The Doorbell Rang

by Rex Stout

  When I decided half an hour had passed I went to the door to look at my watch by the light coming through the one-way glass, and when I saw 6:22 I felt a little less fine. Wrong by eight minutes. I am supposed to be good at judging time, so evidently I wasn’t as unstrained as I thought I was. Instead of sitting, I walked down the hall to the office door and felt still less fine when I rubbed against the wall twice. That was inexcusable. Of course going back to the front, toward the rectangle of light, was simple, but damn it, I should be able to go straight down the center of the hall I knew so well into the pitch dark. I did, three times, and then went to the chair and sat.

  I can’t give the precise time that they came because I was determined not to look again until seven o’clock, but it was close to seven. Suddenly the dim light at the door was even dimmer and there they were. Two of them. A third was probably down on the sidewalk. One of them bent over to look at the lock, and the other stood at the top of the first step, his back to the door, facing the street.

  Of course they had known the lock was a Rabson and had brought the right items, but no matter how good he was he wouldn’t get a Rabson at the first stab, so there was no hurry. The door from the hall to the front room, open, was right there, four feet from the chair. I stepped to it, stuck my head in, let a low hiss through my teeth, and got one back. I walked to the dining room door, not touching the wall, did another hiss, and it was returned. Then I went and stood just outside the office door. They wouldn’t flash a light the instant they made it in, they would stand and listen.

  I have since argued with Saul about how long it took him. He says the door opened eight minutes after I hissed, and I say ten. Anyway it opened, and as it started I moved into the office, got my back against the wall to the left of the door, put my left hand behind me with a finger on the light switch, and took the Marley from my pocket with the right.

  Once in, they didn’t listen more than five seconds, which was bad technique. They came straight down the hall. With my head turned, I saw the faint gleam of a pencil flash grow brighter, then streak into the office, and then them. They came in three or four steps and stopped. The one with the flash started it around and in three seconds it would have hit me, so I sang out, “Play ball!” raised the Marley, and flipped the switch, and there was light.

  One of them just gawked, but the one with the flash dropped it and started his hand inside his jacket. But not only did I have my gun out, Orrie was there beside me with his, and Saul’s voice came from the door of the front room, “Strike one!” They turned their heads and saw two more guns.

  “It looks bad,” I said. “We don’t even need to frisk you, you can’t shoot in two directions at once. Mr. Wolfe!”

  He was there. He must have left the kitchen when I called, “Play ball.” I said, “Go around,” but he had already started that way, to the right of the red leather chair, well out of their reach. At his desk he sat and eyed them—their profiles, since they were facing Orrie and me.

  He spoke. “This is deplorable. Archie, call the police.”

  I moved. I didn’t make as wide a detour as Wolfe had, but the program would go better without a scuffle, so I circled around. Halfway to my desk I stopped and said, “Look. If you jump me when I’m dialing you won’t leave here on your feet. I suppose you know the law, crashers do. You’re inside. If you try getting rough they’ll plug you and all they’ll get from the law is thanks.”

  “Balls.” It was the big handsome one with a square jaw and square shoulders. The other one was taller, but skinny, with a face that showed the bones. Handsome was giving me the stony stare. “We’re not crashers, and you know it.”

  “Like hell I do. You crashed. You can explain it to the cops. I’ve warned you. Stay put. Start moving and you’ll get stopped. One of them has a quick finger.”

  To get to the phone at my desk I had to give them my back. I did, and as I reached for the phone he snapped, “Cut the comedy, Goodwin. You know damn well what we are.” He turned to Wolfe. “We’re agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and you know it. We have touched nothing, and we didn’t intend to. We wanted to see you. When we rang there was no answer, and the door wasn’t locked, and we came in.”

  “You lie,” Wolfe said, just stating a fact. “Five men will swear that the door was locked and you didn’t ring. Four of them heard you picking it. When you are searched, by the police, your tools will be found. Federal Bureau of Investigation? Pfui. Get the police, Archie, and tell them to send men capable of handling a pair of ruffians.”

  Before I turned to dial I said, “Fred,” and bent a finger at him, and he came. Passing them, he barely gave them elbow room. He had once had an arm twisted by a G-man, and he would have welcomed a chance to even up. With the backs of his thighs against Wolfe’s desk, facing them, his gun at his hip, he looked much nastier than he actually is. He is really a nice guy, with a wife and four children. As I started dialing I would have given a hundred to one that I wouldn’t finish, and I didn’t. At the fourth whirl Handsome blurted, “Hold it, Goodwin,” and I stopped my finger and turned. He was slipping his left hand inside his coat. I cradled the phone and moved beside Fred. The G-man’s hand came out with his little black leather fold. “Credentials,” he said, and opened it and displayed it.

  That was a ticklish spot. They’re supposed to show it but hang on to it. Wolfe growled, “I’ll inspect it,” and Handsome made a move forward, and Fred’s big left hand shot out and shoved him back. I put a hand out, palm up, but said nothing. He hesitated, not long, and put it on my palm. I said, “You too,” to Skinny and stretched my arm. He had his fold already out and put it on top of the other one, and I turned and handed them to Wolfe. He looked at one and then the other, opened a drawer and got his big glass, inspected them through the glass, taking his time, returned the glass to the drawer, dropped the folds in on top of it, shut the drawer, and regarded them.

  “Probably forged,” he said. “The police laboratory can tell.”

  It must have taken a lot of control for them to hold tight. I would have admired them if my mind hadn’t been occupied. They both went stiff but they didn’t move; then Skinny said, “You fat sonofabitch.”

  Wolfe nodded. “A natural reaction. Let’s make an assumption. Let us assume, merely for discussion, that you are in fact agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Then you have a valid complaint, but not against me; against your colleagues who were gulled into thinking that this house was empty. You have nothing to apologize for.”

  He cleared his throat. “Now. Still on the assumption. I am going to keep your credentials as hostages. You can recover them, or your bureau can, only by action at law which would disclose publicly how they got here, and I would of course have a counter action, since you entered my house illegally and were caught flagrante delicto, and I have four witnesses. I doubt if your superiors would want to pay the price. So the initiative is mine. You may go. All I wanted, still on the assumption, was incontestable evidence that members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation have committed a felony and can be prosecuted, and I have it here in my drawer. By the way, I haven’t mentioned the gloves you’re wearing. Of course we have all noticed them. That will be a corroborative detail if and when this gets to a courtroom. You may go, gentlemen.”

  “Goddamn you.” Handsome. “It will be a federal courtroom. Those credentials are the property of federal officers.”

  “They may be. Even if they are I have a defense. Abandoning the assumption, I find it difficult to believe that federal officers of the law would enter my house illegally, and obviously I am justified in keeping the credentials until and unless their genuineness is established.”

  “How are you going to establish it?”

  “I’ll see. I shall await events. If they’re genuine I might be paid a call by one of your superiors—even Mr. Wragg.”

  “You fat sonofabitch,” Skinny said. He seemed limited when under stress.

  “Actually,” Wolfe said
, “I am being lenient. You forced entry into my house, and for all I know you are impersonating officers of the law. Two felonies. If you are armed we should take your weapons and also the tools you brought to open my door—and, not doubt, to open doors and drawers in this office. And the gloves you’re wearing. I advise you to leave without delay. These four men are not fond either of burglars or of the FBI, and they would enjoy humiliating you. Confound it, go!”

  They stood and looked at him. Handsome’s line of vision was between Fred’s shoulder and mine, and Skinny’s was to the right of Fred. They exchanged glances, looked at Wolfe again, and moved. As they approached the door Orrie backed into the hall, his gun on them. He likes to point a gun. Saul went through the front room to the hall and turned the light on. Fred and I followed the G-men. When they neared the front door Saul opened it, and Orrie and Fred and I joined him to watch them descend to the sidewalk. Almost certainly there had been a third one, but he was nowhere in sight. They turned left, toward Tenth Avenue, but we didn’t go out to see them to their car. Before we closed the door we examined the lock and found it intact. As I slid the bolt in Fred said that they must have the finest key collection in the world.

  When we filed back into the office Wolfe was standing in the center of the rug, inspecting an object in his hand—the pencil flash Handsome had dropped. He tossed it onto my desk and roared, “Talk! All of you! Talk!”

  Everybody laughed.

  “I’m offering a reward,” I said, loud. “A framed photograph of J. Edgar Hoover to anyone who will prove that it is bugged and they have a tape of that to send him.”

  “By God,” Fred said, “if only they had tried something.”

  “I want champagne,” Saul said.

  “Make mine bourbon,” Orrie said. “I’m hungry.”

  It was twenty minutes to eight. We went to the kitchen, including Wolfe, everybody talking at once. Wolfe began getting things from the refrigerator—caviar, pâté de foie gras, sturgeon, a whole smoked pheasant. Saul opened the freezer to get ice for champagne. Orrie and I got bottles from the cupboard. Fred asked if he could use the phone to call his wife, and I said yes and give her my love, but Wolfe spoke.

  “Tell her you will stay here tonight. You will all stay. In the morning Archie will take those things to the bank, and you’ll go with him. They will probably do nothing, but they might try anything. Fred, tell nothing of this to your wife, or to anyone else. It isn’t finished, it’s only well started. If you men want something hot I can have Yorkshire Buck in twenty minutes if Archie will poach the eggs.”

  They all said no, which suited me fine. I hate to poach eggs.

  An hour later we were having a pleasant evening. The three guests and I were in the front room, in a tight game of pinochle, and Wolfe was in his one and only chair in the office, reading a book. The book was The FBI Nobody Knows. He was either gloating or doing research, I didn’t know which.

  At ten o’clock I had to excuse myself from the card table briefly; Wolfe had said he wanted to call Hewitt then, when the aristologists would presumably have finished their meal. I went to the office and made the call. Wolfe told Hewitt it had worked perfectly and thanked him. Hewitt said they had found the stand-ins very entertaining; Jarvis had recited passages from Shakespeare and Kirby had mimicked President Johnson and Barry Goldwater and Alfred Lunt. Wolfe said to give them his regards, and I went back to pinochle and Wolfe to his book.

  But there was another interruption a little after eleven o’clock. The phone rang, and Wolfe hates to answer it, so I went and got it at my desk.

  “Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.”

  “This is Richard Wragg, Goodwin.” The voice was a drawl, smooth and low-pitched. “I want to speak to Wolfe.”

  We had known that might happen, and I had instructions.

  “I’m afraid you can’t, Wragg. He’s engaged.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “Good idea. He thought you might. Say here, his office, at eleven in the morning?”

  “I want to see him tonight. Now.”

  “I’m sorry, Wragg, that isn’t possible. He’s very busy. The earliest would be eleven in the morning.”

  “What’s he busy at?”

  “He’s reading a book. The FBI Nobody Knows. In half an hour he’ll be in bed.”

  “I’ll be there at eleven.”

  It sounded as if he cradled it with a bang, but I could have imagined that. I turned to Wolfe. “I called him Wragg because that’s his name. Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. As expected.”

  “And desired. We must confer. When your game is finished.”

  I rose. “It won’t take long. I just melded three hundred and forty.”

  Chapter 13

  I need, and nearly always get, a good eight hours’ sleep, but that night I got six. At 1:10, with Wolfe gone up to bed, and also Fred and Orrie, and Saul on the sofa in the front room, I was about to crawl in on the couch when the doorbell rang. It was Fritz and Jarvis and Kirby, and when I saw Kirby stagger across the threshold I wondered what ditch the Heron was in. I asked him where the car was and he just goggled at me, his lips pressed tight. Thinking he was sticking to the instructions, I told him he could talk now, and Fritz said he could not talk now because he was too drunk, and added that the car was out in front, perfectly all right, but only the good God knew how it had got there. He took them up to their room in the elevator, and I put on shoes and my overcoat over pajamas, and went out and took the Heron to the garage. Not a scratch.

  The first number on the program for Friday was scheduled for 8:30. At 7:45 I turned on the will power and rolled out, got my arms full of blankets and sheets and pillow, and made it up to my room. When I came out of the bathroom after showering and shaving, Fred and Orrie were sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning. I remarked that we would be leaving in an hour and twenty minutes and they told me to go soak my head, but I already had. I was expecting to have to manage my own breakfast, but as I was going downstairs Fritz emerged from Wolfe’s room, having delivered the breakfast tray nearly on time. It was 8:28, and I went to the office and started the day by dialing Mrs. Bruner’s number and got her. I told her I was sorry to disturb her so early in the day, but I had an important message, and would she please go out to a booth and ring me at a certain number, which I gave her, at 9:45 or as soon after as possible. She said it would interfere with an appointment and how important was it, and I said extremely, and she said all right.

  So we could take our time at breakfast, and it was just as well. Fritz knows that Saul and Fred and Orrie all like eggs au beurre noir, so that was the main item, with toast and bacon, and two rounds for each of us, two eggs to a round, added up to sixteen eggs. The expense account for that operation was going to be a lulu.

  With the credentials in my pocket, I left the house with my bodyguard at 9:40, walked to the drugstore at the corner, and stationed myself near the booth. With my understanding of women, I was prepared to wait up to twenty minutes, but at 9:46 it rang, just as a man who had entered was heading for the booth. As I lifted the receiver I decided that he was not a G-man come to take the call; he didn’t look the part.

  Mrs. Bruner said she hoped it was really important because she would be late for her appointment.

  “You couldn’t possible have any appointment half as important,” I told her. “Forget appointments. You are to be at Mr. Wolfe’s office at a quarter to eleven, not one second later.”

  “This morning? I can’t.”

  “You can and must. You have told me twice that you didn’t like my tone, but that was nothing compared to the tone you’ll hear unless you say you’ll be there. Mr. Wolfe might even return the hundred grand.”

  “But why? What is it?”

  “I’m just the messenger boy. You’ll find out when you come. It’s not just important, it’s vital.”

  Short silence. “A quarter to eleven?”

  “Or earlier.”

  More sil
ence. “Very well. I’ll be there.”

  “Wonderful. You’re the perfect client. If you weren’t rich I’d marry you.”

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing.” I hung up.

  I didn’t feel vital, with only six hours’ sleep, but I felt important as I walked crosstown to the Continental Bank and Trust Company on Lexington Avenue with the winter wind at my back. Not many men have had such a bodyguard—the best operative between the two oceans plus two damned good ones. If you think we were overdoing it, what if I stumbled and cracked my skull, or what if I ran into a siren who dazzled me and she turned out to be a G-woman? Anyway, they were there in the house and a walk would do them good. At the bank I went downstairs first, to the safe-deposit box, and stashed the credentials. Upstairs, as I cashed a check for five grand to replenish the cash reserve in the safe, I was thinking that it had been just nine days, to the hour, since I had been there to deposit the retainer. I had thought then that there was one chance in a million. Now …

  We had to step on it to get back to the old brownstone by a quarter to eleven, and we barely made it. We were in the hall, shedding coats, when I saw Mrs. Bruner’s Rolls pull up out in front. When she reached the stoop I had the door open. Fred and Orrie started off, but I called them back.

  “Mrs. Bruner,” I said, “how would you like to meet three men who, working for you, rode sixty miles in a truck, curled up inside wooden boxes with the lids screwed on? And who stood for twenty minutes last evening with guns pointed at two FBI men while Mr. Wolfe told them things?”

  “Why—I would like to.”

  “I thought so. Mr. Saul Panzer. Mr. Fred Durkin. Mr. Orrie Cather. You will spend some time with Mr. Panzer. If you don’t mind, I’ll put your coat in the front room. Richard Wragg, the top G-man in New York, is coming, and shouldn’t see it.”