The Doorbell Rang

by Rex Stout

  It was ten minutes past eleven, so Wolfe would be down from the plant rooms, but he wasn’t in the office. There was noise in the kitchen, the radio going loud, and I went there. Wolfe was standing by the big table scowling at Fritz, who was bending over to sniff at a slab of smoked sturgeon. They didn’t hear me enter, but Fritz saw me when he straightened up, and Wolfe turned and demanded, “Where have you been?”

  I told him I had a report. He told Fritz to have the cutlets ready at a quarter past two, he wasn’t going to wait longer than that, and headed for the office, and I followed. I turned the radio on. As I brought a yellow chair around I saw three screwdrivers on his desk pad—one from my desk drawer and two from the kitchen, and I had to grin. He had the tools ready, himself. As I sat I told him I had assumed that he would eat an early lunch. He said no, if a man has guests he should be at table with them.

  “Then there’s plenty of time,” I said, “to discuss a brief report. With so much on your mind I could save it, but you’ll like to know that I have clinched the alternative we prefer. I went for a walk and happened to pass Sixty-three Arbor Street, and I happened to have a key in my pocket that fitted the lock on Sarah Dacos’s door, so I went in and looked around, and in a hatbox in a closet I found a revolver, an S&W thirty-eight. One cartridge had been fired. As you know, Cramer told me that Althaus had a permit for an S&W thirty-eight and it wasn’t in his apartment, though there was a box of cartridges in a drawer. So she—”

  “What did you do with it?”

  “I moved it. It seemed out of place in a box with a lady’s hat, so I put it under a box spring on a couch.”

  He took a deep breath, held it in a second, and let it out. “She shot him,” he growled.

  “Right. As I was saying when you interrupted.”

  “Will she find it?”

  “No. If she misses it she won’t even look. My understanding of attractive young women. She might lam. If she does I’ll have a problem. If she’s gone and I tell Cramer about the gun I’ll be up a tree. If I don’t tell him I’ll lie awake nights.”

  He shut his eyes. In two moments he opened them. “You should have told me you were going.”

  “I should not. It was a personal errand in which a quart of milk was involved. Even if she stays put I’ll have a problem, if tomorrow night is a turkey. If and if. Just now I wanted to ring Hewitt from a booth and ask him if the orchids are packed. Shall I?”

  “No. He’s busy. I believe guns can be identified?”

  “Sure. Scientists can do it now even if the number has been filed off. And Cramer will have the number of the one Althaus had a permit for.”

  “Then there will be no problem. I must see about that sturgeon.” He left his chair and headed for the door. Short of it he stopped and turned, said, “Satisfactory,” and went. I shook my head and went on shaking it as I replaced the yellow chair. “There will be no problem,” for God’s sake. I thought if I had an ego that size I’d be the boss of the FBI, and then realized that that wasn’t exactly the way to put it. I returned the keys and gloves to the cabinet, went to the kitchen to get a glass of milk, since lunch would be late, and to listen to them discuss sturgeon.

  With a couple of hours to go, possibly more, after the milk was down I made the rounds—first two flights up to my room, to see that everything was in order for the guests who would occupy my bed. Fritz isn’t supposed to touch my room; it’s mine, including the responsibility. It was okay, except that the two pillows I had got from the closet that morning weren’t the same size, but that couldn’t be helped. Then to the South Room, which is above Wolfe’s, where two more guests would sleep on the twin beds. That visit was unnecessary, since Fritz never makes mistakes, but I had time to kill.

  It got killed somehow.

  I wasn’t expecting them until two at the earliest, but I should have known better, since Saul was in charge. Wolfe was in the kitchen and I was in the front room, which adjoins the office, checking that blankets were on the sofa, when the doorbell rang and I glanced at my watch. Twenty to two, so it couldn’t be the truck. But it was. Going to the hall, I saw a big bozo in a leather jacket on the stoop. When I opened the door he boomed at me, “Nero Wolfe? Orchids for you!”

  I stepped out. At the curb was a big green truck with red lettering on its side: North Shore Trucking Corporation. Another big bozo was at its rear, opening the doors. I said fairly loud that it was pretty damn cold for orchids and I would come and help. By the time I got my coat on and went out they had a box on the edge at the back and were pulling it around. I happened to know its exact size—three feet wide, five feet long, and two feet high—because I had packed boxes exactly like it with orchid plants on their way to dealers or exhibitions. On its side it was marked:

  FRAGILE PERISHABLE

  TROPICAL PLANTS

  KEEP AS WARM AS POSSIBLE

  I descended to the sidewalk, but they lifted it off and got the handles at the ends, obviously not needing any help, even up the steps. Above, Wolfe had the door open and they entered. The natural thing for me was to stay and guard the truck, so I did. There were five more boxes inside, all the same. One of the five would be quite a load even for those two huskies, but I didn’t know which one. It proved to be the next to the last. As they eased it down and took the handles one of them said, “Jesus, these must be in lead pots,” and the other one said, “Naw, gold.” I wondered if there was a G-man close enough to hear. They got it up the stoop without a stumble, though it was close to three hundred pounds, counting the box—or I hoped it was. When they took the last one in I went along. Wolfe signed a receipt, and I gave each of them two bucks and got thanked and waited until they were on the sidewalk to shut the door and bolt it.

  The boxes were strung along the hall, the radio in the office was on loud, and Wolfe was using a screwdriver on the third box from the end. I asked him if he was sure, and when he said yes, an X was chalked on it, I got another screwdriver. There were only eight screws, and in a couple of minutes we had them out. I lifted the top off, and there was Saul Panzer, on his side with his knees pulled up. I started to tilt the box, but Saul, who is undersized except for his ears and nose, twisted around and was on his knees and then his feet.

  “Good afternoon,” Wolfe said.

  “Not very.” Saul stretched. “I can talk?”

  “Yes, with the radio.”

  He stretched again. “That was a ride. I hope they’re alive.”

  “I want to be sure,” Wolfe said, “that I have their names right. Mr. Hewitt gave them to Archie on the phone.”

  “Ashley Jarvis. That’s you. Dale Kirby is Archie. We’d better get them out.”

  That was the first and only time I have ever heard men introduced while boxed.

  “In a moment,” Wolfe said. “You have given them a full explanation?”

  “Yes, sir. They are not to speak, not a word, unless you ask them to—or Archie. They don’t know who has bugged the house and is watching it, or why, but they have bought Hewitt’s promise that they are in no danger and won’t be. He gave them five hundred dollars apiece and you are to give them another five hundred. He also gave them the statements signed by you. I think they’ll do.” He lowered his voice a little. “Kirby is better than Jarvis, but they’ll do.”

  “They know they are to stay in their room and keep away from windows?”

  “Yes. Except when they are—uh—rehearsing.”

  “They have the proper clothes for Thursday evening?”

  “In that box.” Saul pointed. “Our things are in it too, including guns. Of course they’ll wear your hat and coat, and Archie’s.”

  Wolfe made a face. “Very well. Fred and Orrie first.”

  “They’re marked.” He took the screwdriver from Wolfe, went to the box with a circle chalked on it, told me, “Orrie’s has a triangle,” and started on a screw. I found the triangle and started on it. He had Fred out before I got Orrie because one of the screws had a bad head. They too had been told
not to speak unless spoken to, and from the expressions on their faces when they got upright I thought it was just as well. I raised my brows at Saul and tapped my chest, and he pointed to the box at the far end, and I went and started on it.

  I realized that professional actors have had a lot of practice saying only what they are supposed to say and keeping their traps closed if that’s what the script calls for, but even so I had to hand it to Ashley Jarvis and Dale Kirby. They had had a rough two hours or more—especially Jarvis, who carried fully as many pounds as Wolfe, and it wasn’t quite as well distributed. We had to ease the box over on its side before he could come loose, and he stayed on the floor a good five minutes, refusing offers of help working his arms and legs, but when he finally made it and was erect he turned to Wolfe and bowed, a damn good bow. Kirby hadn’t bowed to me, but he hadn’t said a word. While we waited for Jarvis to get up he stood to one side doing calisthenics, keeping time with the music on the radio.

  I was agreeing with Saul, they’ll do. Kirby was half an inch shorter than me, but his build was just right. Jarvis was exactly Wolfe’s height. His shoulders weren’t quite as broad and his middle was a little farther around, but with an overcoat on he would do fine. The faces were only so-so, but it would be dark and no G-man was going to get a close-up.

  Wolfe returned the bow with a nod, said, “Come, gentlemen,” and entered the office. Instead of going to his desk, he moved a yellow chair to the center of the rug, which was thick enough to prevent noise, and went for another one. I got a couple, and Saul and Fred and Orrie each got one, and we all sat, in two circles, with Wolfe and Jarvis and Kirby on the inside. But Wolfe said, “The money, Archie,” and I got up and went to the safe for it—two wads with twenty-five twenties in each which were there waiting.

  Wolfe’s eyes went from Jarvis to Kirby and back. “Lunch is ready,” he said, “but first a few points. That money is yours. Archie?”

  I handed it to them, a wad to each. Jarvis merely glanced at it and stuck it in his side pocket. Kirby got a wallet from his breast pocket, put the bills in nice and neat, and replaced the wallet.

  “Mr. Hewitt explained,” Wolfe said, “that you would each receive one thousand dollars, and now you have. But having seen you emerge from those boxes, I feel that you have already earned the thousand. Amply. Therefore, if you perform the rest of it satisfactorily, I shall feel that you have earned another thousand, and you will receive it. Friday or Saturday.”

  Jarvis opened his mouth, remembered just in time, and shut it. He pointed to Kirby, tapped his own chest, and looked a question.

  Wolfe nodded. “Two thousand. One to each of you. A little closer, Mr. Kirby. I must keep my voice down. You gentlemen will be here twenty-eight hours. During that period there must be no single sound which, if overheard, would disclose your presence in this house. Your room is two flights up. You will use the stairs, not the elevator. If you need something there will be a man in the hall outside. If you must communicate you will whisper. There are several dozen books in your room. If none of them is to your taste you may select one from these shelves. No radio or television; the house must not be a hubbub. You will need to observe closely the posture and manner of walking of Mr. Goodwin and me, and there will be opportunities. Not our voices; that won’t be necessary.” He pursed his lips. “I think that covers it. If you have questions, ask them now, in an undertone near my ear. Have you?”

  They shook their heads.

  “Then we’ll have lunch. The radio will be silent. We do not discuss business at the table. No one will speak but Mr. Goodwin and me.”

  He rose.

  Chapter 12

  I wouldn’t want to go through that twenty-eight hours again.

  Going through a forest where you know there are snipers and one might be up any tree takes only guts and sharp eyes. But if you don’t know there are snipers but only that there could be, that’s different. Why all the guts and the keen and careful eyes? We didn’t know the house was bugged, only that it might be. If Jarvis or Kirby caught a finger in the bathroom door and yelled ouch or goddammit, it might wreck the act, but only might, and that was the hell of it. Every time I made a trip upstairs to check that Saul or Fred or Orrie was there in the hall, and that they hadn’t got fed up and started talking, I felt foolish. Grown men don’t look under the bed every night to see if there’s a burglar, though there might be one.

  The two meals were screwy, with Wolfe and me, mostly Wolfe, carrying on with table talk, while the other five just ate and listened. Try it sometime. I couldn’t even ask one of them to pass the butter; I could just point. And when we were doing something, for instance taking the boxes up to the potting room and stacking them, even I couldn’t talk, because whom would I be talking to?

  I left the house only once, late Wednesday afternoon, to call Hewitt from a booth and tell him the shipment had arrived in good condition, and to the garage to give Tom Halloran the picture.

  There were bright spots, two of them on Wednesday and four on Thursday, when Jarvis observed Wolfe. Jarvis would stand at the foot of the stairs and study Wolfe coming down, at the top and study him going down, and in the hall and study him on the level. By the second session Thursday I knew Jarvis was pulling Wolfe’s leg, enjoying the look on his face, but I was enjoying it too. Of course Kirby observed me the same way, but that was no hardship; on a normal day I got up and down those stairs a dozen times or more. What Kirby couldn’t observe was my driving. They would probably be tailed all the way to Hewitt’s, and if his style at the wheel was too different from mine it could make a smart G-man suspicious. Thursday morning, I took him to the office and turned on the radio and discussed it for half an hour.

  Looking back at it, I don’t think we missed a single bet. Around eleven o’clock Wednesday night I went up to my room, which fronts on Thirty-fifth Street, paid no more attention to the curtains than usual, changed to pajamas, sat on the bed, and turned out the light on the bed stand. In a couple of minutes Fred and Orrie entered and undressed in the dark, and I got out and they got in. Saul slept on the sofa in the front room, and we didn’t turn the lights on in there at all. We rarely do.

  I mention a funny thing. As I turned the office lights out Wednesday night and got between sheets on the couch, I was thinking not of the trap we were setting and whether it was going to work, but of the couch in Sarah Dacos’s apartment. What if the cleaning woman decided to turn the cushion over and looked under the spring? If I had stayed another five minutes maybe I could have found a better spot.

  The two meals I mentioned were Wednesday’s lunch and dinner. Thursday’s breakfast and lunch were different because Fritz wasn’t there. The arrangement was that Hewitt would have a car there for Fritz at eight o’clock, and it came right on time. I carried his bag out for him, and at the car door he shook my hand, looking glum. He was in no mood for producing masterpieces for a bunch of aristologists. Saul and I handled the breakfast problem, and for lunch we had cold cuts, including the sturgeon, which had been passed as edible, two bottles of champagne, and five kinds of cheese.

  At 4:45 Thursday afternoon I was in the office with Saul and Fred and Orrie when Theodore Horstmann, the orchid nurse, who had been told to leave early, came downstairs, said good night, and left. Wolfe was up in his room. At 5:10 I went up to my room, turned on the lights, and started changing. I could have made sure that there was no chink in the curtains and just sat, but it wouldn’t have been normal for me to bother about chinks and we damned well wanted everything normal. Wolfe, in his room, was doing likewise. At 5:40, dressed for dinner, I went back down to the office, and at 5:45 there was the sound of the elevator, and Wolfe appeared, also dressed. He and I started talking, no radio, about traffic problems. At 5:55 on the dot there was a faint sound of footsteps in the hall, and Jarvis and Kirby were there. Jarvis’s dinner uniform was a big improvement on Wolfe’s, which had seen better years, but Kirby’s wasn’t up to mine, which had set me back three Cs. They stood at the
door. I told Wolfe I would wait in the car, went to the hall, held my coat for Kirby and handed him my hat, and stayed in the corner out of range as he opened the door, crossed the sill, and pulled the door shut. As Jarvis came and stood looking out through the one-way glass, with me at his elbow, the lights in the office went out, and I got Wolfe’s coat and hat for Jarvis. In about half an hour which was really about six minutes the Heron showed and came to a stop at the curb. Jarvis flipped the light switch and the hall was dark, but I moved out of range until he was out and the door closed. I watched him and decided he was earning the extra grand. I had had no opinion about Kirby, since I don’t know how I look when I walk, but I would have sworn it was Wolfe going down the steps, crossing the sidewalk, and getting into the car, if I hadn’t known. The Heron rolled away, smooth, no jerks, like me, and I realize I had been holding my breath God knows how long.

  The office was now empty if they had followed the script. Before the lights went out in the hall Wolfe had gone to the dark kitchen, Orrie to the dark dining room, and Saul and Fred through the connecting door to the dark front room. I hadn’t heard them, so no one had. I put my hand in my side pocket to touch the Marley .38, stepped to the door and touched the edge to make sure it was closed, stood until my eyes were as well adjusted to the dark as they would get, and sat down on the chair at the wall opposite the rack.

  I felt fine. The strain was over. It could have been spoiled a hundred different ways, by either bad handling or bad luck, but here we were, all set, with nothing to do but wait. Either they had decided to do a bag job or they hadn’t, and that was their strain, not mine. I didn’t know what their score was on bag jobs, no outsider does, but I knew of four in New York the past year, definitely, and I had heard talk of several more. It depended on whether Wragg believed that a G-man had killed Althaus. If he did, ten to one they would come. If he didn’t, if he had somehow been satisfied that his men were clean on the murder, they wouldn’t come. Whether the bait was good enough depended on him, not on us. I felt fine.