“I am speaking,” he said coldly, “of an investigating operation by gaining her confidence.”
“That way it sounds even worse.” I continued to stare. “However, let’s put the best possible construction on it. Do you want me to worm a confession out of her that she murdered her uncle and Miss Gunther? No, thanks.”
“Nonsense. You know perfectly well what I want.”
“Tell me anyway. What do you want?”
“I want information on these points. The extent of her personal or social contacts, if any, with anyone connected with the NIA, especially those who were here last night. The same for Mrs. Boone, her aunt. Also, how intimate was she with Miss Gunther, what did they think of each other, and how much did she see of Miss Gunther the past week? That would do to start. If developments warrant it, you can then get more specific. Why don’t you telephone her now?”
“It seems legitimate,” I conceded, “up to the point where we get specific, and that can wait. But do you mean to say you think one of those NIA specimens is it?”
“Why not? Why shouldn’t he be?”
“It’s so damn obvious.”
“Bah. Nothing is obvious in itself. Obviousness is subjective. Three pursuers learn that a fugitive boarded a train for Philadelphia. To the first pursuer it’s obvious that the fugitive has gone to Philadelphia. To the second pursuer it’s obvious that he left the train at Newark and has gone somewhere else. To the third pursuer, who knows how clever the fugitive is, it’s obvious that he didn’t leave the train at Newark, because that would be too obvious, but stayed on it and went to Philadelphia. Subtlety chases the obvious up a never-ending spiral and never quite catches it. Do you know Miss Boone’s telephone number?”
I might have suspected him of sending me outdoors to play, to keep me out of mischief, but for the fact that it was a nuisance for him to have me out of the house, since he either had to answer the phone himself or let Fritz interrupt his other duties to attend to both the phone and the doorbell. So I granted his good faith, at least tentatively, and swiveled my chair to dial the Waldorf’s number, and asked for Mrs. Boone’s room. The room answered with a male voice that I didn’t recognize, and after giving my name, and waiting longer than seemed called for, I had Nina.
“This is Nina Boone. Is this Mr. Goodwin of Nero Wolfe’s office? Did I get that right?”
“Yep. In the pay of the NIA. Thank you for coming to the phone.”
“Why—you’re welcome. Did you—want something?”
“Certainly I did, but forget it. I’m not calling about what I want or wanted, or could easily want. I’m calling about something somebody else wants, because I was asked to, only in my opinion he’s cuckoo. You realize the position I’m in. I can’t call you up and say this is Archie Goodwin and I just drew ten bucks from the savings bank and how about using it to buy dinner for two at that Brazilian restaurant on Fifty-second Street? What’s the difference whether that’s what I want to do or not, as long as I can’t? Am I keeping you from something important?”
“No … I have a minute. What is it that somebody else wants?”
“I’ll come to that. So all I can say is, this is Archie Goodwin snooping for the NIA, and I would like to use some NIA expense money to buy you a dinner at that Brazilian restaurant on Fifty-second Street, with the understanding that it is strictly business and I am not to be trusted. To give you an idea how tricky I am, some people look under the bed at night, but I look in the bed, to make sure I’m not already there laying for me. Is the minute up?”
“You sound really dangerous. Is that what somebody else wanted you to do, kid me into having dinner with you?”
“The dinner part was my idea. It popped out when I heard your voice again. As for somebody else—you appreciate that working on this thing I’m thrown in with all sorts of people, not only Nero Wolfe, who is—well, he can’t help it, he’s what he is—but also the police, the FBI, the District Attorney’s outfit—all kinds. What would you say if I told you that one of them told me to call you and ask where Ed Erskine is?”
“Ed Erskine?” She was flabbergasted. “Ask me where Ed Erskine is?”
“That’s right.”
“I’d say he was out of his mind.”
“So would I. So that’s settled. Now before we hang up, to leave no loose ends hanging, maybe you’d better answer my own personally conducted question, about the dinner. How do you usually say no? Blunt? Or do you zigzag to avoid hurting people’s feelings?”
“Oh, I’m blunt.”
“All right, wait till I brace myself. Shoot.”
“I couldn’t go tonight, no matter how tricky you are. I’m eating here with my aunt in her room.”
“Then supper later. Or breakfast. Lunch. Lunch tomorrow at one?”
There was a pause. “What kind of a place is this Brazilian restaurant?”
“Okay, out of the way, and good food.”
“But … whenever I go on the street—”
“I know. That’s how it is. Leave by the Forty-ninth Street entrance. I’ll be there at the curb with a dark blue Wethersill sedan. I’ll be right there from twelve-fifty on. You can trust me to be there, but beyond that, remember, be on your guard.”
“I may be a little late.”
“I should hope so. You look perfectly normal to me. And please don’t, five or ten years from now, try to tell me that I said you look average. I didn’t say average, I said normal. See you tomorrow.”
As I pushed the phone back I had a notion that a gleam of self-congratulation might be visible in my eyes, so I didn’t turn immediately to face Wolfe but found papers on my desk that needed attention. After a moment he muttered:
“This evening would have been better.”
I counted ten. Then, still without turning, I said distinctly, “My dear sir, try getting her to meet you any time whatever, even at Tiffany’s to try things on.”
He chuckled. Before long he chuckled again. Finding that irritating, I went up to my room and kept busy until dinnertime, straightening up. Fritz and Charley hadn’t been able to get up that high on account of the condition of the rest of the house, and while the microscope experts had been neat and apparently respectable, I thought a spot inventory wouldn’t do any harm.
Toward the end of dinner, with the salad and cheese, a little controversy arose. I wanted to have our coffee there in the dining room and then go straight up to bed, and Wolfe, while admitting that he too needed sleep, wanted the coffee in the office as usual. He got arbitrary about it, and just as an object lesson I sat tight. He went to the office and I stayed in the dining room. When I was through I went to the kitchen and told Fritz:
“I’m sorry you had that extra trouble, serving coffee in two places, but he has got to learn how to compromise. You heard me offer to split the difference and drink it in the hall.”
“It was no trouble at all,” Fritz said graciously. “I understand, Archie. I understand why you’re being erratic. There goes the doorbell.”
It was a temptation to let the damn thing ring. I needed sleep. So did Wolfe, and all I had to do was flip the switch there on the kitchen wall to stop the bell ringing. But I didn’t flip it. I said to Fritz, “Justice. The public weal. Duty, goddam it,” and went to the front and pulled the door open.
Chapter 25
The guy standing there said, “Good evening. I would like to see Mr. Wolfe.”
I had never seen him before. He was around fifty, medium-sized, with thin straight lips and the kind of eyes that play poker for blood. The first tenth of a second I thought he was one of Bascom’s men, and then saw that his clothes ruled that out. They were quiet and conservative and must have had at least three try-ons. I told him:
“I’ll see if he’s in. Your name, please?”
“John Smith.”
“Oh. What do you want to see him about, Mr. Jones?”
“Private and urgent business.”
“Can you be more specific?”
“I can to him, yes.”
“Good. Sit down and read a magazine.”
I shut the door on him, clear shut, and went to the office and told Wolfe:
“Mr. John Smith, which he must have got out of a book, looks like a banker who would gladly lend you a dime on a cupful of diamonds. I left him on the stoop, but don’t worry about him being insulted because he has no feelings. Please don’t ask me to find out what he wants because it might take hours.”
Wolfe grunted. “What is your opinion?”
“None at all. I am not being permitted to know where we’re at. The natural impulse is to kick him off the stoop. I’ll say this for him, he’s not an errand boy.”
“Bring him in.”
I did so. In spite of his obnoxious qualities and of his keeping us up, I put him in the red leather chair because that had him facing both of us. He was not a lounger. He sat up straight, with his fingers intertwined in his lap, and told Wolfe:
“I gave the name of John Smith because my name is of no significance. I am merely an errand boy.”
Starting off by contradicting me. He went on:
“This is a confidential matter and I must speak with you privately.”
Wolfe shook his head. “Mr. Goodwin is my confidential assistant. His ears are mine. Go ahead.”
“No.” Smith’s tone implied, and that settles it. “I have to be alone with you.”
“Bah.” Wolfe pointed to a picture of the Washington Monument, on the wall fifteen feet to his left. “Do you see that picture? It is actually a perforated panel. If Mr. Goodwin is sent from the room he will go to an alcove around a corner of the hall, across from the kitchen door, open the panel on that side, invisible to us, and watch us and listen to us. The objection to that is that he would be standing up. He might as well stay here sitting down.”
Without batting an eye, Smith stood up. “Then you and I will go to the hall.”
“No we won’t.—Archie. Mr. Smith wants his hat and coat.”
I arose and moved. When I was halfway across the room Smith sat down again. I whirled, returned to my base, and did likewise.
“Well, sir?” Wolfe demanded.
“We have somebody,” Smith said, in what was apparently the only tone he ever used, “for the Boone and Gunther murders.”
“We? Somebody?”
Smith untangled his fingers, raised a hand to scratch the side of his nose, dropped the hand, and retwined the fingers. “Of course,” he said, “death is always a tragedy. It causes grief and suffering and often hardship. That cannot be avoided. But in this case, the deaths of these two people, it has already caused widespread injury to many thousands of innocent persons and created a situation that amounts to gross injustice. As you know, as we all know, there are elements in this country that seek to undermine the very foundations of our society. Death is serving them—has served them well. The very backbone of our free democratic system—composed of our most public-spirited citizens, our outstanding businessmen who keep things going for us—is in great and real peril. The source of that peril was an event—now two events—which may have resulted either from the merest chance or from deep and calculated malice. From the standpoint of the common welfare those two events were in themselves unimportant. But overwhelmingly—”
“Excuse me.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “I used to make speeches myself. The way I would put it, you’re talking about the nation-wide reaction against the National Industry Association on account of the murders. Is that correct?”
“Yes. I am emphasizing the contrast between the trivial character of the events in themselves and the enormous harm—”
“Please. You’ve made that point. Go on to the next one. But first tell me, do you represent the NIA?”
“No. I represent, actually, the founding fathers of this country. I represent the best and most fundamental interests of the American people. I—”
“All right. Your next point?”
Smith untwined his fingers again. This time it was the chin that needed scratching. When that was finished he proceeded, “The existing situation is intolerable. It is playing directly into the hands of the most dangerous and subversive groups and doctrines. No price would be too high to pay for ending it, and ending it at the earliest possible moment. The man who performed that service would deserve well of his country. He would earn the gratitude of his fellow citizens, and naturally, especially of those who are being made to suffer under this unjust odium.”
“In other words,” Wolfe suggested, “he ought to be paid something.”
“He would be paid something.”
“Then it’s too bad I’m already engaged. I like being paid.”
“There would be no conflict. The objectives are identical.”
Wolfe frowned. “You know, Mr. Smith,” he said admiringly, “I like the way you started this. You said it all, except certain details, in your first short sentence. Who are you and where do you come from?”
“That,” Smith declared, “is stupid. You’re not stupid. You can learn who I am, of course, if you want to take the time and trouble. But there are seven respectable—very respectable—men and women with whom I am playing bridge this evening. After a dinner party. Which accounts for the whole evening, from seven o’clock on.”
“That should cover it adequately. Eight against two.”
“Yes, it really should,” Smith agreed. He untangled his fingers once more, but not to scratch. He reached to his side coat pocket and pulled out a package wrapped neatly in white paper and fastened with Scotch tape. It was big enough to be tight in his pocket and he had to use both hands. “As you say,” he remarked, “there are certain details. The amount involved is three hundred thousand dollars. I have one-third of it here.”
I gave it a look and decided it couldn’t all be in hundreds. There must have been some five-hundreds and grands.
One of Wolfe’s brows went up. “Since you’re playing bridge this evening, and since you came here on the assumption that I’m a blackguard, isn’t that a little foolhardy? Mr. Goodwin, as I told you, is my confidential assistant. What if he took that away from you and put it in the safe and saw you to the sidewalk?”
For the first time the expression of Smith’s face changed, but the little crease that showed in his forehead didn’t look like apprehension. “Perhaps,” he said, and there was no change in his voice, “you’re stupid after all, though I doubt it. We know your record and your character. There isn’t the slightest assumption that you’re a blackguard. You are being given an opportunity to perform a service—”
“No,” Wolfe said positively. “We’ve had that.”
“Very well. But that’s the truth. If you ask why you’re being paid so large a sum to perform it, here are the reasons. First, everybody knows that you get exorbitant fees for everything you do. Second, from the standpoint of the people who are paying you, the rapidly accumulating public disfavor, which is totally undeserved, is costing them or will cost them, directly or indirectly, hundreds of millions. Three hundred thousand dollars is a mere nothing. Third, you will have expenses, and they may be large. Fourth, we are aware of the difficulties involved, and I tell you frankly that we know of no one except you who can reasonably be expected to solve them. There is no assumption whatever that you’re a blackguard. That remark was completely uncalled for.”
“Then perhaps I misunderstood the sentence you started with.” Wolfe’s eyes were straight at him. “Did you say you have somebody for the Boone and Gunther murders?”
“Yes.” Smith’s eyes were straight back at him.
“Who have you?”
“The word ‘have’ was a little inexact. It might have been better to say we have somebody to suggest.”
“Who?”
“Either Solomon Dexter or Alger Kates. We would prefer Dexter but Kates would do. We would be in a position to co-operate on certain aspects of the evidence. After your plans are made I’ll confer with you on that. The other two hundred
thousand, by the way, would not be contingent on conviction. You couldn’t possibly guarantee that. Another third would be paid on indictment, and the last third on the opening day of the trial. The effect of indictment and trial would be sufficient, if not wholly satisfactory.”
“Are you a lawyer, Mr. Smith?”
“Yes.”
“Wouldn’t you pay more for Dexter than for Kates? You should. He’s the Acting Director of the Bureau of Price Regulation. It would be worth more to you.”
“No. We made the amount large, even exorbitant, to exclude any bargaining.” Smith tapped the package with his finger. “This is probably a record.”
“Good heavens, no.” Wolfe was mildly indignant, as if it had been intimated that his schooling had stopped at about the sixth grade. “There was Teapot Dome. I could rattle off eight, ten, a dozen instances. Alyattes of Lydia got the weight of ten panthers in gold. Richelieu paid D’Effiat a hundred thousand livres in one lump—the equivalent, at a minimum, of two million dollars today. No, Mr. Smith, don’t flatter yourself that you’re making a record. Considering what you’re bidding for, you’re a piker.”
Smith was not impressed. “In cash,” he said. “For you its equivalent, paid by check, would be around two million.”
“That’s right,” Wolfe agreed, being reasonable. “Naturally that had occurred to me. I’m not pretending you’re being niggardly.” He sighed. “I’m no fonder of haggling than you are. But I may as well say it, there’s an insuperable objection.”
Smith blinked. I caught him at it. “What is it?”
“Your choice of targets. To begin with, they’re too obvious, but the chief obstacle would be motive. It takes a good motive for a murder, and a really tiptop one for two murders. With either Mr. Dexter or Mr. Kates I’m afraid it simply couldn’t be done, and I’ll have to say definitely that I won’t try it. You have generously implied that I’m not a jackass, but I would be, if I undertook to get either Mr. Dexter or Mr. Kates indicted and tried, let alone convicted.” Wolfe looked and sounded inflexible. “No, sir. But you might find someone who would at least attempt it. How about Mr. Bascom, of the Bascom Detective Agency? He’s a good man.”
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