.”
“I wouldn’t expect him to be. Do the lockers have keys?”
“Yes, but there is much carelessness. The keys lie around. That part is very confused.”
“You say Miss Tormic did not steal the diamonds?”
“I do say that. Never did she.”
“Did she take something else from Mr. Driscoll’s clothing? Something he fails to mention? Letters, papers, even a piece of candy perhaps?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
“Did she go to the locker room?”
“What would she go there for?”
“I don’t know. Did she?”
“No.”
“Fantastic.” Wolfe’s eyes threatened to open. “How long have you known she is my daughter?”
“All my life. I have been … her friend, very close. I knew about you—about your—I knew your name.”
“About my deplorable intransigence, you would say.” Wolfe’s tone was suddenly savage. “Ha! You juicy girls with your busts swelling with ardor for the heroics of past centuries! Pah! Do the rats still gather crumbs from under the Donevitch table?”
“We are—” Her chin went up and her eyes showed fire. “They preserve honor! And they will share glory!”
“They will someday share obloquy. Blind and selfish fools. Are you a Donevitch?”
“No.” Her bust was swelling, but not apparently with ardor.
“What’s your name?”
“Carla Lovchen.”
“What’s your name at home?”
“I am not at home now.” She flung out a hand impatiently. “What is all this? All this about me? Do you realize what I have told you about Neya? About your daughter? Does it help for you to sit there and sneer? I tell you, you must do this at once or there will be the police!”
Wolfe sat up. I was thinking it was about time. The clock on the wall said two minutes past four, and his daily routine, which included an afternoon session to the plant rooms from four until six, was supposed to be unalterable by fire, flood or murder. I was flabbergasted when, although he glanced at the clock, he merely sat up straight.
But his tone was brisk. “Archie, please conduct Miss Lovchen to the front room and return for instructions.”
She started to sputter. “But there’s no—”
“Please.” He was curt. “If I’m to do this let me do it. Don’t waste time. Go with Mr. Goodwin.”
I was off and she followed. I deposited her in front and shut the door on her, and, returning to the office, shut that one too.
Wolfe said, “I’m late. This won’t do. There’s no point in getting a line on Mr. Driscoll or anyone else until you’ve been there and reported. I shall have to phone Mr. Hitchcock in London before I go upstairs. The book with his private number, please.”
I got it from the safe and gave it to him.
“Thank you. Go up there with her. You will see Miss Tormic. The assumption, from this document, is that she has the right to bear my name. If so, I reject the possibility that she stole diamonds from a man’s coat. Start from that.”
“She says she wants the document back.”
“I’ll keep it for the present. Apparently you will encounter a single yes and a single no in contradiction. Neglect nothing and no one. Nikola Miltan himself is from the peninsula, South Serbia, old Macedonia. Look at Miss Tormic and talk to her. Your first concern is the rumpus about the diamonds. Your second is that paper which Miss Lovchen hid in my book. If you can’t resolve the contradiction about the diamonds and Mr. Driscoll insists on the police, bring him here to me.”
“Oh, sure. How and in how many pieces?”
“Bring him. You’re good at that.”
“Much obliged ever so much. But the fact is I guess you’d better pay me off. I’m resigning as of this moment.”
“Resigning from what?”
“You. My job.”
“Rubbish.”
“No, boss, really. You told the G-man you have never married. Yet you have a daughter. Well—” I shrugged. “I’m not a prude, but there are limits—”
“Don’t jabber. Go on up there. She was an orphan and I adopted her.”
I nodded skeptically. “That’s a good trick, but pretty transparent. What do you th
ink my mother would say—” But I saw his whole face tighten and knew I was getting close to out-of-bounds, so I asked casually, “That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
I got my hat and coat from the hall, and the immigrant princess from the parlor, and went out to the roadster, parked at the curb. As I shifted into high, headed for Park Avenue. I reflected that Wolfe was prepared to go to almost any length to protect his family, since he was at that moment spending twenty bucks on a transatlantic phone call to London, though I didn’t see how that was going to help things any.
Chapter 3
Up to a certain point, the five o’clock gathering at Nikola Miltan’s studio for some old-fashioned fun with the game of diamonds, diamonds, who’s got the diamonds, was a howling farce. Therefore, I admit, it took on a different aspect.
The swank of the place was more real than apparent. There was nothing shabby about it, but it didn’t give you an impression of being dolled up to impress the customers. I trailed around after Carla in her effort to locate Neya, and so got a look. It was one of the old four-story houses. On the ground floor were a reception room and a large office and a couple of small ones; one flight up, a long hall with a gray carpet, with doors leading into the private rooms for dancing lessons; two flights, the salle d’armes, with two medium-sized rooms, one big one, and the showers and locker rooms; and at the top, living quarters for Miltan and his wife. Those I didn’t see, then. Neya was finally flushed in the women’s locker room. Carla brought her out to where I was waiting in the hall and introduced me, and we shook hands. Neya Tormic said:
“Can you do something about this awful thing, Mr. Goodwin? The awful lie that man tells? Can you? You must! I was hoping that Nero Wolfe … my father …”
Her voice had a foreign purr in it, but she pronounced words a little better than Carla. God knows she didn’t look anything like Nero Wolfe, but of course a girl that looked like him would be something that you would either pass up entirely or pay a dime to look at in a side show. And then—um—he had adopted her. Her eyes were as black as Carta’s and she was about the same height, an inch over medium, but her chin, in fact her whole face, went more to a point, and the whole idea of her, the way she talked and stood and looked at you, was a queer combination of come-hither and don’t-touch-me. Having known her father a long while, I suppose I gave her the preliminary once-over with more interest than any other female I had ever met, and my first verdict was that she had real quality, both of mind and of matter, but that a definite judgment would have to wait for further analysis. She noticed me taking in her costume, a green robe, belted and carelessly closed in front, showing underneath a white canvas blouse and slacks, with gym shoes and rolled-up socks.
Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 07 Page 3
