Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 43

by The Father Hunt

  “No. I was hoping for something useful, and apparently I’ll have to accept defeat. But I am obliged to you. Sincerely obliged.”

  “That’s a line to hang up on,” Cramer said, and hung up.

  Wolfe took a deep breath and a corner of his mouth went up a full quarter of an inch. He looked at me and said, “Satisfactory.”

  “Satisfactory hell,” I said, “it’s perfect. Simply marvelous. Do I make out a check for Miss Denovo for twenty grand?”

  “Not now. That may come later.” He looked at the clock. “Get Mr. Jarrett. I’ll talk.”

  My brows went up. “Father or son?”

  “Mr. Cyrus M. Jarrett.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I admit I’m fairly good at filling orders, but this time I need specifications. My batting record for getting Cyrus M. Jarrett to the phone is nothing for two. I think the person I get is named Oscar.”

  “I’ll speak with Oscar.”

  My brows went up again as I swiveled, got the phone, and dialed area code 914 and a number. Wolfe had his receiver to his ear, so all my part needed was a finger, but I stayed on. After four rings the remembered male voice said, “Mr. Jarrett’s residence.”

  “My name is Nero Wolfe. I am calling from New York. I wish to speak to Mr. Jarrett. Tell him—don’t interrupt me. Tell him that I wish to speak with him about Floyd Vance. Repeat that name.”

  “But Mr. Jarrett is eating—”

  “I told you to repeat that name. Floyd Vance.”

  “Floyd Vance.”

  “Good. Mr. Jarrett will be able to hear you. He doesn’t eat with his ears. Tell him that I must speak with him now about Floyd Vance. You have my name?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll hold the wire, but don’t keep me waiting.”

  I probably wasn’t breathing. It was a king-size gamble, and I was posting no odds. Too much depended on it. So the obvious step was drawing to what could be an inside straight. Not only was it possible that there was no close connection between Jarrett and Floyd Vance, and there was some other explanation for the checks Jarrett had sent, it was even conceivable that he had never heard of Floyd Vance. It could be that the next thing we would hear would be Oscar, if it was Oscar, hanging up.

  But it wasn’t. I didn’t time it because I was hanging on a cliff, but I think it was about three hours. I mean three minutes.

  “You’re interrupting my dinner.”

  I nodded at Wolfe. It was him.

  “Mr. Jarrett?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Nero Wolfe. I don’t like to interrupt any man’s meal, but it’s urgent. I have a decision to make that can’t be delayed. I just now conversed with the police officer who is in charge of the investigation of the murder of Elinor Denovo, and I can tell you in confidence that Mr. Archie Goodwin, who has been to see you twice, and I are responsible for the arrest of Floyd Vance as the culprit. To justify a charge of first-degree murder the police wish to establish a motive, and it is manifest that it would help them to have your name so they can ask you about the association of Floyd Vance and Elinor Denovo twenty-three years ago. That would inevitably lead to your appearance on the witness stand at the trial of Floyd Vance, and I am reluctant to take the responsibility for exposing a man of your standing to such an ordeal. Before disclosing your name I would like to discuss the situation with you, and I’ll expect you here, at my office, at eleven o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Was my name mentioned in your talk with the police officer?”

  “No.”

  “I know nothing about the association of Floyd Vance and Elinor Denovo twenty-three years ago.”

  “Pfui. I’ll call Mr. McCray at once and advise him to make sure that certain checks in the files of the Seaboard Bank and Trust Company are not disturbed. If the police want them they can get a court order.”

  “Why should the police want them?”

  “They customarily want everything that is, or may be, relevant to a murder investigation. I can ask Inspector Cramer’s opinion after I have explained their significance. Do you want me to do that?”

  “No. If I had known the day Goodwin came …” He decided to let the if go. “I’ll expect you here in the morning.”

  “I handle business only in my office. I am showing you more consideration than you deserve, sir. Will you be here tomorrow at eleven or not?”

  “In the afternoon. Late afternoon.”

  “No. At eleven or not at all.”

  “At my age mornings are often difficult.”

  “Start it earlier. Rise earlier. At eleven or don’t come.”

  “Damn you. I’ll be there.”

  The connection went. I pushed the phone back, turned, and said, “I suppose you didn’t lose an ounce. I lost ten pounds.”

  He grunted. “I’m not as phlegmatic as you think I am. It was that or nothing.”

  “Well, it’s that. He’s not only hooked, he’s boated. Have you decided what the tie is? Him and Vance?”

  “No.”

  “He’s Vance’s father.”

  He nodded. “That would be the most serviceable, for our purpose. Is there a noticeable resemblance?”

  “Noticeable, no.”

  “That point isn’t vital, but it would help to know. We will. On another point I need your opinion. Should Miss Denovo be here?”

  “That is a point. She has been on my mind the last two days. I want to make a speech.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “She’s a nice girl and a good client, and for a week I’ve been sorry we were going to have to tell her that Floyd Vance is her father. And since Tuesday morning I have been even sorrier. It’s a damn shame that she has to know not only that such a character as Vance is her father but also that he killed her mother. I have thought of three possible ways to handle it without telling her, but none of them is really neat. I invite suggestions.”

  “I have none. I have an argument.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I too have had reflections, if not identical with yours at least similar. It’s desirable for a client to be satisfied not only with our performance but also with its result. With Miss Denovo that’s impossible. Circumstances forbid it. So the question is, What will dissatisfy her least? There are very few questions about any woman that I would undertake to answer with confidence, but you don’t have that restraint and you know Miss Denovo. If she were offered the alternative, which would she choose? To know definitely that Floyd Vance, with all his grievous flaws, is her father? Or to remain all her life in the state of ignorance that brought her here three weeks ago with that money? Not how do you feel about her, but how would she feel?”

  I didn’t need to take a full minute to look at it, but I did, for the sake of appearances. “She would rather know,” I said.

  “Then she should be here tomorrow morning. In the alcove. Arrange it. Make certain that she will not intrude, no matter what she hears. You know her. Perhaps Saul should come to be with her. You will see him this evening?”

  “I hope to. Depending on how long it takes to get her. She’s loose now.” I swung around to get the phone.

  That was why I was late for poker. It was going on ten o’clock when I finally got Amy, at her apartment. Again I couldn’t tell her anything, except to be at the office at half past ten in the morning, but at least that indicated that something was stirring. I told Saul ten-thirty too. The shape New York is in, you had better allow half an hour even with a Saul Panzer if you want to be sure.

  Chapter 16

  I took it up once. To eavesdrop means to stand under the eaves to listen to what is said inside a house. But to listen to what is said inside Wolfe’s office you don’t stand under the eaves; you stand in the alcove, which is at the rear end of the hall, to the left as you approach the kitchen. At eye level, if you are about the height of Wolfe or me, there is a rectangular hole in the wall, seven inches high and twelve inches wide. On the alcove side of the hole there is a panel which slides op
en silently, and on the office side there is a trick picture of a waterfall; “trick” because through the one-way picture you can not only eaves-hear from the alcove but also eaves-see nearly all of the office.

  In arranging for Amy Denovo, who was eight inches shorter than me, to hear and see from the alcove I could have put phone books for her to stand on, but the show might last an hour or more, and for her price of admission of twenty grand she deserved something better than standing room. So after breakfast Friday morning I took the kitchen stepladder to the alcove, sat on it, and found that my eyes were five inches above the center of the hole. I had never measured Amy and me to determine how much of my extra inches was below the hips and how much was above, but I decided that would be close enough.

  Amy arrived at 10:21 and Saul at 10:29. I took Amy to the alcove, had her perch on the stepladder, slid the panel open, and saw that her eyes were about right. “The size of that seat,” I said, “it’s a good thing it’s your fanny and not Mr. Wolfe’s.”

  “What is this?” she demanded.

  “For you, spectator sport. You’re going to hear and see the man who sent those two hundred and sixty-four checks to your mother. Cyrus M. Jarrett is due at eleven o’clock, by appointment. We thought you ought to hear it firsthand, and with him in the red leather chair his face will be about ten feet from yours. Take a look.”

  She leaned to get her eyes closer to the hole. “Won’t he see me?”

  “No. From that side it’s just a picture.”

  She turned to me. “But why do … What’s he going to say?”

  “We’re waiting to hear him. Among other things he may tell us, and you, the name of your father. That may—”

  The doorbell rang and I went, and it was Saul. I had told him what the program was and needed only to take him to the alcove and introduce him to the client who had paid him, through me, a little less than a grand in two weeks.

  “Since you call me Archie,” I told Amy, “you’ll have to call him Saul not to hurt his feelings. He’ll be here with you and if you get the idea that we’re not asking Jarrett the right questions and decide to come and help, Saul will block you. Jarrett must not suspect that he has any audience but Mr. Wolfe and me. Have your shoes off, and if you feel a cough or a sneeze coming, for God’s sake feel it soon enough to beat it to the kitchen.” I looked at my watch. “He’s due in twenty-five minutes, but he’s driving ninety miles and he might be early. Saul will now take you to the kitchen for a coffee break. I’ll be in the office taking tranquilizers to steady my nerves.”

  “You won’t,” Amy said.

  “Then I won’t,” I said, and left them. It would take Saul about five minutes to get acquainted with her.

  There had been one big danger. A man of Jarrett’s position, financially and otherwise, might be able to put enough pressure on someone like the Police Commissioner or the Mayor or the New York Secretary of State, who issues private investigator licenses, to gag us. I blamed that fact, which had been on my mind ever since Jarrett had hung up, for something that had happened Thursday evening, when I had let Lon Cohen rake in a fat pot without showing, though it was at least three to two that my tens would have taken it. But now, as eleven o’clock came closer and closer, that danger got slimmer and slimmer, and it looked surer and surer that Jarrett’s tie-in was so very personal that he couldn’t risk it.

  Wolfe came down at eleven on the dot, put the daily display in the vase on his desk, sat, and went at the morning mail. I had the expense book at my desk, checking entries and additions and getting totals, on the theory that they were final totals, except for Saul today. Just a pair of private detectives starting the daily grind, yeah. The reason they weren’t holding their breath was that a man can’t hold his breath more than about two minutes, and the doorbell didn’t ring until a quarter past eleven.

  The first two things I noticed when I opened the front door were that the car Jarrett had come in was a Heron town car, and that his eyes were exactly the same as they had been two weeks ago. I felt that I deserved a credit mark for the way I said, “Good morning.” I could have made it a jab or even a jeer, but I swear it was just a cordial welcome.

  He also said, “Good morning,” but it wasn’t a cordial anything. It was probably merely the way he had always said good morning, and always would, to everybody from the office boy to the senior vice-president. What was different from before was his walk as he went down the hall to the office. He didn’t totter, but his steps were short and he made sure of each one before he took the next one. I waited until he had got safely lowered into the red leather chair to say, “Mr. Jarrett. Mr. Wolfe.”

  Jarrett said, “A footstool and a glass of water.”

  The only footstools in the house were in Fritz’s room in the basement. On my way to the kitchen to ask to borrow it and tell him a glass of water was wanted, a glance showed me Saul and Amy in the alcove, and her shoes were off. In Fritz’s big cluttered den in the basement, with its 294 cookbooks on eleven shelves, there were three footstools, and I took the biggest one, which was topped with a tapestry with a woven hunter aiming a spear at a woven wild boar.

  Back up and in the office, I found that I hadn’t missed any conversation. Jarrett was taking a large blue pill from a little gold box, and I stood with the footstool until he had put the pill in his mouth and got it down with a swallow of water. He may have expected me to lift his feet to get the stool under, presumably Oscar would have, but I wasn’t that cordial. After he got the glass back on the stand he lifted them himself and I slid the stool under.

  “There’s a competent doctor a few doors away,” Wolfe said.

  “No,” Jarrett said. The eyes were as frozen as ever and the bony jaw as set. “I told you mornings are difficult. Talk.”

  Wolfe shook his head. “I will not hector a sick man. Will the pill help?”

  “Damn your impudence.” The bony jaw twitched. “I’m old. I’m not sick. You will not hector me, sick or well. Talk.”

  Wolfe’s shoulders went up a little and down. “Very well, sir, I’ll talk, but it will go faster if you accept the realities of the situation. You say I won’t hector you, but I already have. I bullied you into coming this morning, and in doing so I completely exposed my position. I made it clear that you are faced with an alternative: either you will answer my questions about certain matters, answers that will satisfy me, or I will give the police information that will move them to investigate thoroughly your relations over the years with two people—Floyd Vance and Carlotta Vaughn, later Elinor Denovo. If you are not conversant with criminal law you may not know why the police will be concerned. Floyd Vance’s lawyer, if he knows he can’t get his client acquitted, and he can’t, because of evidence supplied by Mr. Goodwin and me, will try to get a verdict of accidental homicide or second-degree murder. The police and the District Attorney will want a verdict of first-degree murder, and to get it they will need to establish a motive. You could verify this by communicating with the police or the District Attorney, but of course you can’t do that, since you don’t want the details of your connection with those two people to be disclosed. And they would inevitably be disclosed; once the police get the concrete evidence of the connection, the checks you sent Elinor Denovo during those twenty-three years, they will uncover all the facts. That’s a task for which they are admirably equipped.”

  Wolfe turned a hand over and said, with no change of tone, “You had an early breakfast and a long ride. Will you have refreshment of any kind? Coffee or other drink? A sandwich, pastry, fruit? Thyme honey on corn fritters?”

  Jarrett’s jaw worked. “Damn your impudence.” He ignored the offer of refreshments, which was a pity, for he had never tasted Fritz’s corn fritters coated with wild thyme honey. “This is blackmail,” he said, “but even if I would pay, you couldn’t deliver. If you don’t tell the police about those checks McCray will, or one of the others.”

  “No. Not possibly. They have no knowledge, not even a suspicion, of a
ny connection between you and Floyd Vance. Only Mr. Goodwin and I have that.”

  “You do not. There is no connection. If you—”

  “Mr. Jarrett. Don’t talk nonsense. Accept the realities. The mere mention of Floyd Vance’s name brought you to the telephone, and what I added brought you here. Pfui. Confound it, you’re not well.”

  It was something to see, how, in that fix, Jarrett’s eyes stayed as hard and cold as when he had told me I was an idiot. “You’re lying about McCray,” he said. “He’s behind this and behind you.”

  “No. Only fools tell lies that are vulnerable. My sole concern is the interest of my client, Miss Amy Denovo, the daughter of Elinor Denovo.”

  “What do you want? How much?”

  “I want nothing but answers to some questions. I want the information that my client hired me to get, that’s all—and by the way, my commitment is a limited one. I have engaged only to learn who and what her father was—and is. I will be obliged to tell her only that, and no other information you give me will be repeated to her or to anyone else, either by Mr. Goodwin or by me.”

  Wolfe cocked his head. “You spoke of blackmail. Actually, as I said yesterday, I am showing you more consideration than you deserve. A citizen who possesses information relevant to a crime is expected to give it to the police. I could have done that yesterday and saved all this pother. In their investigation they would certainly establish the identity of Amy Denovo’s father and my obligation to her would be met, and I would have earned my fee. I go to this unnecessary trouble only to gratify my self-esteem; I prefer to get the information myself, firsthand. I don’t want any thanks from you and don’t expect any.”

  “You won’t get any.” Jarrett lifted his feet and kicked the footstool aside. Evidently the pill had helped. “I answer your questions and you earn your fee, and then you inform the police.”