Murder by the Book

by Rex Stout

  I stretched and yawned. "Well," I remarked, "I suppose I'd better go up and change my clothes. The light brown, you know. They like a soft material that doesn't scratch when they put their head on your shoulder. Meanwhile you can be thinking up my instructions."

  "There will be no instructions," he growled. "Confound it, get me something, that's all." He leaned forward to ring for beer.

  7

  MY REMARK about changing my clothes had of course been a feeble gag. Starting contacts with the personnel in the office of Corrigan, Phelps, Kustin and Briggs would require more elaborate outfitting than a light brown suit, though it was a good shade and a nice soft fabric. As Wolfe had told Wellman, everyone there would certainly be fed up with questions about Leonard Dykes and the name of Baird Archer, and if I had merely gone there and opened fire I would have been bounced.

  I did go up to my room though, to think it over away from Wolfe and the phone. The approach was simple. What did we have too much of that girls liked, besides me? That was a cinch: orchids, especially at that time of year, when there were thousands of blossoms and practically all of them would be left on the plants till they wilted. In a quarter of an hour I went down again to the office and announced to Wolfe, "I'm going to need a lot of orchids."

  "How many?"

  "I don't know. Maybe four or five dozen to start with. I want a free hand."

  "You won't get it. Consult me. No Cypripedium Lord Fisher, no Dendrobium Cybele, no-"

  "Not gaudy enough anyway. I'll stick to Cattleyas, Brasses, and Laelios."

  "You know the rarities."

  "Sure. I ought to."

  I went out and took a taxi to Homicide on Twentieth Street. There I hit a snag. Purley Stebbins was out to lunch. It would have been useless to try to get what I wanted from any of the riffraff, so I insisted on seeing Cramer and got waved down the hall to his room. He was at his desk, eating pickles and salami and drinking buttermilk. When I told him I wanted to take a look at the Dykes file and make a list of the employees at the law office where he had worked, he said he was busy and had no time to argue and would I please go away.

  "Yes, sir," I said politely. "We give you all we have. We connect Dykes and Wellman for you. We tie in Abrams before she's even cold, and hand it over. You still have nowhere to go, but neither have we. Now all I want is a list of names which I could get elsewhere by spending a couple of hours and maybe twenty bucks, but you're tooJbusy. I think it's what you eat. It's your stomach. Good God, look at that lunch."

  He swallowed a mixture of pickle and salami he had been chewing, pushed a button, and spoke to the intercom.

  "Rossi? I'm sending Goodwin in, Archie Goodwin. Let him take the Leonard Dykes file and make a list of the employees in that law office. That's all he does. Stay with him. Got it?"

  A metallic voice crackled, "Right, Inspector."

  I got back to Thirty-fifth Street in time for lunch, having stopped at a stationery store for some plain gummed labels. The other things I would need were on hand.

  After lunch I went to it. There were sixteen female names on my list. I might have been able to dig out of the file who was what, but it would have been a job, and anyhow I didn't want to discriminate. A filing clerk was just as apt to be my meat as the confidential secretary of James A. Corrigan, the senior partner. As a starter all I needed Was the names, and I went to the office and typed a label for each of them. I also typed, on plain pieces of paper, sixteen times so as not to use carbons:

  These orchids are so rare that they cannot be bought. I picked them for you. If you care to know why, phone me at PE 3-1212.

  Archie Goodwin

  With the labels and typed notes in an envelope in my pocket, I ascended to the plant rooms, got a basket and knife, went to the warm room, and started cutting. I needed forty-eight, three apiece, but took a few extra because some were not perfect, mostly Cattleyas Dionysius, Katadin and peetersi, Brassocattleyas Calypso, fournierae and Nestor, and Laelio-cattleyas barbarossa, Carmencita and St. Gothard. It was quite a collection. Theodore had offered to help, and I had no objection. The only one he tried to talk me out of was Calypso, because they weren't blooming so well, but I was firm.

  In the potting room we got out boxes and tissue and ribbon, and Theodore packed them expertly and inserted the typed

  notes while I pasted on the labels and fought with the ribbon. The damn ribbon was what took time. Wolfe is better at it than either Theodore or me, but this was my party. When the last bow was tied and the sixteen boxes were carefully packed in a large carton, it was twenty minutes to four. Still time. I lugged the carton downstairs, got my hat and coat, went out and found a taxi, and gave the driver the address, on Madison Avenue in the Fifties.

  The office of Corrigan, Phelps, Kustin and Briggs was on the eighteenth floor of one of those buildings that think there is nothing like marble in big slabs if you want real class, with double doors for an entrance at the end of a wide corridor. The automatic door-closer was strong enough to push a horse out, and my entry was a little clumsy on account of the carton. In the long anteroom a couple of guys were on chairs, another one was pacing up and down, and back of a rail a three-sbades-of-blond sourpuss was fighting it out with a switchboard. Near her, inside the rail, was a table. I took the carton there, put it on the floor by the rail, opened it, and began removing the ribboned boxes and putting them on the table.

  She sent me a withering glance. "Mother's Day in February?" she inquired wearily. "Or atom bombs, perhaps?"

  I finished my unpacking and then stepped to her. "On one of those boxes," I told her, "you will find your name. On the others there are other names. They should be delivered today. It may possibly make you take a brighter view-"

  I stopped because I had lost her. She had left the switchboard and made a beeline for the table. I don't know what it was that she was hoping life had in Store for her, but it must have been something that could be put in a small box, they way she went for it. As she started her eye over the labels, I crossed to the door, pulled it open by getting a firm foothold, and departed.

  If that was typical of the reaction of females in that office to ribboned boxes there was no telling how soon I would be getting a phone call, so I told the taxi driver it would be okay if he made it to Thirty-fifth Street in less than an hour, but with the midtown traffic at that time of day it made no difference.

  When we had finally made it and I had mounted the stoop and let myself in, I went to the kitchen and asked Fritz, "Any calls?"

  He said no. There was a gleam in his eyes. "If you need any

  help with all the ladies, Archie, for my age I am not to be ignored. A Swiss has a long usefulness."

  "Thanks. I may need you. Theodore told you?"

  "No. Mr. Wolfe told me."

  "The hell he did."

  I was supposed to report myself in whenever I returned from an errand, so I went to the office and buzzed the plant rooms, where Wolfe spent every afternoon from four to six, on the house phone.

  "I'm back," I told him. "Delivered according to plan. By the way, I'll put them on Wellman's account at three dollars per. A bargain for him."

  "No. I do not sell orchids."

  "He's a client. They were a required item."

  "I do not sell orchids," he said gruffly and hung up. I got out the work book and figured the time and expenses of Saul and Fred and Orrie, who had been called off, and made out their checks.

  The first call came a little before six. I usually answer, "Nero Wolfe's office, Archie Goodwin speaking," but thought it advisable, temporarily, to make a cut, and said merely, "Archie Goodwin speaking."

  A dry clipped voice, but still female, asked, "Is this Mr. Archie Goodwin?"

  "Yes."

  "My name is Charlotte Adams. I have received a box of orchids with a note from you inside. Thank you very much."

  "You're welcome. They're nice, aren't they?"

  "They're beautiful, only I don't wear orchids. Are they from Mr. Nero
Wolfe's conservatory?"

  "Yes, but he doesn't call it that. Go ahead and wear them, that's what they're for."

  "I'm forty-eight years old, Mr. Goodwin, so the possible reasons for your sending me orchids are rather restricted. More so than with some of the other recipients. Why did you send them?"

  "I'll be frank with you, Miss Adams. Miss Adams?"

  "No. Mrs. Adams."

  "I'll be frank anyway. Girls keep getting married and moving to Jackson Heights, and my list of phone numbers is getting pretty ragged. I asked myself what would girls like to see that I can offer, and the answer was ten thousand orchids. They're not mine, but I have access. So you're cordially

  invited to come tomorrow evening at six o'clock, nine-oh-two West Thirty-fifth Street, and look at the orchids, and then we'll all have dinner together, and I see no reason why we shouldn't have a good time. Have you got the address?"

  "Am I supposed to swallow this rigmarole, Mr. Goodwin?"

  "Don't bother to swallow it. Do your swallowing tomorrow at dinner. I promise it will be fit to swallow. Will you come?"

  "I doubt it," she said, and hung up.

  Wolfe had entered during the conversation and got established behind his desk. He was frowning at me and pulling at his lower lip with a finger and thumb.

  I addressed him. "A bum start. Nearly fifty, married, and a wise guy. She had checked the number somehow and knew it was yours. However, I intended to tell them that anyhow. We've got-"

  "Archie."

  "Yes, sir."

  "What was that flummery about dinner?"

  "No flummery. I haven't told you, I've decided to ask them to stay to dinner. It will be much-"

  "Stay to dinner here?"

  "Certainly."

  "No." It was his flattest no.

  I flared. "That," I said, as flat as him, "is childish. You have a low opinion of women and'-now let me finish-anyhow, you don't want them around. But because this case has completely dried up on you, you have dumped this in my lap, and I need all the play I can get, and besides, are you going to send a crowd of your fellow beings, regardless of sex, away from your house hungry at the dinner hour?"

  His lips were tight. He parted them to speak. "Very well. You can take them to dinner at Rusterman's. I'll phone Marko and he'll give you a private room. When you know how many-"

  The phone rang, and I swiveled and got it and told the transmitter, "Archie Goodwin speaking."

  A feminine voice said, "Say something else."

  "It's your turn," I stated.

  "Was it you that brought the boxes?"

  It was the switchboard misanthrope. "Right," I admitted. "Did they all get delivered?"

  "Yes, all but one. One was home sick. Brother, did you stir

  up some hell around there! Is it true that you're the Archie Goodwin that works for Nero Wolfe?"

  "I am. This is his number."

  "Well, well! The note said to call it and ask why. Why?"

  "I'm lonely and I'm giving a party. Tomorrow at six. Here at Nero Wolfe's place. The address is in the book. You will be in no danger if enough of you come. Plenty of orchids, plenty of drinks, a chance to know me better, and a dinner fit for Miss America. May I ask your name?"

  "Sure, Blanche Duke. You say tomorrow at six?"

  "That's right."

  "Would you care to make a note of something?"

  "I love to make notes."

  "Put down Blanche Duke. Isn't that a hell of a name? Two jiggers of dry gin, one of dry vermouth, two dashes of grenadine, and two dashes of Pernod. Got it?"

  "Yeah."

  "I may come tomorrow, but if I don't, try that yourself. I never know what I'm going to do tomorrow."

  I told her she'd better come, swiveled, and spoke to Wolfe.

  "That's better than Mrs. Adams, at least. Not so bad for the

  first hour after the office closed. About taking them to Rusterman's, they'd probably like going to the best restaurant in

  , New York, but-"

  "You won't take them to Rusterman's."

  "No? You said?"

  "I've reconsidered. You will give them dinner here. I'll arrange the menu with Fritz-perhaps Mondor patties, and duckling with cherries and grapes. For women, the Pasti Grey Riesling will be good enough; I'm glad to have a use for it."

  "But you don't care for it."

  "I won't be here. I shall leave at five minutes to six, dine with Marko, and spend the evening with him."

  I have often stated, in these reports of Wolfe's activities, that he never leaves the house on business, but I suppose now I'll have to qualify it. Strictly speaking, I could say that his intention was not to leave the house on business, merely on account of business, but that would be quibbling.

  I protested. "You ought to be here to look them over. They'll be expecting to see you. Mrs. Adams is forty-eight, about right for you, and she can't have a happy home life or she wouldn't be working. Besides, how do you-"

  The phone rang. I got it and said who I was. A high soprano made me hold the receiver away from my ear.

  "Mr. Goodwin, I simply had to call you! Of course it isn't proper, since I've never met you, but if I don't tell you my name and never see you I don't think it will be such a terrible misstep, do you? Those are the loveliest orchids I have ever seen! I'm going to a little party this evening, just a few of us at a friend's apartment, and I'm going to wear them, and can you imagine what they'll say? And can you imagine what I'll say when they ask me who gave them to me? I simply can't imagine! Of course I can say they're from an unknown admirer, but really I'm not the kind of girl who would dream of having unknown admirers, and I haven't the faintest idea what I'll say when they ask me, but I simply can't resist wearing them because…"

  When I hung up, five minutes later, Wolfe muttered at me, "You didn't invite her."

  "No," I assented. "She's a virgin. And as far as I'm concerned she always will be."

  8

  THAT was the first time in history that a bunch of outsiders had been let into the plant rooms with Wolfe not there. The awful responsibility damn near got Theodore down. Not only did he regard it as up to him to see that none of them toppled a bench over or snitched a blossom from one of the rare hybrids, but also I had arranged a fancy assortment of liquids on a table in the potting room, which was being freely patronized by some of the guests, and he was afraid one of them would spill a glass of 80-proof into a pot that he had been nursing for ten years. I was sorry to give him that added anxiety, but I wanted them relaxed.

  I had done all right. I had got only seven phone calls, but apparently there had been talk at the office during Wednesday, for ten of them showed up, arriving in two groups. Also there had been two calls on Wednesday while I was out. My journey was necessary, a trip to the Bronx to call on Mrs. Abrams. She was anything but delighted to see me, but I

  wanted to ask her to do something and I rode it out. I finally talked her into it. I also had to sign up John R. Wellman, but that was comparatively easy and all it took was a phone call to his hotel.

  From a purely personal standpoint they were above average as a job lot, and it would have been no ordeal to get acquainted and quench their thirst and tell them about orchids if I hadn't been so busy sorting them out for future reference. I might as well save you the bother of doing likewise if you don't want to take the trouble, for it won't make much difference. I can tell you that now, but there was no one to tell me that then.

  But I was working like a dog getting their names and stations filed. By dinnertime I had them pretty well arranged. Charlotte Adams, 48, was the secretary of the senior partner, James A. Corrigan. She was bony and efficient and had not – come for fun. The only other one her age was a stenographer, plump and pimply, with a name that made her giggle cheerfully when she told you: Helen Troy. Next, going down by ages, was Blanche Duke, the tri-shaded blonde. I had mixed a shaker of her formula. She had made two trips to the potting room for refills and then had decided to save
steps and take the shaker around with her.

  One or two of the other seven may have been crowding thirty, but most of them still had some twenties to cover. One was a little more than I had counted on. Her name was Dolly Harriton, and she was a member of the bar. She wasn't yet one of the firm, but judging from the set of her good-looking chin and the smooth quick take of her smart gray eyes, she soon would be or else. She had the air, as she moved along the aisles, of collecting points for cross-questioning an orchid-grower being sued by his wife for non-support.

  Nina Perlman, a stenographer, was tall and straight with big slow-moving dark eyes. Mabel Moore, a typist, was a skinny little specimen wearing red-rimmed glasses. Sue Don-dero, Emmett Phelps's secretary, with fine temples and no perceptible lipstick, came close from all angles to my idea of a girl to have around. Portia Liss, a filing clerk, should either have had something done to her teeth or quit laughing so much. Claire Burkhardt, a stenographer, was either just out of high school or was cheating. Eleanor Gruber, Louis Kustin's secretary, was probably the one I would have invited if I had

  invited only one. She was the kind you look at and think she should take off just one or two pounds, and then you ask where from and end by voting for the status-quo. He eyes didn't actually slant; it was the way the lids were drawn.

  By the time we went down to dinner I had picked up a few little scraps, mostly from Blanche Duke, Sue Dondero, and Eleanor Gruber. Tuesday at quitting time Corrigan, the senior partner, had called them into his room to tell them that PE 3-1212 was Nero Wolfe's phone number, and Archie Goodwin was Wolfe's confidential assistant, and that Wolfe might have been engaged by an opposing interest in one of the firm's cases. He had suggested that it might be desirable to ignore the notes in the boxes of orchids, and had warned them to guard against any indiscretion. Today, Wednesday, when the idea of making a party of it had caught on (this from Blanche Duke after she had been toting the shaker around a while), Mabel Moore had spilled it to Mrs. Adams, and Mrs. Adams, presumably after consulting with Corrigan, had decided to come along. I got other scattered hints of personalities and quirks and frictions, but not enough to pay for the drinks.