by Rex Stout
He closed his eyes and sat and breathed. After a little his eyes opened, and he spoke. "The river is at its highest now. This is the Zeta, you see where it joins the Moracha. Over there is the old Turkish town. In my 159 boyhood only Albanians lived there, and according to Telesio only a few of them have left since Tito broke with Moscow." "Thanks. When you finish telling me about the Albanians, tell me about us. I thought people without papers in Communist countries were given the full treatment. How did you horse him? From the beginning, please, straight through." He reported. It was a nice enough spot, with the trees sporting new green leaves, and fresh green grass that needed mowing, and patches of red and yellow and blue flowers, and with enough noise from the river for him to disregard the people passing by along the path. When he had finished I looked it over a little and asked a few questions, and then remarked, "Okay. All I could do was watch to see if you reached in your pocket for the lullaby. Did Stritar sick Jube on us?" "I don't know." "If he did he needs some new personnel." I looked at my wrist. "It's after six o'clock. What's next -- look for a good haystack while it's daylight?" "You know what we came to Podgorica for." I crossed my legs jauntily to show that I could. "I would like to make a suggestion. 160 Extreme stubbornness is all very well when you're safe at home with the chain-bolt on the door, and if and when we're back there, call it Podgorica if you insist. But here it wouldn't bust a vein for you to call it Titograd." "These vulgar barbarians have no right to degrade a history and deform a culture." "No, and they have no right to give two American citizens the works, but they can and probably will. You can snarl 'Podgorica' at them while they're making you over. Are we waiting here for something?" "No." "Shall I go tie Jube to a tree?" "No. Ignore him." "Then why don't we go?" "Confound it, my feet!" "What they need," I said sympathetically, "is exercise, to stimulate circulation. After a couple of weeks of steady walking and climbing you won't even notice you have feet." "Shut up." "Yes, sir." He closed his eyes. In a minute he opened them again, slowly bent his left knee, and got his left foot flat on the ground, then his right. "Very well," he said grimly, and stood up. 161 Chapter 9 It was a two-story stone house on a narrow cobbled street, back some three hundred yards from the river, with a tiny yard in front behind a wooden fence that had never been painted. If I had been Yugoslavia I would have spent a fair fraction of the fifty-eight million from the World Bank on paint. We had covered considerably more than three hundred yards getting there because of a detour to ask about Grudo Balar at the house where he had lived years before in his youth � a detour, Wolfe explained, which we bothered to make only because he had mentioned Balar to Gospo Stritar. The man who answered the door to Wolfe's knock said he had lived there only three years and had never heard of anyone named Balar, so we crossed him off. When the door was opened to us at the two-story house on the narrow cobbled street I stared in surprise. It was the daugh- 162 ter of the owner of the haystack who had changed her clothes in our honor. Then a double take showed me that this one was several years older and a little plumper, but otherwise she could have been a duplicate. Wolfe said something, and she replied and turned her head to call within, and in a moment a man appeared, replaced her on the threshold, and spoke in SerboCroat. "I'm Danilo Vukcic. Who are you?" I won't say I would have spotted him in a crowd, for he didn't resemble his Uncle Marko much superficially, but he was the same family all right. He was a little taller than Marko had been, and not so burly, and his eyes were set deeper, but his head sat exactly the same and he had the same wide mouth with full lips -- though it wasn't Marko's mouth, because Marko had spent a lot of time laughing, and this nephew didn't look as if he had laughed much. "If you would step outside?" Wolfe suggested.
"What for? What do you want?" "I want to say something not for other ears." "There are no ears in my house that I don't trust." "I congratulate you. But I haven't tested 163 them as you have, so if you'll oblige me?" "Who are you?" "One who gets messages by telephone. Eight days ago I received one saying, 'The man you seek is within sight of the mountain.' Four days ago I received another saying that a person I knew had died a violent death within sight of the mountain. For speedy communication at a distance the telephone is supreme." Danilo was staring at him, frowning, not believing. "It's impossible." Then he shifted the stare and frown to me. "Who is this?" "My associate who came with me." "Come in." He sidestepped to make room. "Come in quickly." We passed through, and he shut the door. "No one is here but my family. This way." He took us through an arch into an inner room, raising his voice to call as he went, "All right, Meta! Go ahead and feed them!" He stopped and faced Wolfe. "We have two small children." "I know. Marko was concerned about them. He thought you and your wife were competent to calculate your risks, but they were not. He wanted you to send them to him in New York. Ivan is five years old and Zosha three. It is not a question of trusting ears, they are old enough to babble, as you should know." 164 "Of course." Danilo went and shut a door and returned. "They can't hear us. Who are you?" "Nero Wolfe. This is Archie Goodwin. Marko may have spoken of him." "Yes. But I can't believe it." Wolfe nodded. "That comes first, naturally, for you to believe. It shouldn't be too difficult." He looked around. "If we could sit?" None of the chairs in sight met his specifications, but there were several that would serve his main purpose, to get his weight off his feet. I wouldn't have known that the big tiled object in the corner was a stove if I hadn't had the habit of spending an hour or so each month looking at the pictures in the National Geographic, and I had also seen most of the other articles of furniture, with the exception of the rug. It was a beaut, with red and yellow roses as big as my head on a blue background. Only a vulgar barbarian would have dragged a chair across it, so I lifted one to place it so as to be in the group after Wolfe had lowered himself onto the widest one available. "It should help," Wolfe began, "to tell you how we got here." He proceeded to do so, in full, going back to the day, nearly a month earlier, when the news had come that 165 Marko had been killed. From first to last Danilo kept a steady gaze at him, ignoring me completely, making no interruptions. He was a good listener. When Wolfe got to the end and stopped, Danilo gave me a long hard look and then went back to Wolfe. "It is true," he said, "that through my uncle Marko I have heard of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. But why should you go to such trouble and expense to get here, and why do you come to me?" Wolfe grunted. "So you're not satisfied. I understand the necessity for prudence, but surely this is excessive. If I am an imposter I already know enough to destroy you -- Marko's associates in New York, the messages to me through Paolo Telesio, the house in Bari where you have met Marko, a dozen other details which I included. Either I am already equipped as the agent of your doom, or I am Nero Wolfe. I don't understand your incredulity. Why the devil did you send those messages if you didn't expect me to act?" "I sent only one. The first one, that Caria was here, was only from Telesio. The second, that the man you sought was here, was sent because Caria said to. The last, that she had been killed, I sent because she would have wanted you to know. From what 166 Marko had told me of you, I had no idea that you would come. When he was alive you had refused to give any support to the Spirit of the Black Mountain, so why should we have expected help from you when he was dead? Am I supposed to believe you have come to help?" Wolfe shook his head. "No," he said bluntly. "To help your movement on its merits, no. No blow for freedom should be discouraged or scorned, but in this remote mountain corner the best you can do is tickle the tyrant's toes and die for your pains. If by any chance you should succeed in destroying Tito, the Russians would swarm in from all sides and finish you. I came to get a murderer. For years I have made a living catching wrongdoers, murderers in particular, and I don't intend to let the one who killed Marko escape. I expect you to help me." "The one who killed Marko is only a tool. We have larger plans." "No doubt. So have I, but this is personal, and at least it rides in your direction. It may be useful to make it clear that your friends in distant places cannot be slaughtered with impunity. I offer no bribe, but whe
n I get back to America I shall probably feel, as the executor of Marko's estate, that his associ- 167 ates in a project dear to him deserve sympathetic consideration." "I don't believe you'll ever get back. This isn't America, and you don't know how to operate here. Already you have made five bad mistakes. For one thing, you have exposed yourselves to that baby rat, Jube Bilic, and let him follow you here." "But," Wolfe objected, "I was told by Telesio that it would place you in no danger if we were seen coming here. He said you are being paid by both Belgrade and the Russians, and you are trusted by neither, and neither is ready to remove you." "Nobody trusts anyone," Danilo said harshly. He left his chair. "But this Jube Bilic, for a Montenegrin, has at his age a fatal disease of the bones. Even Montenegrins like Gospo Stritar, who work for Tito and have his picture on their walls if not in their hearts, have only contempt for such as Jube Bilic, who spies on his own father. Contempt is all right, that's healthy enough, but sometimes it turns into fear, and that's too much. Do I understand that Jube followed you to this house?" Wolfe turned to me. "He wants to know if Jube followed us here." "He did," I declared, "unless he stumbled and fell in the last two hundred yards. I saw 168 him turn the corner into this street." Wolfe relayed it. "In that case," Danilo said, "you must excuse me while I arrange something." He left the room through the door toward the back of the house, closing it behind him. "What's up?" I asked Wolfe. "Has he gone to phone Room Nineteen?" "Possibly." He was peevish. "Ostensibly he intends to do something about Jube." "Where are we?" He told me. It didn't take long, since most of the long conversation had been Wolfe's explanation of our presence. I asked him what the odds were that Danilo was doublecrossing the Spirit and actually earning his pay from either Belgrade or the Russians, and he said he didn't know but that Marko had trusted his nephew without reservation. I said that was jolly, since if Danilo was a louse it would be interesting to see which side he sold us to, and I could hardly wait to find out. Wolfe only growled, whether in Serbo-Croat or English I couldn't tell. It was quite a wait. I got up and inspected various articles in the room, asking Wolfe some questions about them, and concluded that if I lived to marry and settle down, which at the moment looked like a bad bet, our apartment would be furnished with 169 domestic products, with possibly a few imports to give it tone, like for instance the tasseled blue scarf that covered a table. I was looking at pictures on the wall when the door opened behind me, and I admit that as I about-faced my hand went automatically to my hip, where I still had the Colt .38. It was only Meta Vukcic. She came in a couple of steps and said something, and Wolfe replied, and after a brief exchange she went out. He reported, without being asked, that she had said that the lamb stew would be ready in about an hour, and meanwhile did we want some goat milk, or vodka with or without water, and he had said no. I protested that I was thirsty, and he said all right, then call her, though he knew damn well I didn't know how to say "Mrs." I asked him, "How do you say 'Mrs. Vukcic'?" He made a two-syllabled noise without any vowels. I said, "To hell with it," went to the door at the rear, pulled it open, passed through, saw our hostess arranging things on a table, caught her eye, curved my fingers as if holding a glass, raised the glass to my mouth, and drank. She said something that ended with a question mark, and I nodded. While she got a pitcher from a shelf and poured white liquid from it into a glass, I glanced around, saw a stove with 170 a covered pot on it, a bank of cupboards with flowers painted on the doors, a table set for four, a line of shiny pots and pans hanging, and other items. When she gave me the glass I asked myself if it would be appropriate to kiss her hand, which was well shaped but a little red and rough, decided against it, and returned to the other room. "I had a little chat with Mrs. Vukcic," I told Wolfe. "The stew smells good, and the table is set for four, but there are no place cards, so keep your fingers crossed." Lily Rowan had once paid a Park Avenue medicine man fifty bucks to tell her that goat milk would be good for her nerves, and while she was giving it a whirl I had sampled it a few times, so the liquid Meta Vukcic had served me was no great shock. By the time I had finished it the room was dark, and I went and turned the switch on a lamp that stood on the tasseled blue table cover, and it worked. The door opened, and Danilo was back with us, alone. He crossed to the chair facing Wolfe and sat. "You must excuse me," he said, "for being away so long, but there was a little difficulty. Now. You said you expect me to help you. What kind of help?" "That depends," Wolfe told him "on the 171 the fall down the cliff it was impossible to tell to what extent she had been mistreated. Anyway, she was dead. Because she had had no papers, and for other reasons, it would have been difficult to arrange Christian burial for her, but the body was decently disposed of. It would be a pleasure to tell you that we tracked those who had killed her and dealt with them, but it is not that simple in the mountains, and besides, there was another urgent concern -- to take precautions regarding materials that must be guarded. It was possible that before killing her they had forced her to reveal the cache. We attended to that Wednesday night; and Thursday, Josip Pasic and I came back to Titograd; and that night he went to the coast and crossed to Bari, to send word to New York about Carla. I thought it proper also to tell Telesio to get word to you, since she was your daughter." Danilo made a gesture. "So there it is. I had no chance to ask her who killed Marko." Wolfe regarded him glumly. "You had a chance to ask Josip Pasic." "He doesn't know." "He was in the mountains with her." "Not precisely with her. She was trying to do something alone, against all reason." 174 "I want to see him. Where is he?" "In the mountains. He returned there Saturday night." "You can send for him." "I can, of course, but I'm not going to." Danilo was emphatic. "The situation there is difficult, and he must stay. Besides, I won't expose Josip to the hazard of a meeting with you in Titograd, not after the way you have performed and made yourself conspicuous. Marching into the headquarters of the secret police! Walking the streets, anywhere you please, in daylight! It is true that Titograd is no metropolis, it is only a poor little town in this little valley surrounded by mountains, but there are a few people here who have been over the mountains and across the seas, and what if one of them saw you? Do you think I am such a fool as to believe you are Nero Wolfe just because you come to my house and say so? I would have been dead long ago. Once -- last winter, it was -- my uncle showed me a picture of you that had been printed in an American newspaper, and I recognized you as soon as I saw you at my door. There are others in Titograd who might also recognize you, but you march right in and tell Gospo Stritar you are Tone Stara of Galichnik!"
