The Black Mountain

by Rex Stout

  "Shut up," he muttered. Usually I react to that command vocally, but that time I thought it just as well to obey. When we rolled to the curb in front the old brownstone on West Thirty-fifth Street I paid the driver, got out and held the door for Wolfe, mounted the seven steps to the stoop, and opened the door with my key. After Wolfe had crossed the threshold I closed the door and put the chain bolt on, and when I turned Fritz was there and was telling Wolfe, "There's a lady to see you, sir." It popped into my mind that it would save me a lot of trouble if they were going to drop in without being invited, but Fritz was adding, "It's your daughter, Mrs. Britton." There was a faint suggestion of reproach in Fritz's tone. For years he had disapproved of Wolfe's attitude toward his adopted daughter. A dark-haired Balkan girl with an accent, she had appeared out of the blue one day long ago and proceeded to get 29 Wolfe involved in an operation that had been no help to the bank account. When it was all over she had announced that she didn't intend to return to her native land, but neither did she intend to take any advantage of the fact that she had in her possession a paper, dated in Zagreb years before, establishing her as the adopted daughter of Nero Wolfe. She had made good on both intentions, having got a job with a Fifth Avenue travel agency, and having, within a year, married its owner, one William R. Britton. No friction had developed between Mr. and Mrs. Britton and Mr. Wolfe, because for friction you must have contact, and there had been none. Twice a year, on her birthday and on New Year's Day, Wolfe sent her a bushel of orchids from his choicest plants, but that was all, except that he had gone to the funeral when Britton died of a heart attack in 1950. That was what Fritz disapproved of. He thought any man, even Nero Wolfe, should invite his daughter, even an adopted one, to dinner once in a while. When he expressed that opinion to me, as he did occasionally, I told him that he knew damn well that Caria found Wolfe as irritating as he found her, so what was the use? 30 I followed Wolfe into the office. Caria was in the red leather chair. As we entered she got up to face us and said indignantly, "I've been waiting here over two hours!" Wolfe went and took her hand and bowed over it. "At least you had a comfortable chair," he said courteously, and went to the one behind his desk, the only one in the world he thoroughly approved of, and sat. Caria offered me a hand with her mind elsewhere, and I took it without bowing. "Fritz didn't know where you were," she told Wolfe. "No," he agreed. "But he said you knew about Marko." "Yes." "I heard it on the radio. I was going to go to the restaurant to see Leo, then I thought I would go to the police, and then I decided to come here. I suppose you were surprised, but I wasn't." She sounded bitter. She looked bitter too, but I had to admit it didn't make her any less attractive. With her dark eyes flashing, she might still have been the young Balkan damsel who had bounded in on me years before. Wolfe's eyes had narrowed at her. "If you are saying that you came here and waited two hours for me on account of Marko's 31 death, I must ask why. Were you attached to him?" "Yes." Wolfe shut his eyes. "If I know," she said, "what that word means � attached. If you mean attached as a woman to a man, no, of course not. Not like that." Wolfe opened his eyes. "Then how?" "We were attached in our devotion to a great and noble cause! The freedom of our people! And your people! And there you sit making faces! Marko has told me � he has asked you to help us with your brains and your money, and you refused!" ; "He didn't tell me you were in it. He didn't mention you." "I suppose not." She was scornful. "He ( knew that would make you sneer even more. s Here you are, rich and fat and happy with 1 your fine home and fine food and your glass rooms on the roof with ten thousand orchids for you to smirk at, and with this Archie 1 Goodwin for a slave to do all the work and 1 take all the danger! What do you care if the ^ people of the land you came from are groant ing under the heel of the oppressor, with s the light of their liberty smothered and t the fruits of their labor snatched from them 1 and their children at the point of the 32 sword? Stop making faces!" Wolfe leaned back and sighed deeply. "Apparently," he said dryly, "I must give you a lecture. I grimaced neither at your impudence nor at your sentiment, but at your diction and style. I condemn cliches, especially those that have been corrupted by fascists and communists. Such phrases as 'great and noble cause' and 'fruits of their labor' have been given an ineradicable stink by Hitler and Stalin and all their vermin brood. Besides, in this century of the overwhelming triumph of science, the appeal of the cause of human freedom is no longer that it is great and noble, it is more or less than that, it is essential. It is no greater or nobler than the cause of edible food or the cause of effective shelter. Man must have freedom or he will cease to exist as man. The despot, whether fascist or communist, is no longer restricted to such puny tools as the heel or the sword or even the machine gun; science has provided weapons that can give him the planet, and only men who are willing to die for freedom have any chance of living for it." "Like you?" She was disdainful. "No. Like Marko. He died." Wolfe flapped a hand. "I'll get to Marko. As for me, no one has ordained you as my 33 monitor. I make my contributions to the cause of freedom -- they are mostly financial -- through those channels and agencies that seem to me most efficient. I shall not submit a list of them for your inspection and judgment. I refused to contribute to Marko's project because I distrusted it. Marko was himself headstrong, gullible, oversanguine, and naive. He had --" "For shame! He's dead, and you insult --" "That will do!" he roared. It stopped her. He went down a few decibels. "You share the common fallacy, but I don't. I do not insult Marko. I pay him the tribute of speaking of him and feeling about him precisely as I did when he lived, the insult would be to smear his corpse with the honey excreted by my fear of death. He had no understanding of the forces he was trying to direct from a great distance, no control of them, and no effective check on their honor or fidelity. For all he knew, some of them may be agents of Tito, or even of Moscow --" "That isn't true! He knew all about them -- anyway, the leaders. He wasn't an idiot, and neither am I. We do check on them, all the time, and I -- Where are you going?" Wolfe had shoved his chair back and was on his feet. "You may not be an idiot," he 34 told her, "but I am. I was letting this become a pointless brawl when I should have known better. I'm hungry. I was in the middle of dinner when the news came of Marko's death. It took my appetite. I tried to finish anyway, but I couldn't swallow. With an empty stomach, I'm a dunce, and I'm going to the kitchen and eat something." He glanced up at the wall clock. "It's nearly two o'clock. Will you join me?" She shook her head. "I had dinner. I couldn't eat." "Archie?" I said I could use a glass of milk and followed him out. In the kitchen Fritz greeted us by putting down his magazine, leaving his chair, telling Wolfe, "Starving the live will not profit the dead," and going to open the refrigerator door. "The turkey," Wolfe said, "and the cheese and pineapple. I've never heard that before. Montaigne?" "No, sir." Fritz put the turkey on the table, uncovered it, and got the slicer and handed it to Wolfe. "I made it up. I knew you would have to send for me, or come, and I wished to have an appropriate remark ready for you." "I congratulate you." Wolfe was wielding the knife. "To be taken for Montaigne is a 35 peak few men can i reach-' I had only had mnilk in n-iind, ^ut Fritz's personal version of .'cottage cheese with fresh pineapple soaked inn white wine is something that even a Vishins^s-ky wouldn't veto. Also Wolfe offered me aa wing and a drumstick, and it would have boeen unsociable to refuse. Fritz fixed a tasty ^ tray and took it in to Caria, but when Wolfe and I rejoined her, some twenty minutltes l^te^ [t was still untouched on the tabble at her elbow. I admit it could have been i that she was too upset to eat, but I suspecttted her. She knew damn well that it irritated I ^oife to see good food turned down. Back at his desk, hh�e frowned at her. "Let's see if we can avoicid- contention. You said earlier that you supposed I was surprised, but that you weren"/t. SUH^sed at what?" She was retumingg the frown. <nearly sixty thousand dollars of his own :36 money into the cause, and he has collected more than half a million. He has gone seven times to Italy to confer with leaders of the movement who crossed the Adriatic to meet him. He has sent twelve men and two women over from this country to help -- three Montenegrins, three Slovenians, two Croats, and six Serbs. He has had things printed and arranged for them to get to the peasants. He has sent over many tons of supplies, many different things --" "Weapons? Guns?" She gave it a thought. "I don't know. Of course, that would be against the law -- American law. Marko had a high regard for American law." Wolfe nodded. "Not unmerited. I didn't know he was in so deep. So you are assuming that he was murdered because of these activities. That either Belgrade or Moscow regarded him as a menace, or at least an intolerable nuisance, and arranged for his removal. Is that it?" "Yes." "Belgrade or Moscow?" Caria hesitated. "I don't know. Of course there are those who secretly work with the Russians all over Yugoslavia, but more in Montenegro than other parts, because it is next to Albania, and Albania is ruled by the 37 puppets of the Russians." "So are Hungary and Rumania and Bulgaria."

  "Yes, but you know the border between Montenegro and Albania. You know those mountains." "I do indeed. Or I did." From the look on Wolfe's face, the emotions aroused by the memory were mixed. "I was nine years old the first time I climbed the Black Mountain." He shrugged it off. "Whether Belgrade or Moscow, you think they had an agent in New York, or sent one, to deal with Marko. Do you?" "Of course!" "Not of course if it is merely a surmise. Can you validate it? Have you any facts?" "I have the fact that they hated him and he was a danger to them." Wolfe shook his head. "Not that kind. Something specific -- a name, an act, a thing said." "No." "Very well. I accept your surmise as worthy of inquiry. How many persons are there in and around New York, other than contributors of money, who have been associated with Marko in this?" "Why, altogether, about two hundred." 38 "I mean closely associated. In his confidence."

  She had to think. "Four or five. Six, counting me." "Give me their names and addresses and phone numbers. Archie, take them down." I got my notebook and pen and was ready, but nothing came. I looked at her. She was sitting with her dark Montenegrin eyes focused on Wolfe, her chin up and her lips pressed together. "Well?" he demanded. "I don't trust you," she said. Naturally he would have liked to tell me to bounce her, and I must say I couldn't have blamed him, but she wasn't just a prospective client with a checkbook. She had or might have something he needed for paying a personal debt. So he merely barked at her. "Then why the devil did you come here?" They glared at each other. It was not a sight to impel me to hurry up and get married and have a daughter, especially not an adopted one. She broke the tableau. "I came because I had to do something. I knew if I went to the police they would want me to tell everything about us, and I couldn't do that because some of the things some of us do -- 39 well, you asked about sending weapons." She fluttered a hand. "But Marko was your good friend, and he thought you were his, and you have a famous reputation for catching murderers, and after all I still have that paper that says I am your daughter, so I came without really thinking. Now I don't know. You refused to give money to the cause. When I speak of freedom and the oppressor you make a face. It is true you have Montenegrin blood, you are of the race that fought back the savage Turks for five hundred years, but so are others, still in those mountains, who are licking the bloody feet of the tyrant. Have I looked into your heart? How do I know who you serve? How do I know if you too get your orders from Belgrade or Moscow?" "You don't," Wolfe said bluntly. She stared at him. "You are not a fool," he assured her. "On the contrary, you would be a fool if you took my probity for granted, as little as you know of me. As far as you know it's quite possible that I'm a blackguard. But you haven't thought it through. To test your surmise about the death of Marko I need some facts from you, but what are they? Names and addresses and dates -- things that are already known to the enemy. I have 40 no r^eans of convincing you that I am not vem^ous, s0 I offer a suggestion. I will ask you questions. You will assume that I am a communist, owing allegiance either to Belgrade or Moscow, no matter which. You vyill also assume -- my vanity insists on it --- f)iat I am not far from the top in the cour^^ of depravity. So. Each question I put ask yourself if it isn't extremely likely either tnat I already know the answer or that 11: is readily available to me. If yes, tell i^e. If ^ don't. The way I act on the mfoP^^ion will show you whether you should trust me, but that's unimportant." S^e was concentrating on it. "It's a trick." H^ nodded. "And rather ingenious. For the record, I say that your misgiving about ine 1s groundless, but assuming that I am of tl^ enemy, I'll certainly try to pry something out of you that I don't already have, so you must keep your wit sharp. Shall we Start an(^ see how it goes?" S^e didn't like it. "You might tell the police- We are not criminals, but we have a ri^ht to our secrets, and the police could make it very difficult." �^osh. You can't have everything. You can't have me both a Communist agent and a police informer, I'm not a chameleon. You^re making it a travesty, and you might 41 as well go. I'll manage without you." She studied him. "All right. Ask me." "Eat something first. That food is still palatable." "No, thank you." "Beer, then? A glass of wine? Whisky?" "No, thank you. Nothing." "I'm thirsty. Archie? Beer, please. Two bottles." I went to the kitchen for it. 42 Chapter 3 Three weeks and eight hours later, at eleven in the morning of the second Friday in April, Wolfe descended from the plant rooms in his elevator, entered the office, crossed to the chair at his desk, and sat. As usual, I had opened the morning mail, gone through it, and put it on his blotter under a paper-weight. "That memo on top needs immediate attention," I told him. "Cartright of Consolidated Products is being gypped again, or thinks he is. Last time he paid our bill for twelve grand without a squeak. You're to call him." He shoved the paper-weight off with such enthusiasm that it rolled across the desk and off to the floor. Then he picked up the pile of mail, squeezed it into a ball between his hands, and dropped it into his wastebasket. Of course it was childish, since he knew darned well I would retrieve it later, but it was a nice gesture, and I fully appreciated 43 it. The humor 'he was in, it wouldn't have surprised me ai^y if he had taken the other paperweight, a hunk of carved ebony that had once been msed by a man named Mortimer to crack tflis wife's skull, and fired it at me. And the humor I was in, I probably wouldn't have pothered to dodge. There had be'en plenty of activity during those 512 hours,. Saul Panzer, Fred Durkin, and Orrie Gather had all been summoned the first morning and given errands, and had been paid a total of $3,143.87, including expenses. I had put in a good sixteen hours a day, pai^t in the office and part on the go. Wolfe had worked on thirty-one different people, rr^ostly at his desk, but for five of them who couldn't be wrangled in he had gone outdoors and traveled, something he had ne^er done for a fee. Among the hours he had spent on the phone had been time for sLx calls to London, five to Paris, and three to Bari in Italy. Of course all that had been only a dab compared to the capers of the cops. As the days went by artd lead after lead petered out, things would have simmered down if it hadn't been for the papers. They kept hot on it for two reasons: first, they had a suspicion there were international complications and wanted to smoke them out; and 44 second, they thought it was the joke of the year that Nero Wolfe's best friend had been croaked, and Wolfe was supposed to be working on it, but apparently no one had even been nominated for a charge, let alone elected. So the papers kept it going, and the law couldn't relax a little even if it wanted to. Crarner had called on Wolfe five times, and Stebbins more than that, and Wolfe had been downtown twice to conferences at the DA's office. We had dined nine times at Rusterman's, and Wolfe had insisted on paying the check, which probably broke another precedent -- for an executor of an estate. Wolfe went early to spend an hour in the kitchen, and twice he raised hell -- once about a Mornay sauce and once about a dish which the menu called Supremes de Volatile en Papillate. I would have suspected he was merely being peevish if the look on the chefs' faces hadn't indicated that he was abso
lutely right. Of course Cramer and his army had covered all the routine. The car the shots had been fired from had been hot, stolen an hour earlier from where it had been parked on West Fifty-sixth Street, and abandoned soon after the shooting, on Second Avenue. The scientists, from fingerprint-lifters and bullet-gazers on up, had supplied a lot of 45 dope but no answers, and the same goes for the three or four dozen who went after the woman angle, which after a couple of weeks was spread to include several more, going back four years instead of one, in addition to the original seven. One day Cramer told Wolfe he could go over the whole file if he wanted to, some three hundred reports of sessions with eighty-four people, and Wolfe took him up. He spent eleven hours at it, at the DA's office. The only result was that he made nine suggestions, all of which were followed, and none of which opened a crack. He left the women and the feelings they had aroused to the cops, and kept Saul and Fred and Orrie, not to mention me, on the international angle. A great deal was accomplished. We learned a lot about the ten organizations listed in the Manhattan phone directory whose names began with "Yugoslav." Also that Serbs don't care much for Bosnians, and less for Croats. Also that the overwhelming majority of Yugoslavs in New York are anti-Tito, and practically all of them are anti-Russian. Also that eight per cent of the doormen on Park Avenue are Yugoslavs. Also that New Yorkers who are, or whose parents were, from Yugoslavia are fairly cagey about opening up to strangers and are inclined to shut the valves tight if 46 they get the notion that you're being nosy. Also many other things, including a few that seemed to offer a faint hope of starting a trail that could lead to the bird who had put three bullets in Marko Vukcic, but they all blew a fuse. In the first four days of the three weeks we saw Caria twice more. Saturday noon she came and asked Wolfe if it was true, as announced, that there would be no funeral. He said yes, in accordance with Marko's wish, in writing, that he be cremated and that there should be no services. She objected that there were hundreds of people who wanted to show their respect and love for him, and Wolfe replied that if a man's prejudices were to be humored at all after he was no longer around to impose them, surely he should be allowed to dictate the disposal of his own clay. The best she could get was a promise that the ashes would be delivered to her. Then she had asked about progress in the investigation, and he had said he would report when there was anything worth reporting, which hadn't satisfied her at all. She came again late Monday afternoon. I had had enough of answering the damn doorbell and left it to Fritz. She came charging in and across to Wolfe's desk, and 47 blurted at him, "You told the police! They've had Leo down there all day, and this afternoon they went to Paul's place and took him too! I knew I shouldn't trust you!" "Please �" Wolfe tried, but she had pulled the cork and it had to come. He leaned back and shut his eyes. She went on ranting until she had to stop for breath. He opened his eyes and inquired, "Are you through?" "Yes! I'm all through! With you!" "Then there's no more to say." He jerked his head. "There's the door." She went to the red leather chair and sat on the edge. "You said you wouldn't tell the police about us!" "I did not." He was disgusted and tired. "Since you mistrust me you will credit nothing I say, so why should I waste words?" "I want to hear them!" "Very well. I have said nothing to the police about you or your associates or your surmise about Marko's death, but they are not donkeys, and I knew they would get onto it. I'm surprised it took them so long. Have they come to you?" "No." "They will, and it's just as well. I have only four men, and we are getting nowhere. 48 They have regiments. If you tell them about coming to see me Thursday night they'll resent my withholding it, but that's of no consequence. Tell them or not, as you please. As for giving them the information you gave me, do as you please about that too. It might be better to let them dig it up for themselves, since in the process they might uncover something you don't know about. So much for that. Since you're here I may as well tell you what progress I have made. None." He raised his voice. "None!" "Nothing at all!" "Nothing." "I won't tell the police what I told you, but that doesn't matter. If you haven't, you will." Suddenly she was on her feet with her arms spread out. "Oh, I need you! I need to ask you � I need to tell you what I must do! But I won't! I won't!" She turned and was gone. She moved so fast that when I got to the hall she already had the front door open. By the time I reached it she was out and the door was shut. Through the one-way glass panel I saw her going down the steps, sure and supple, like a fencer or a dancer, which was reasonable, since she had been both. That was the last we saw of her during the three weeks, but not the last we heard. 49 Word of her came four days later, Friday morning, from an unexpected quarter. Wolfe and I were having a session in the office with Saul and Fred and Orrie, one of a series, trying to think up some more stones to look under, when the doorbell rang and a moment later Fritz entered to announce, "A man to see you, sir. Mr. Stahl of the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Wolfe's brows went up, he glanced at me, I shook my head, and he told Fritz to bring the man in. The hired help, including me, exchanged glances. An FBI man was no rare spectacle for any of us, but Stahl wasn't just one of the swarm, he had worked up to where he gave more orders than he took, and the word was that by Christmas he would be occupying the big corner room down at 290 Broadway. He didn't often go out to run errands, so it was quite an event for him to drop in, and we all knew it and appreciated it. When he entered and marched across to Wolfe's desk and offered a hand, Wolfe even did him the honor of rising to shake, which showed how desperate the situation was. "It's been quite a while since I saw you last," Stahl observed. "Three years?" Wolfe nodded. "I believe so." He indicated the red leather chair, which Fred 50 Durkin had vacated. "Be seated." "Thank you. May we make this private?" "If necessary." Wolfe glanced at the trio, and they got up and filed out and shut the door. Stahl went and sat. Medium-sized and beginning to be a little short on hair, he wasn't impressive to look at, except his jaw, which came straight down a good two inches and then jutted forward. He was well designed for ramming. He gave me a look, and Wolfe said, "As you know, Mr. Goodwin is privy to all that I hear and see and do." Stahl knew no such thing, because it wasn't true. I'd like to have a nickel -- or make it a dime, with the dollar where it is -- for every item Wolfe has withheld from me just for the hell of it. Stahl merely nodded. "In a way," he said, "you might consider this a personal matter -- personal to you. We want to get in touch with your daughter, Mrs. Caria Britton." Wolfe's shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. "Then do so. Her address is nine-eighty-four Park Avenue. Her phone number is Poplar three-threeohfour-three."