by Rex Stout
163
six, D.D. was asking Aggie, "Why don't you split it even?" and Aggie was telling him, "Because it's my tree." Frame seven, D.D. was off again on the bike, but I felt I had had enough and looked at Wolfe inquiringly.
"Am I supposed to comment?"
"If it would help, yes."
"I pass. If it's a feed from the National Industrialists' League it's the wrong angle. If you mean the mink coat, Pat Lowell's may not be paid for."
He grunted. "There have been two similar episodes, one each year, with the same characters."
"Then it may be paid for."
"Is that all?"
"It's all for now. I'm not a brain, I'm a typist. I've got to finish this damn report."
I tossed the art back to him and returned to work.
At 12:28 I handed him the finished report, and he dropped D.D. and started on it. I went to the kitchen to tell Fritz I would take on the phone again, and as I re-entered the office it was ringing. I crossed to my desk and got it. My daytime formula was, "Nero Wolfe's office, Archie Goodwin speaking," but with our license gone it was presumably illegal to have an office, so I said, "Nero Wolfe's residence, Archie Goodwin speaking," and heard Saul Panzer's husky voice.
"Reporting in, Archie. No trouble at all. Koven is served. Put it in his hand five minutes ago."
"In the house?"
"Yes. I'll call Parker-"
"How did you get in?"
"Oh, simple. The man that delivers stuff from that Furnari's you told me about has got the itch bad, and it only took ten bucks. Of course after I got inside I had to use my head and legs both, but with your sketch of the layout it was a cinch.
"For you, yes. Mr. Wolfe says satisfactory, which as you know is as far as he ever goes. I say you show promise. You'll call Parker?"
"Yes. I have to go there to sign a paper." 164
"Okay. Be seeing you."
I hung up and told Wolfe. He lifted his eyes, said, "Ah!" and returned to the report.
After lunch there was an important chore, involving Wolfe, me, our memory of the talk Saturday evening with Koven, and the equipment that had been installed by Levay Recorders, Inc. We spent nearly an hour at it, with three separate tries, before we got it done to Wolfe's satisfaction.
After that it dragged along, at least for me. The phone calls had fallen off. Wolfe, at his desk, finished with the report, put it in a drawer, leaned back, and closed his eyes. I would just as soon have opened a conversation, but pretty soon his lips started working�pushing out, drawing back, and pushing out again�and I knew his brain was busy so I went to the cabinet for a batch of the germination records and settled down to making entries. He didn't need a license to go on growing orchids, though the question would soon arise of how to pay the bills. At four o'clock he left to go up to the plant rooms, and I went on with the records. During the next two hours there were a few phone calls, but none from Koven or his lawyer or Parker. At two minutes past six I was telling myself that Koven was probably drinking himself up to something, no telling what, when two things happened at once: the sound came from the hall of Wolfe's elevator jerking to a stop, and the doorbell rang.
I went to the hall, switched on the stoop light, and took a look through the panel of one-way glass in the front door. It was a mink coat all right, but the hat was different. I went closer, passing Wolfe on his way to the office, got a view of the face, and saw that she was alone. I marched to the office door and announced, "Miss Patricia Lowell. Will she do?"
He made a face. He seldom welcomes a man crossing his threshold; he never welcomes a woman. "Let her in," he muttered.
I stepped to the front, slid the bolt off, and opened up. "This is the kind of surprise I like," I said heartily. She entered, and I shut the door and bolted it. "Couldn't you find a coconut?"
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"I want to see Nero Wolfe," she said in a voice so hard that it was out of character, considering her pink cheeks.
"Sure. This way." I ushered her down the hall and on in. Once in a while Wolfe rises when a woman enters his office but this time he kept net only his chair but also his tongue. He inclined his head a quarter of an inch when I pronounced her name, but said nothing. I gave her the red leather chair, helped her throw her coat back, and went to my desk.
"So you're Nero Wolfe," she said.
That called for no comment and got none.
"I'm scared to death," she said.
"You don't look it," Wolfe growled.
"I hope I don't; I'm trying not to." She started to put her bag on the little table at her elbow, changed her mind, and kept it in her lap. She took off a glove. "I was sent here by Mr. Koven."
No comment. We were looking at her. She looked at me, then back at Wolfe, and protested, "My God, don't you ever say anything?"
"Only on occasion." Wolfe leaned back. "Give me one. You say something."
She compressed her lips. She was sitting forward and erect in the big roomy chair, with no contact with the upholstered back. "Mr. Koven sent me," she said, clipping it, "about the ridiculous suit for damages you have brought. He intends to enter a counterclaim for damage to his reputation through actions of your acknowledged agent, Archie Goodwin. Of course he denies that there is any basis for your suit."
She stopped. Wolfe met her gaze and kept his trap shut.
"That's the situation," she said belligerently.
"Thank you for coming to tell me," Wolfe murmured. "If you'll show Miss Lowell the way out, please, Archie?"
I stood up. She looked at me as if I had offered her a deadly insult, and looked back at Wolfe. "I don't think," she said, "that your attitude is very sensible. I think you and Mr. Koven should come to an agreement on this. Why wouldn't 166
this be the way to do it--say the claims cancel each other, and you abandon yours and he abandons his?"
"Because," Wolfe said dryly, "my claim is valid and his isn't. If you're a member of the bar, Miss Lowell, you should know that this is a little improper, or anyway unconventional. You should be talking with my attorney, not with me."
"I'm not a lawyer, Mr. Wolfe. I'm Mr. Koven's agent and business manager. He thinks lawyers would just make this more of a mess than it is, and I agree with him. He thinks you and he should settle it between you. Isn't that possible?"
"I don't know. We can try. There's a phone. Get him down here."
She shook her head. "He's not--he's too upset. I'm sure you'll find it more practical to deal with me, and if we come to an understanding he'll approve, I guarantee that. Why don't we go into it--the two claims?"
"I doubt if it will get us anywhere." Wolfe sounded perfectly willing to come halfway. "For one thing, a factor in both claims is the question who killed Adrian Getz and why? If it was Mr. Goodwin, Mr. Koven's claim has a footing, and I freely concede it; if it was someone else I concede nothing. If I discussed it with you I would have to begin by considering that aspect; I would have to ask you some pointed questions; and I doubt if you would dare to risk answering them."
"I can always button up. What kind of questions?"
"Well--" Wolfe pursed his lips. "For example, how's the monkey?"
"I can risk answering that. It's sick. It's at the Speyer Hospital. They don't expect it to live."
"Exposure from the open window?"
"Yes. They're very delicate, that kind."
Wolfe nodded. "That table over there by the globe--that pile of stuff on it is Dazzle Dan for the past three years. I've been looking through it. Last August and September a monkey had a prominent role. It was drawn by two different persons, or at least with two different conceptions. In its first seventeen appearances it was depicted maliciously--on a con i67
jecture, by someone with a distaste for monkeys. Thereafter it was drawn sympathetically and humorously. The change was abrupt and noticeable. Why? On instructions from Mr. Koven?"
Pat Lowell was frowning. Her lips parted and went together again.
"You have four choices," Wolfe said bluntly. "The
truth, a lie, evasion, or refusal to answer. Either of the last two would make me curious, and I would get my curiosity satisfied somehow. If you try a lie it may work, but I'm an expert on lies and liars."
"There's nothing to lie about. I was thinking back. Mr. Getz objected to the way the monkey was drawn, and Mr. Koven had Mr. Jordan do it instead of Mr. Hildebrand."
"Mr. Jordan likes monkeys?"
"He likes animals. He said the monkey looked like Napoleon."
"Mr. Hildebrand does not like monkeys?"
"He didn't like that one. Rookaloo knew it, of course, and bit him once. Isn't this pretty silly, Mr. Wolfe? Are you going on with this?"
"Unless you walk out, yes. I'm investigating Mr. Koven's counterclaim, and this is how I do it. With any question you have your four choices�and a fifth too, of course: get up and go. How did you feel about the monkey?"
"I thought it was an awful nuisance, but it had its points as a diversion. It was my fault it was there, since I gave it to Mr. Getz."
"Indeed. When?"
"About a year ago. A friend returning from South America gave it to me, and I couldn't take care of it so I gave it to him."
"Mr. Getz lives at the Koven house?"
"Yes."
"Then actually you were dumping it onto Mrs. Koven. Did she appreciate it?"
"She has never said so. I didn't�I know I should have considered that. I apologized to her, and she was nice about it."
"Did Mr. Koven like the monkey?" 168
"He liked to tease it. But he didn't dislike it; he teased it just to annoy Mr. Getz."
Wolfe leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. "You know, Miss Lowell, I did not find the Dazzle Dan saga hopelessly inane. There is a sustained sardonic tone, some fertility of invention, and even an occasional touch of imagination. Monday evening, while Mr. Goodwin was in jail, I telephoned a couple of people who are supposed to know things and was referred by them to others. I was told that it is generally believed, though not published, that the conception of Dazzle Dan was originally supplied to Mr. Koven by Mr. Getz, that Mr. Getz was the continuing source of inspiration for the story and pictures, and that without him Mr. Koven will be up a stump. What about it?"
Pat Lowell had stiffened. "Talk." She was scornful. "Just cheap talk."
"You should know." Wolfe sounded relieved. "If that belief could be validated I admit I would be up a stump myself. To support my claim against Mr. Koven, and to discredit his against me, I need to demonstrate that Mr. Goodwin did not kill Mr. Getz, either accidentally or otherwise. If he didn't, then who did? One of you five. But all of you had a direct personal interest in the continued success of Dazzle Dan, sharing as you did in the prodigious proceeds; and if Mr. Getz was responsible for the success, why kill him?" Wolfe chuckled. "So you see I'm not silly at all. We've been at it only twenty minutes, and already you've helped me enormously. Give us another four or five hours, and we'll see. By the way."
He leaned forward to press a button at the edge of his desk, and in a moment Fritz appeared.
"There'll be a guest for dinner, Fritz."
"Yes, sir." Fritz went.
"Four or five hours?" Pat Lowell demanded.
"At least that. With a recess for dinner; I banish business from the table. Half for me and half for you. This affair is extremely complicated, and if you came here to get an agreement we'll have to cover it all. Let's see, where were we?"
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She regarded him. "About Getz, I didn't say he had nothing to do with the success of Dazzle Dan. After all, so do I. I didn't say he won't be a loss. Everyone knows he was Mr. Koven's oldest and closest friend. We were all quite aware that Mr. Koven relied on him�"
Wolfe showed her a palm. "Please, Miss Lowell, don't spoil it for me. Don't give me a point and then try to snatch it back. Next you'll be saying that Koven called Getz 'the Squirt' to show his affection, as a man will call his dearest friend an old bastard, whereas I prefer to regard it as an inferiority complex, deeply resentful, showing its biceps. Or telling me that all of you, without exception, were inordinately fond of Mr. Getz and submissively grateful to him. Don't forget that Mr. Goodwin spent hours in that house among you and has fully reported to me; also you should know that I had a talk with Inspector Cramer Monday evening and learned from him some of the plain facts, such as the pillow lying on the floor, scorched and pierced, showing that it had been used to muffle the sound of the shot, and the failure of all of you to prove lack of opportunity."
Wolfe kept going. "But if you insist on minimizing Koven's dependence as a fact, let me assume it as a hypothesis in order to put a question. Say, just for my question, that Koven felt strongly about his debt to Getz and his reliance on him, that he proposed to do something about it, and that he found it necessary to confide in one of you people, to get help or advice. Which of you would he have come to? We must of course put his wife first, ex officio and to sustain convention �and anyway, out of courtesy I must suppose you incapable of revealing your employer's conjugal privities. Which of you three would he have come to�Mr. Hildebrand, Mr. Jordan, or you?"
Miss Lowell was wary. "On your hypothesis, you mean."
"Yes."
"None of us."
"But if he felt he had to?"
"Not with anything as intimate as that. He wouldn't have 170
let himself have to. None of us three has ever got within miles of him on anything really personal."
"Surely he confides in you, his agent and manager?"
"On business matters, yes. Not on personal things, except superficialities."
"Why were all of you so concerned about the gun in his desk?"
"We weren't concerned, not redly concerned--at least I wasn't. I just didn't like it's being there, loaded, so easy to get at, and I knew he didn't have a license for it."
Wolfe kept on about the gun for a good ten minutes--how often had she seen it, had she ever picked it up, and so forth, with special emphasis on Sunday morning, when she and Hildebrand had opened the drawer and looked at it. On that detail she corroborated Hildebrand as I had heard him tell it to Cramer. Finally she balked. She said they weren't getting anywhere, and she certainly wasn't going to stay for dinner if afterward it was only going to be more of the same.
Wolfe riodded in agreement. "You're quite right," he told her. "We've gone as far as we can, you and I. We need all of them. It's time for you to -call Mr. Koven and tell him so. Tell him to be here at eight-thirty with Mrs. Koven, Mr. Jordan, and Mr. Hildebrand."
She was staring at him. "Are you trying to be funny?" she demanded.
He skipped it. "I don't know," he said, "whether you can handle it properly; if not, I'll talk to him. The validity of my claim, and of his, depends primarily on who killed Mr. Getz. I now know who killed him. I'll have to tell the police but first I want to settle the matter of my claim with Mr. Koven. Tell him that. Tell him that if I have to inform the police before I have a talk with him and the others there will be no compromise on my claim, and I'll collect it."
"This is a bluff."
"Then call it."
"I'm going to." She left the chair and got the coat around her. Her eyes blazed at him. "I'm not such a sap!" She started for the door.
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"Get Inspector Cramer, Archie!" Wolfe snapped. He called, "They'll be there by the time you are!"
I lifted the phone and dialed. She was out in the hall, but I heard neither footsteps nor the door opening.
"Hello," I told the transmitter, loud enough. "Manhattan Homicide West? Inspector Cramer, please. This is--"
A hand darted past me, and a finger pressed the button down, and a mink coat dropped to the floor. "Damn you!" she said, hard and cold, but the hand was shaking so that the finger slipped off the button. I cradled the phone.
"Get Mr. Koven's number for her, Archie," Wolfe purred.
T twenty minutes to nine Wolfe's eyes moved slowly from left to right, to take in the faces of our assembled v
isitors. He was in a nasty humor. He hated to work right after dinner, and from the way he kept his chin down and a slight twitch of a muscle in his cheek I knew it was going to be real work. Whether he had got them there with a bluff or not, and my guess was that he had, it would take more than a bluff to rake in the pot he was after now.
Pat Lowell had not dined with us. Not only had she declined to come along to the dining room; she had also left untouched the tray which Fritz had taken to her in the office. Of course that got Wolfe's goat and probably got some pointed remarks from him, but I wasn't there to hear them because I had gone to the kitchen to check with Fritz on the operation of the installation that had been made by Levay Recorders, Inc. That was the one part of the program that I clearly understood. I was still in the kitchen, rehearsing with Fritz, when the doorbell rang and I went to the front and found them there in a body. They got better hall service than I had got at their place, and also better chair service in the office.
When they were seated Wolfe took them in from left to right--Harry Koven in the red leather chair, then his wife, 172
then Pat Lowell, and, after a gap, Pete Jordan and Byram Hildebrand over toward me. I don't know what impression Wolfe got from his survey, but from where I sat it looked as if he was up against a united front.
"This time," Koven blurted, "you can't cook up a fancy lie with Goodwin. There are witnesses."
He was keyed up. I would have said he had had six drinks, but it might have been more.
"We won't get anywhere that way, Mr. Koven," Wolfe objected. "We're all tangled up, and it will take more than blather to get us loose. You don't want to pay me a million dollars. I don't want to lose my license. The police don't want to add another unsolved murder to the long list. The central and dominant factor is the violent death of Mr. Getz, and I propose to deal with that at length. If we can get that settled-"
"You told Miss Lowell you know who killed him. If so, why don't you tell the police? That ought to settle it."
Wolfe's eyes narrowed. "You don't mean that, Mr. Koven�"
"You're damn right I mean it!"
"Then there's a misunderstanding. I heard Miss Lowell's talk with you on the phone, both ends of it. I got the impression that my threat to inform the police about Mr. Getz's death was what brought you down here. Now you seem�"
