With her face covered with her hands, she shook her head, moaned, and muttered something not even as intelligible as gribblezook.
“But, madame,” Wolfe said patiently. “I’m sorry you don’t feel well, but that is a very simple question.” Then he spouted some lingo at her, a couple of sentences, that may have been words but not to me. She didn’t even shake her head.
“Don’t you understand Serbo-Croat?” he demanded.
“No,” she muttered. “Zat I do not onderstand.”
He kept at it for a solid hour. When he wanted to be, he could be as patient as he was big, and apparently on that occasion he wanted to be. I took it all down in my notebook, and I never filled as many pages with less dependable information. There was no telling, when he got through, whether she had ever been in Yugoslavia, how and when she had acquired the name Zorka, or whether she had actually ever been born or not. It seemed to be tentatively established that she had once resided in a hotel in Paris, at least for one night, that her couturière enterprise had been installed within the year on the street floor of the Churchill with the help of outside capital, that her native tongue was not Serbo-Croat, that she was not on intimate terms with Neya Tormic or Carla Lovchen, that she had known Percy Ludlow only slightly, and that she had taken up fencing to keep her weight down and was not an expert. Wolfe did succeed in extorting an admission that she had made the phone call to our office, but it was an empty triumph; she couldn’t remember what she had said! She just simply couldn’t remember.
At twenty minutes past four Wolfe arose from his chair with a sigh and said to me: “Put her to bed in the south room, above mine, and lock the door.”
She rose too, steadying herself with her hand on the edge of his desk, and declared, “I want to go home.”
“The police are there laying for you. As I told you, I have informed them of your phone call. They’ll take you to headquarters and be much more insistent than I have been. Well?”
“All right.” She groaned.
“Good night, madame. Good night, Archie.” He stalked out.
It was two flights to the floor above his, and I was in no mood to elevate her that far by brute force, so I trotted up and got the elevator after he had ascended, and took it down and got her. Fritz, half asleep and half displeased, went along to make sure that the bed was habitable and that towels and accessories were at hand; and for the honor of the house he brought with him the vase of cattleyas from Wolfe’s desk. She may have had no nightie or slippers or toothbrush, but by golly she had orchids. Fritz turned the bed down and, me steering her, she got seated on the edge of it.
Fritz said, “She’s forlorn.”
“Yep.” I asked her, “Do you want me to help you off with your coat or anything?”
She shook her head.
“Shall I open the window?”
Another shake.
We left her there. From the outside I locked the door and put the key in my pocket. It was ten to five, and a dingy November dawn was feebly whimpering “Let there be light,” at my windows when I finally hit the mattress.
At eight o’clock in the morning, bathed and dressed but bleary-eyed and grouchy, I took a pot of coffee up to her. When my third and loudest knock got no response, I used the key and went in. She wasn’t there. The bed was just as Fritz had turned it down. The window on the left, the one that opened onto the fire escape, was standing wide-open.
Chapter 12
I descended a flight to Wolfe’s room, tapped on the door, and entered. He was in bed, propped up against three pillows, just ready to attack the provender on the breakfast table which straddled his mountainous ridge under the black silk coverlet. There was orange juice, eggs au beurre noir, two slices of broiled Georgia ham, hashed brown potatoes, hot blueberry muffins, and a pot of steaming cocoa.
He snapped at me, “I haven’t eaten!”
“Neither have I,” I said bitterly. “I’m in no better humor than you are, so let’s call it a tie. I just went up to take our guest some coffee—”
“How is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is she asleep?”
“I don’t know.”
“What the devil—”
“I was starting to tell you and you interrupted me. Please don’t interrupt. She’s gone. She didn’t even lie down. She went by the window and the fire escape, and presumably found her way to 34th Street by the passage we use sometimes. Since she descended the fire escape, she went right past that window”—I pointed—“facing you, and it must have been daylight.”
“I was asleep.”
“So it seems. I thought maybe with a woman in the house, and possibly a murderess, you might have been on the qui vive—”
“Shut up.”
He took some of the orange juice, frowned at me half a minute, and took some more.
“Phone Mr. Cramer. Give him everything.”
“Including my trip to the love nest?”
He grimaced. “Don’t use terms like that when my stomach’s empty. Including everything about Madame Zorka, Mr. Barrett, and Miss Reade, except the subject of my threat to Mr. Barrett.”
“Bosnian forests.”
“All of that to be deleted. If he wants a transcript of our talk with Madame Zorka, furnish it; he’s welcome to it. He has resources for investigating those people and for finding Madame Zorka. If he wants to see me, eleven o’clock.”
“Your daughter’s coming at eleven.”
“Then noon for Mr. Cramer if he wants it.” He swallowed more orange juice. “Phone Seven Seas Radio and ask if they have anything for me. If they haven’t, tell them to rush it to me when it comes. Make an appointment for me to talk with Mr. Hitchcock in London at nine o’clock.”
“Do you want a record—”
“No. Who is downstairs?”
“No one has come yet. They ought to be here any minute.”
“When Saul comes, put the envelope in the safe. I’ll see them as soon as I’m through talking to Mr. Hitchcock. Send Saul up first, then Fred, then Orrie. Have you had your breakfast?”
“You know damn well I haven’t.”
“Good heavens. Get it.”
I went down to the kitchen and did that, after first calling Seven Seas Radio and arranging for a wire to London at nine. With my breakfast I consumed portions of the Times, specializing on the report of the Ludlow murder. They had my name spelled wrong, and they were pretty stale for a paper that had gone to press at midnight, for they said that the police were looking for me. As Cramer had predicted, they had the low-down on Ludlow’s being an agent of the British government, but there wasn’t any hint of Montenegro or Bosnian forests or Balkan princesses. On an inside page there was a spread of pictures and a two-column piece about the murder in Paris that the col de mort had figured in some years before.
When Saul and Fred and Orrie came I shooed them into the front room to wait, since I had jobs to do. After my second cup of coffee and what preceded it, I felt better and was almost cheerful by the time I got Inspector Cramer on the wire to relate the sad story. He hadn’t had much more sleep than me, and was naturally disgruntled when he learned that we had had Zorka in our clutches for a couple of hours without bothering him about it, and he got rude and vulgar at the news that she had left before breakfast, but I applied the salve by reminding him how many presents he was getting absolutely gratis. He had no news to speak of himself, or if he had he wasn’t handing it out, but he said he would drop in around noon if he could make it, and in the meantime he would like me to type a report, not only of our session with Zorka, but also of the one with Barrett and of my visit on Madison Avenue. That was sweet of him. I felt a lot like a hard morning at the alphabet piano, no I didn’t.
As it turned out, I didn’t get much typing done. The talk with Hitchcock in London took place at nine o’clock as scheduled, and of course I didn’t listen in, since Wolfe had said no record. Then I sent Saul up to meet Wolfe in the plant rooms, having fir
st procured the envelope and stowed it away in the safe. The instructions for Saul must have been complicated, for fifteen minutes passed before he came back down and calmly requested fifty bucks expense money. I whistled and asked who he was going to bribe and he said the District Attorney. Wolfe rang me on the house phone and said to keep Fred in storage for the present and to send Orrie Cather up. Orrie’s schedule must have been a simple one, for he returned in no time at all, marched over to me and said:
“Give me about three thousand dollars in threes.”
“With pleasure. I’m busy. How much in cold cash?”
“Nothing, my dear fellow.”
“Nothing?”
“Right. And please don’t disturb me. I shall be spending the day on research at the public library. Hold yourself in readiness—”
He dodged the notebook I threw, and danced out.
I put a sheet in the typewriter and started, without any enthusiasm, on the report for Cramer, but had only filled a third of a page when it occurred to me that it would be fun to locate Zorka without moving from my desk. I pulled the phone over and dialed a number. The ringing signal was in my ear a long while before there was a voice. It sounded disconsolate.
“Hullohullohullo!”
I made mine vigorous but musical. “Hello, Belinda?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“Guess.”
“I’m in no condition to guess.”
“It’s Archie. Archie the good-looking bum. I want to warn—”
“How did you get this number? It’s private and it’s not listed.”
“I know, but I can read, can’t I? I saw it on your phone when I used it. I want to say three things. First, that I think you’re very very beautiful and if you ever ask me to come and read aloud to you I will. Second, I forgot to thank you for the drinks. Third, I want to warn you about Zorka. About a thousand cops are looking for her, and if they come and find her there it will get you in a lot of trouble, and I’d be glad to—”
“What are you talking about? How are they going to find her here when you took her away?”
“But she went back there.”
“She did not. Where is she?”
“She started for your place about five o’clock.”
“Well, she didn’t get here.”
“That’s funny. What do you suppose happened to her?”
“I have no idea.”
A click in my ear ended it. So much for that. It sounded very much as if Zorka had not returned to Madison Avenue. I wrote three more lines of the report and the doorbell rang and I went up to the front and opened up.
It was Rudolph Faber.
I admit it was Wolfe’s house and I was employed there, and courtesy is courtesy, but he hung up his coat himself. That was the effect that guy had on me. I let him precede me into the office because I didn’t want him behind me, and he required no invitation to take a chair. I had explained in the hall that Mr. Wolfe was never available in the morning until eleven o’clock, but I seated myself at my desk and rang up the plant rooms, and in a moment Wolfe answered.
I told him, “Mr. Rudolph Faber is here.”
“Indeed. What does he want?”
“To see you. He says he’ll wait.”
“I doubt if I can see him before lunch.”
“I told him so.”
“Well. Let’s see.” A pause. “Come up here. Better still, call on Mr. Green. Before leaving, give him a good book to read, and see what happens.”
“A really good book?”
“The best you can find.”
I hung up and swiveled to face the caller. “Mr. Wolfe needs me upstairs, and he suggested that I should give you a book to amuse yourself with while I’m gone.”
I went to the shelves and got down United Yugoslavia and returned and handed it to him. “I think you’ll find it very interesting, especially—”
He stood up and threw the book on the floor and started for the exit.
I trotted around and got between him and the door, faced him, and said urgently, “Pick it up!” I knew at the time that it was childish, but in the first place the impulse to make some kind of alteration on the supercilious look of his face was absolutely irresistible, and in the second place I had been permanently impressed by what I had been reading in the papers about certain things being done by certain people in certain parts of the world. I did give him a second chance by telling him again to pick it up, but he kept right on coming, apparently expecting me to melt into a grease spot. I said calmly, “Look out, here it is,” and put it there. I didn’t aim for the chin because there wasn’t any and I didn’t want to pay a hospital bill. Instead. I took his left eye with a right hook and most of me behind it.
The door connecting with the front room opened a crack and Fred Durkin stuck his head in.
“Hey, need any help?”
“Come on in. What do you think?”
He walked over and stood looking down at Faber. “I’ll be darned. How many times did you hit him?”
“Once.”
“I’ll be darned. And you with a name like Goodwin. Sometimes I’m inclined to think—was your mother ever in Ireland?”
“Go suck an orange. Stand back and give him room.”
Faber got up by degrees. First on his hands, then on his hands and knees, and then slow but sure on up. He turned slowly, and looked at me, and I looked away on account of the expression in his eyes. It embarrassed me so much it damn near scared me, to see such an expression in the eyes of a man who had merely been knocked down. Naturally, it had been my intention to request him to pick the book up when he got upright again, but I didn’t do it. When he got under headway towards the door I stepped aside and let him go, and asked Fred to go to the hall and let him out. I picked up the book and put it away and sat down and rubbed my knuckles and worked my fingers open and shut a few times, and then phoned Wolfe a communiqué. All he did was grunt.
I worked my fingers limber enough so I could resume at the typewriter, but that report was hoeing a hard row. In addition to my deep-seated reluctance to spoiling white paper just to furnish a cop with reading matter, there were constant interruptions. A phone call from Miltan the épée champion. All he wanted was information and I had none to give him. One from a guy in town from St. Louis who wanted to discuss orchids with Wolfe, and an appointment was made for next day. One from Orrie Cather for Wolfe and, a little later, one from Saul Panzer, both of which I was invited to keep out of.
Towards eleven o’clock there was a phone call from the Emperor of Japan. At least it might as well have been. First a woman asked for Mr. Wolfe, and I asked who was it and she said Mr. Barrett and I said put him on and she said hold the wire. I waited a while. Then a man said he wanted Mr. Wolfe, and I said is this Mr. Barrett, and he said authoritatively, no, it isn’t, put Mr. Wolfe on, please, and I asked who it was that wanted to talk to Mr. Wolfe, and he said Mr. Barrett, and I said put him on and he said hold the wire. That kind of a shenanigan. There was more to it than that, but after a terrific and exhausting struggle I finally heard something definite, in a leisurely cultivated male voice:
“This is Barrett. Mr. Wolfe?”
“Donald Barrett?”
“No, no, John P. Barrett.”
“Oh, Donald’s father. Of Barrett & De Russy?”
“That’s right. Mr. Wolfe, could you—”
“Hold it. This is Archie Goodwin, Mr. Wolfe’s confidential assistant.”
“I thought I had Wolfe.”
“Nope. I wore “em out. Mr. Wolfe will be engaged until eleven o’clock. I’ll take any message.”
“Well.” Hesitation. “That will do, I suppose. I would like to have Mr. Wolfe call at my office as soon after eleven as possible.”
“No, sir. I’m sorry. He never makes calls.”
“But this is important. In fact, urgent. It will be well worth his while—”
“No, sir. There’s no use prolonging it. Mr. Wolfe transacts business only at
his office. He wouldn’t go across the street to receive the keys to the Bank of England.”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Yes, sir. I’ve always said so. But there’s no use discussing it, except as an interesting case of cussedness.”
For ten seconds I heard nothing. Then, “Where is your office?”
“506 West 35th Street.”
“Mr. Wolfe is there throughout the day?”
“And night. Office and home.”
“Well … I’ll see. Thank you.”
Wolfe came down from the plant rooms a few minutes later, and after he had run through the mail, tested his pen, rung for beer, and glanced at the three pages of the report I had managed to finish, I told him about it. He listened impressively and thanked me with a disinterested nod. Thinking a little prodding was in order, I observed that he was in the case anyway, on account of family obligations, spending money right and left, and that it was therefore shortsighted and unintelligent not to permit Miss Tormic to have a co-client, when the co-client was of the nature of John P. Barrett, obviously anxious to join in the fun and ready to ante. I told him about the hundred bucks of Barrett dough which had already passed through our hands and said what a pity it would be to stop there, but before I could really get worked up about it I was interrupted by the arrival of the client herself. Fritz announced Miss Neya Tormic and escorted her in.
She greeted Wolfe in a hurry and me not at all, and without taking time to sit down demanded of him: “The paper? Have you got the paper?”
She looked drawn and she acted jerky.
Wolfe said, “Yes, it’s here. Please sit down, won’t you?”
“I … the paper!”
“Give it to her, Archie.”
I went to the safe and got it. It was still in the envelope addressed to Saul Panzer. I removed it, tossed the envelope into the wastebasket, and handed the paper to her. She unfolded it and inspected it.
Wolfe said, extending his hand, “Let me see it, please.”
That didn’t appeal to her. She made no move to comply. He frowned at her and repeated his request in a crisper tone, and she handed it over but kept her eyes glued to it. He gave it a glance, folded it up, and asked her:
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