by Rex Stout
"I then, at two-fifteen, returned to the apartment. I learned downstairs that two of the detectives were still there, so I waited until they left, which was at 2.35, and then went up. I rang the bell and the maid opened the door and I went in. On account of the impression created at my visit in the morning, she took it for granted that I was a city detective, though I did not say so. I merely went in and started searching-"
Cramer growled, "By God, impersonating-"
"Oh, no, Inspector." Saul looked shocked. "I wouldn't impersonate an officer. But I did suspect the maid made a mistake and took me for one, for otherwise she might have objected to my searching the place. I thought if she had it fixed in her mind that I was a city detective, she probably wouldn't believe me anyway if I tried to tell her I wasn't, so I didn't try. And if you won't regard it as impertinent, I'd like to compliment you on the job your men did. You would hardly know the place had been touched, the way they left things, and they must have gone through every inch. And the fact that they had been over it made it unnecessary for me to do any of the superficial things. I could concentrate on the long chance that there was some trick they had missed. It wasn't much of a trick at that, only a false bottom in a leather hatbox. Underneath it I found her birth certificate and a few letters and things. I left it all there after taking a copy of the certificate, and then I went out to a phone booth and made a long-distance call to Ottumwa, Iowa, to her mother just to make sure."
Zorka blurted at him, "You, you phoned my mother…"
"Yes, ma'am, I did. It's all right. I didn't scare her, or anything. I made it all right. Having found out from the birth certificate that your name is Pansy Bupp, and having read a letter-"
"What's that?" Wolfe demanded. "Her name is what?"
"Pansy Bupp." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. P-A-N-S-Y B-U-P-P. Her father is William O. Bupp. He runs a feed store. She was born at Ottumwa on April 9, 1912-"
"Give me that paper."
Saul handed it over. Wolfe glared at it, ate it with his eyes, and transferred the glare to her, and it was one of the few times on record that I would have called his tone a snarl as he shot at her:
"Why?"
She snarled back, "Why what?"
"Why that counfounded drivel? That imbecile flummery?"
She looked as if she would like to stick a knife through him. "What do you think would happen," she demanded, "to a Fifth Avenue couturiиre if it came out that her name was Pansy Bupp?" Her voice rose to an indignant wail. "What do you think will happen?"
Wolfe, beside himself with fury, wiggled a whole hand at her. "Answer me!" he roared. "Is your name Pansy Bupp?"
"Yes."
"Were you born in Ottumwa, Iowa?"
"Yes."
"When did you leave there?"
"Why, I… I took trips to Denver-"
"I'm not speaking of trips to Denver! When did you leave there?"
"Two years ago-nearly. My father gave me money for a trip to Paris-and I got a job there and learned to design-and I met Donald Barrett, and he suggested-"
"Where did you get the name Zorka?"
"I saw it somewhere-"
"Have you ever been in Yugoslavia?"
"No."
"Or anywhere in Europe besides Paris?"
"No."
"Is what you said last night-about the reason for your phoning here and then running away to Miss Reade's place-is that the truth?"
"Yes, it is. Like a fool, an utter fool"-she gulped-"I let my conscience bother me because it was murder. If I hadn't done that, none of this…" She flung out her hands. "Oh, can it be-can't this be-?" Her chin was quivering.
"Miss Bupp!" Wolfe thundered. "Don't you dare! Archie, get her out of here! Get her out of the house!"
"Zat weel be a plaizhoore," I said.
Chapter Sixteen
Wolfe looked up at the wall clock and said, "Ten minutes to four. I'll have to leave you pretty soon to go up to my plants."
We were comparatively peaceful again. The two dicks had departed with Miss Bupp, and Lieutenant Rowcliff had been phoned to expect her at headquarters for a little talk.
Cramer said, "It could be a frame, you know. We've tried some of her friends and associates, too. We heard she was a Turk, a Hungarian, a Russian Jew, and maybe part Jap. It won't hurt any to check it up."
Wolfe shook his head, grimaced and muttered, "Ottumwa, Iowa."
"I guess so," the inspector admitted. "Does that shove you off on to a siding?"
"No. It merely…" Wolfe shrugged.
"It merely leaves you still waiting at the station, huh?" Getting no answer, he regarded Wolfe a moment and then went on: "As far as I'm concerned, I'm still playing these. If you go up to your plants, I go along. If you go to the kitchen to mix salad dressing-"
"You don't mix salad dressing in the kitchen. You do it at the table and use it immediately."
"All right. No matter what you go to the kitchen for, I go too. It's plainer than ever that you know where the kernel is in this nut and I don't. Take the fact of Donald Barrett chasing this Zorka Bupp away so we couldn't get at her. I would get fat trying to put the screws on Donald Barrett, with both the commissioner and the district attorney having a bad attack of bashfulness. Wouldn't I? But you don't even waste time with Donald. You have his old man, John P. himself, coming right here and walking right into your office. That goes to show."
Wolfe looked at me. "Archie. Find out if Theodore failed to understand that when I sent a gentleman to look at orchids-"
Cramer snorted. "Don't bother. I didn't sneak downstairs and take a peek. Rowcliff told me on the phone that he had received a report that John P. Barrett had been seen entering this address at 2.55 this p.m."
"Were you having Mr Barrett followed?"
"No."
"I see. You have a regiment watching this house."
"I wouldn't say a regiment. But I've said, and I say again, that right now I'm more interested in this house than any other building in the borough of Manhattan. If you want me out of it you'll have to call the police. By the way, another thing Rowcliff told me: They've found Belinda Reade. She's at a matinee at the Lincoln Theatre. Do we want her in here?"
"I don't."
"Then I don't either. The boys'll take care of her. If she can account satisfactorily for-is that for me?"
I nodded, and vacated my chair for him to take another phone call. This was a comparatively short one. He emitted a few grunts and made a few unilluminating remarks, and hung up and returned to his chair. No sooner had I got back into mine than the house phone buzzed. As I pulled it over to me I heard Wolfe asking Cramer if there was anything new and the inspector replying that there was nothing worth mentioning and then, over the house phone, in response to my hallo, Fred Durkin's voice was in my ear:
"Archie? Come up here."
I said with irritation, "Damn it, Fritz, I'm busy." Then I waited a minute and said, "Okay, okay, quit running off your face," and got up and beat it to the hall, shutting the door behind me. I went quickly but noiselessly up one flight of stairs, opened the door of Wolfe's room and entered. Fred Durkin was there on a chair beside the bed, within reach of the phone, where he had been instructed to place himself two hours previously.
He started to grumble, "This is one hell of a job-"
"Don't crab, my boy. From each according to his ability. What is it, Lovchen?"
He nodded. "I didn't call you when he got the report on Zorka, because he told them to bring her here; but-"
"What about Lovchen?"
"Her tail phoned in to headquarters." Fred looked at a pad of paper he had scribbled on. "They followed her to Miltan's this morning, and she left there at ten fifty-three and went back to 404 East 38th Street-"
"The hell she did! Anyone with her?"
"No, she was alone. She stayed in there only about ten minutes. At eleven-fifteen she came out and went to Second Avenue and took a taxi. She got out at the Maidstone Building on 42nd Street. They w
ere a little behind her as she entered the building, and she popped into an elevator just as the door was closing, and they missed it. They couldn't find out from the elevator boy what floor she got off at, and anyway, as you know and I know, that would be bad tailing, because she could have taken to the stairs and gone up or down. There are four different rows of elevators to watch in that building, and they were afraid to leave to go to a phone, but just now a cop passed by and they flagged him, and had him send in a report. They're sure she hasn't left the building, and they want help, because the rush hour will be on at five o'clock."
"Is that all?"
"That's the crop."
I made a face. "And Cramer, the louse, said there was no news worth mentioning! He's going upstairs with Wolfe to the roof. When you hear the elevator go up, you go down to the office and stay there. Take all calls. If anybody comes, tell Wolfe on the house phone. Write out a report of what you've told me, and add to it that I've gone to the Maidstone Building, and send it up to Wolfe by Fritz. If I call in and there's anyone in the office, use code. Got it?"
"I've got it. But why not let me go-?"
"No, my boy, this is a job for a master."
I left him there. Descending the stairs as fast as I could without making a hubbub, I went to the kitchen and told Fritz:
"Go to the office and tell Wolfe the goose hasn't been delivered and you've sent me to the Washington Market for it. Tell him I protested and complain bitterly of the language I used. That is for the benefit of Inspector Cramer. Fred has the low-down. Got it?"
"Yes," Fritz hissed.
I left by way of the front hall, grabbing my hat and coat. Outside was no regiment, but there was a dick on the sidewalk not far from the stoop, and another one across the street, and a taxi was parked fifty yards east. Not to mention Cramer's police car, there nosing the hind end of my roadster. I climbed in the roadster and started the engine, called to Cramer's chauffeur, "Follow me to the scene of the crime!" and rolled. I didn't go far, only around the corner and a couple of blocks on Tenth Avenue, and then stopped at the kerb, locked the ignition, got out and stopped the first taxi that came along. I waited a minute to see either the police car or the taxi if they turned in from 35th Street, but apparently my invitation hadn't been accepted, so I hopped in and told the driver 42nd and Lexington.
Entering the marble lobby of the fifty-storey Maidstone Building, I felt fairly sappy. I had come because Wolfe had instructed me that if Fred copped any news about Carla Lovchen I was to follow it up, and the only way I could follow it up was to go there. I felt sappy because, observing the extent and complications of the lobby, with the four banks of elevators and the twisting crowds, not to mention such things as stairways and possibly basement exits, it seemed good for even money that she had moved out and on; and also, even if she hadn't, I stood a fat chance of grabbing her and getting away with her under the circumstances. Apparently the tails had already got their reinforcements; I had easily spotted three of them on one quick survey. It was obvious that the lobby was no place for me, even if she walked out of an elevator right into my arms.
I had had one feeble idea on my way up in the taxi, and I proceeded to use that up. The building directory board was in two sections, on two sides of the lobby, one A to L and the other M to Z. I tackled the first section and went over it thoroughly, a name at a time, hoping for a hint or a hunch. I got neither, and moved across to the second section, and there, nearing the end, I saw WHEELER & DRISCLOLL, 3259. It looked slim, but I went to the information booth and told the guy, "I'm looking for a tenant and don't know his firm. Nat Driscoll. Or maybe instead of Nat, Nathaniel."
He opened his book with weary hands and looked at it with weary eyes and said in a weary voice, "Driscoll, Nathaniel, 3259, thirty-second floor, elevators on the-"
I was gone. My heart had started to pump. I love the feeling of a hunch.
I got out at the thirty-second and walked half a mile, around three corners, to 3259. The lettering on the door said:
WHEELER & DRISCOLL
IMPORTERS AND BROKERS
I opened the door and went in, and right away, even in the ante-room, found myself in the midst of prosperity, judging by the rugs and furniture and the type of employee displayed. She was the kind who without any visible effort conveys the impression that she got a job in an office only because she was fed-up with yachting and riding to hounds. Not wanting to frighten anyone into scooting out of any other Wheeler & Driscoll doors into the public corridor, I told her:
"My name is Goodwin and I would like to see Mr Nathaniel Driscoll."
"Have you an appointment?"
"Nope, I just dropped in. Have you heard about the diamonds? The ones he thought had been stolen from him?"
"Oh, yes." Her lip twitched. "Yes, indeed."
"Tell him my name is Goodwin, and Miss Tormic sent me to see him. I represent Miss Tormic."
"I'm sorry. Mr Driscoll isn't in."
"Has he gone home?"
"He hasn't been here this afternoon."
In the first place, my hunch was still alive and kicking, and in the second place, she wasn't a good liar, even with a common conventional lie like that. I got out my memo pad and wrote on it:
"If you don't want the cops busting in here in about two minutes looking for your fencing teacher, let's have a little talk. And, for God's sake, don't let her show her face in the hall.
"A.G."
I grinned at the employee to show there was no hard feeling; and indeed there wasn't. "May I have an envelope?"
She got one and handed it to me, and I inserted the note and licked the flap and sealed it. "Here," I said, "take this to Mr Driscoll, there's a good girl, and don't argue. Do I look like a man who would come all this way to see him unless I knew he was here?"
Without saying a word, she pressed a button. A boy entered from a door on the left, and she gave him the envelope and told him to deliver it to Mr Driscol's desk. I said, "Deliver it to him." And then, as the boy disappeared, I went to the entrance door and opened it and stood there where I could see the hall in both directions. There were several passers-by, but no sign of any frantic dash for freedom. I must have stood there for all of three minutes before I saw, about fifty feet down the hall, the top of a head and then a pair of eyes protruding beyond the edge of a door-jamb. I called in a tone of authority:
"Hey, back in there!"
The head disappeared. It had not shown again when I heard the employee's voice calling my name. I turned. The boy was there holding a door open. He said, "This way, sir," and I followed him into an inner corridor and past three doors to one at the end, which he opened.
The room I entered was at least five times as big as the ante-room and six times as prosperous. I realized that in my one swift glance as I started to where Nat Driscoll stood at the corner of a large and elegant desk, telling him, "If you sneaked her out while I was coming in here, the cops will have her inside of a minute."
With one hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to bleach the knuckles, he said, "Unh." He looked as bewildered and terrified as a corpulent uncle who had been inveigled into taking a ride on the Ziparoo at Coney Island.
I looked around. "Where is she?"
He said, "Unh."
There were two doors besides the one I had entered by. I trotted across and opened one, and saw only gleaming tiles and a washbowl and sittery. I closed that and went and opened the other one, and looked into a small room with filing cabinets, a bookcase, and a de luxe secretary's desk. The secretary sat there staring at me with big round blue eyes, and a more glittering stare was bestowed on me from a chair in a corner occupied by Carla Lovchen.
She didn't say anything, just goggled at me. My elbow was grabbed from behind, and I was agreeably surprised to find that Nat Driscoll could grip like that. I pulled away, and we were both inside the small room, and I shut the door.
I demanded, "What did you figure on doing? Keeping her here till after the funeral?"<
br />
Carla asked in a low, tense voice, without altering her stare, "Where's Neya?"
"She's all right. For a while, anyhow. You were tailed to this building-"
"Tailed?"
"Shadowed. Followed by policemen. There are a dozen of them downstairs now, covering all the elevators and exits."
Driscoll dropped on to a chair and groaned. The blue-eyed secretary inquired in a cool, business-like tone:
"Are you Archie Goodwin of Nero Wolfe's office?"
"I am. Pleased to meet you." I met Carla's stare. "Did you kill Rudolph Faber?"
"No." A shiver ran over her, and she controlled it and sat rigid again.
Driscoll mumbled at me, "You mean Ludlow. Percy Ludlow."
"Do I? I don't." I fired at the secretary, "What time did Driscoll get here this morning?"
"Ask him," she said icily.
"I'm asking you. Let me tell you folks something. I may not be your best and dearest friend, but I'm quite a pal compared to the guys downstairs I mentioned. Otherwise I would have brought them up here. That can be done at any moment. What time did Driscoll get here this morning?"
"About half past eleven."
"That was his first appearance here to-day?"
"Yes."
"What time did he leave?"
"He didn't leave at all. He had some lunch brought in on account of Miss Lovchen."
"She got here at eleven-twenty."
"Yes." The secretary was getting no warmer. "How did you know that? How did you know she was here?"
"Intuition. I'm an intuitive genius." I shifted to Driscoll. "So you didn't kill Faber, huh?"
He stammered, "You mean… you must mean Ludlow-"
"I mean Rudolph Faber. A little before noon to-day he was found in the apartment occupied by Neya Tormic and Carla Lovchen lying on the floor, dead. Stabbed. Miss Tormic and I went there looking for Miss Lovchen, and found him."
