Too Many Cooks

by Rex Stout

  He went on to tell, and it sounded awful. He had come, with his daughter, to express his appreciation of Wolfe’s efforts in his behalf. It was nearly four o’clock, and there was sunlight in the room, for Tolman had arranged for a double guard on the windows, the other side of the shrubbery, and the shades were up and the windows open. The lunch from the hotel may not have been piroshki by Vallenko, but it had been adequate for my purposes, and Wolfe had been able to get it down in spite of the difficulty he had chewing. I had completely abandoned the idea of a little nap; there wasn’t a chance. Tolman had stayed nearly until the end of lunch, and after that was finished Rossi and Mondor and Coyne had dropped in to offer commiseration for Wolfe’s wound, and they had been followed by others. Even Louis Servan had made it for a few minutes, though I didn’t understand how he had been able to get away from the kitchen. Also, around three o’clock, there had been a phone call from New York, which Wolfe took himself. His end of it consisted mostly of grunts, and all I knew about it when he got through was that he had been talking with Inspector Cramer. But I knew he hadn’t got any bad news, for afterwards he sat and rubbed the side of his nose and looked self-satisfied.

  Constanza Berin sat for twenty minutes on the edge of her chair trying to get a word in, and when her father called an intermission to get his pipe lit she finally succeeded.

  “Mr. Wolfe, I … I was terrible this morning.”

  He moved his eyes at her. “You were indeed, Miss Berin. I have often noticed that the more beautiful a woman is, especially a young one, the more liable she is to permit herself unreasonable fits. It’s something that you acknowledge. Tell me, when you feel it coming on like that, is there nothing you can do to stop it? Have you ever tried?”

  She laughed at him. “But it isn’t fits. I don’t have fits. I was scared and mad because they had put my father in jail for murder, and I knew he hadn’t done it, and they seemed to think they had proof against him, and then I was told that it was you who had found the proof … How was I going to be reasonable about that? And in a strange country I had never been in before … America is an awful country.”

  “There are those who would disagree with you.”

  “I suppose so … I suppose it isn’t so much the country … maybe it’s the people who live here … Oh, excuse me, I don’t mean you, or Mr. Goodwin … I’m sure you are very amiable, and of course Mr. Goodwin is, with a wife and so many children…”

  “Indeed.” Wolfe shot me a withering glance. “How are the children, Archie? Well, I hope?”

  “Fine, thanks.” I waved a hand. “Doggone the little shavers, I sure do miss ’em, away from home like this. I can hardly wait to get back.”

  Berin took his pipe from his mouth to nod at me. “The little ones are nice. Now my daughter here…” He shrugged. “She is nice, naturally, but God above, she drives me mad!” He leaned to tap Wolfe’s knee with the stem of the pipe. “Speaking of getting back. Is it true what I am told, that these dogs can keep us here on and on until they permit us to go? Merely because that Laszio got a knife in his back? My daughter and I were to leave to-night, for New York, and then to Canada. I am out of jail but I am not free. Is that it?”

  “I’m afraid that’s it. Were you intending to take the midnight train to New York?”

  “I was. And now they tell me no one leaves this place until they learn who killed that dog! If we wait on that for that imbecile Tolman, and that other one, that one who squints…” He replaced his pipe and puffed until he had clouds.

  “But we needn’t wait on them.” Wolfe sighed. “Thank God. I think, sir, it would be wise to have your bags packed, and if you have reservations on that train, keep them. Fortunately you did not have to wait for Mr. Tolman to discover the truth about those sauces. If you had…”

  “I might not have left at all. I know that. I might have got this.” Berin used the edge of his hand for a cleaver to slice off his head. “Certainly I would still be in that jail, and within three days I would have starved. We Catalans can take death when it comes, but God above, a man that can swallow that food is not a man, he is not even a beast! I know what I owe you, and I called for blessings on you with every bite of my lunch. I discussed it with Servan. I told him how greatly I am indebted to you, and that I do no man the honor of remaining in debt to him. I told Servan I must pay you … he is our host here, and a man of delicacy. He said you would not take pay. He said it had been offered, and you had scorned it. I understand and respect your feeling, since you are our guest of honor—”

  Another knock on the door made me leave Wolfe simmering in the juice of the stew he had made. I had always known that some day he would talk too much for his own good, and as I went to the foyer I was wearing a grin—I admit malicious—and reflecting on how it probably felt at the moment to be a jewel on the cushion of hospitality.

  The new arrival was only Vukcic, but he served as well as another bullet through the window would have done to make a break in the conversation and take it away from vulgar things like payments for services rendered. Vukcic was in a mood. He acted embarrassed, gloomy, nervous and abstracted. A few minutes after he arrived the Berins left, and then he stood in front of Wolfe with his arms folded, frowning down, and told him that in spite of Wolfe’s impertinence that morning on the subject of howling on a hillside, it was a duty of old friendship to call personally to offer sympathy and regrets for an injury suffered…

  Wolfe snapped, “I was shot over six hours ago. I might have died by now.”

  “Oh, come, Nero. Surely not. They said it was only your cheek, and I can see for myself—”

  “I lost a quart of blood.—Archie! Did you say a quart?”

  I hadn’t said anything, but I’m always loyal. “Yes, sir. At least that. Closer to two. Of course I couldn’t stop to measure it, but it came out like a river, like Niagara Falls, like—”

  “That will do. Thank you.”

  Vukcic still stood frowning down. His tangle of hair was tumbling for his eyes, but he didn’t unfold his arms to comb it back with his fingers. He growled, “I’m sorry. It was a close call. If he had killed you…” A pause. “Look here, Nero. Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. Not with certainty—yet.”

  “Are you finding out?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was it the murderer of Laszio?”

  “Yes—Confound it, I like to move my head when I talk, and I can’t.” Wolfe put the tips of his fingers gingerly to the bandage, felt it, and let his hand drop again. “I’ll tell you something, Marko. This mist that has arisen between your eyes and mine—we can’t ignore it and it is futile to discuss it. All I can say is, it will shortly be dispelled.”

  “The devil it will. How?”

  “By the course of history. By Atropos, and me as her agent. At any rate, I am counting on that. In the meantime, there is nothing we can say to each other. You are drugged again—there, I didn’t mean to say that. You see we can’t talk. I would offend you, and you would bore me insufferably. Au revoir, Marko.”

  “Good God, I don’t deny I’m drugged.”

  “I know it. You know what you’re doing, and you do it anyway. Thank you for coming.”

  Vukcic did then unfold his arms to comb his hair. He ran his fingers through it three times, slowly, and then without saying anything turned and walked out.

  Wolfe sat a long while with his eyes closed. Then he sighed deeply and asked me to take the script of the speech for a final rehearsal.

  The only interruptions that time were some phone calls, from Tolman and Clay Ashley and Louis Servan. It was six o’clock before we had another caller, and when I opened the door and saw it was Raymond Liggett of the Hotel Churchill, I put on a welcoming grin because right away I smelled a fee, and among all the other irritations I was being subjected to was my dislike of seeing Wolfe exercising his brain, blowing money on long distance calls and drinks for fourteen dark-skinned men, losing two nights’ sleep, and getting shot, with maybe a perm
anent scar, all for nothing relating to the bank account. As a side issue, there was also the question of a job for my friend Odell. Not that I owed him anything, but in the detective business around New York you never know in which spot it may become desirable to be greeted by a friendly face. To have the house dick of the Churchill, or even one of his staff, a protégé of mine, might come in handy any time.

  Sure enough, it appeared that a fee was in prospect. The first thing Liggett said, after he had got seated and expressed the proper sentiments regarding Wolfe’s facial casualty, was that one of the objects of his call was to ask if Wolfe would be willing to reconsider the matter of approaching Berin about the job of chef de cuisine at the Hotel Churchill.

  Wolfe murmured, “I’m surprised that you still want him—a man who has been accused of murder. The publicity?”

  Liggett dismissed that with a gesture. “Why not? People don’t eat publicity, they eat food. And you know what Berin’s prestige is. Frankly, I’m more interested in his prestige than in his food. I have an excellent kitchen staff, from top to bottom.”

  “People do eat prestige then.” Wolfe gently patted his tummy. “I don’t believe I’d care for it.”

  Liggett smiled his thin smile. His gray eyes looked about as irritated as they had Wednesday morning, not less, and they couldn’t more. He shrugged. “Well, they seem to like it. About Berin. I know that yesterday morning you said you wouldn’t do it, but you also said you wouldn’t investigate Laszio’s murder, and I understand you’ve reconsidered that. Ashley tells me you’ve done something quite remarkable, I didn’t gather just what.”

  Wolfe inclined his head an eighth of an inch. “Thank you.”

  “That’s what Ashley said. Besides, it was what you discovered, whatever that was, that caused Berin’s release. Berin knows that, and therefore you are in a particularly advantageous position to make a suggestion to him—or even a request. I explained to you yesterday why I’m especially anxious to get him. I can add to that, confidentially—”

  “I don’t want confidences, Mr. Liggett.”

  Liggett impatiently brushed that aside. “It’s not much of a secret. A competitor has been after Berin for two years. Branting of the Alexander. I happen to know that Berin has an appointment with Branting in New York to-morrow afternoon. That’s the main reason I rushed down here. I have to get at him before he sees Branting.”

  “And soon after your arrival he was taken to jail. That was unfortunate. But he’s out now, and is this minute probably at Pocahontas Pavilion. He left here two hours ago. Why the deuce don’t you go and see him?”

  “I told you yesterday. Because I don’t think I can swing him.” Liggett leaned forward. “Look here. The situation as it stands now is ideal. You got him out of jail, and he’s impulsive and emotional, and he’s feeling grateful to you. You can do it in one talk with him. One trouble is that I don’t know what Branting has offered him, or is going to offer him, but whatever it is, I’ll top it. I told you yesterday that I’d like to have him for forty thousand but would go to sixty if I had to. Now the time’s short and I think I might even make it seventy. You can offer him fifty at the start—”

  “I haven’t agreed to offer him anything.”

  “But I’m telling you. You can offer him fifty thousand dollars a year. That’s a lot more than he’s getting at San Remo, but he may have a percentage there. Anyway, New York is something else. And if you land him I’ll pay you ten thousand dollars cash.”

  Wolfe lifted his brows. “You want him, don’t you?”

  “I’ve got to have him. My directors have discussed this—after all, Laszio was getting along in years—and I must get him. Of course I don’t own the Churchill, though I have a good block of stock. You still have time to start the ball rolling before dinner. I wanted to see you earlier this afternoon, when they brought Berin back, but on account of your accident…”

  “Not an accident. Chance is without intention.” Wolfe touched his bandage. “This was intended—or rather, worse.”

  “That’s true. Of course. Will you see Berin now?”

  “No.”

  “To-night?”

  “No.”

  Liggett jerked up. “But damn it, are you crazy? A chance to make ten thousand dollars”—he snapped his fingers—“just like that! Why not?”

  “It’s not my business, hiring chefs. I’m a detective. I stick to my profession.”

  “I’m not asking you to make a business of it. All it means probably, under the circumstances, is one good talk with him. You can tell him he will be executive chef, with complete control and no interference from the hotel administration, and nothing to report but results. Our cost distribution is handled—”

  Wolfe was wiggling a finger. “Mr. Liggett. Please. This is a waste of time. I shall not approach Mr. Berin on behalf of the Hotel Churchill.”

  Silence. I covered a yawn. I was surprised that Liggett wasn’t bouncing up with exasperation, since his tendencies seemed to run in that direction, but all he did was sit still, not a muscle moving, and look at Wolfe. Wolfe, likewise motionless, returned the gaze with half-shut eyes.

  The silence lasted all of a minute. Finally Liggett said, in a level tone with no exasperation at all, “I’ll give you twenty thousand cash to get Berin for me.”

  “It doesn’t tempt me, Mr. Liggett.”

  “I’ll … I’ll make it thirty thousand. I can give it to you in currency to-morrow morning.”

  Wolfe stirred a little, without unfocusing his eyes. “No. It wouldn’t be worth it to you. Mr. Berin is a master chef, but not the only one alive. See here. This childish pretense is ridiculous. You were ill-advised to come to me like this. You, are probably a man of some natural sense, and with only your own interests to consult, and left to your own counsel and devices, I am sure you would never have done such a thing. You were sent here, Mr. Liggett. I know that. It was a mistake that might have been expected, considering who did it. Pfui! You might, I suppose, go back and report your failure, but if you are moved to consult further it would be vastly better to consult only yourself.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m making you a straight proposal.”

  Wolfe shrugged. “If I am incoherent, that ends communication. Report failure, then, to yourself.”

  “I’m not reporting failure to anyone.” Liggett’s eyes were hard and so was his tone. “I came to you only because it seemed practical. To save annoyance. I can do—whatever I want done—without you.”

  “Then by all means do it.”

  “But I would still like to save annoyance. I’ll pay you fifty thousand dollars.”

  Wolfe slowly, barely perceptibly, shook his head. “You’ll have to report failure, Mr. Liggett. If it is true, as the cynic said, that every man has his price, you couldn’t hand me mine in currency.”

  The phone rang. When a man turns cold and still I like to keep my eye on him in case, so I sidled around beyond Liggett’s chair without turning my back on him. The first voice I heard in the receiver sounded like the blue-eyed belle, and she said she had a New York call. Then I heard gruff tones demanding Nero Wolfe, and was informed that Inspector Cramer wanted him. I turned:

  “For you, sir. Mr. Purdy.”

  With a grunt, he labored to lift it from the chair. He stood and looked down at our caller:

  “This is a confidential affair, Mr. Liggett. And since our business is concluded … if you don’t mind?…”

  Liggett took it as it was given. Without a word, without either haste or hesitation, he arose and departed. I strolled behind him to the foyer, and when he was out and the door closed I turned the key.

  Wolfe’s conversation with Cramer lasted more than ten minutes, and this time, as I sat and listened, I got something out of it besides grunts, but not enough to make a good picture. It seemed to me that he had distrusted my powers of dissimulation as far as was necessary, so when he hung up I was all set to put in a requisition for light and lucidity
, but he had barely got back in his chair when the phone rang again. This time she told me it was a call from Charleston, and after some clicking and crackling I heard a voice in my ears that was as familiar as the Ventura Skin Preserver theme song.

  “Hello, Mr. Wolfe?”

  “No, you little shrimp, this is the Supreme Court speaking.”

  “Oh, Archie! How goes it?”

  “Marvelous. Having a fine rest. Hold it, here’s Mr. Wolfe.” I handed him the receiver. “Saul Panzer from Charleston.”

  That was another ten minute talk, and it afforded me a few more hints .and scraps of the alternative that Wolfe had apparently settled on, though it still seemed fairly incredible in spots. When it was finished Wolfe ambled back to his seat again, leaned back with careful caution, and got his fingers joined at the dome of his rotunda.

  He demanded, “What time is it?”

  I glanced at my wrist. “Quarter to seven.”

  He grunted. “Only a little over an hour till dinner. Don’t let me forget to have that speech in my pocket when we go over there. Can you remember a few things without putting them down?”

  “Sure. Any quantity.”

  “They are all important. First I must talk with Mr. Tolman; I suppose he is at the hotel as arranged. Then I must telephone Mr. Servan; that may be difficult; I believe it is not customary to have guests the last evening. In this case the tradition must be violated. While I am telephoning you will lay out everything we shall need, pack the bags, and arrange for their delivery at the train. We may be pressed for time around midnight. Also send to the hotel for our bill, and pay it. Did I hear you say you have your pistol along?—Good. I trust it won’t be needed, but carry it. And confound it, send for a barber, I can’t shave myself. Then get Mr. Tolman, and start on the bags. I’ll discuss the evening program while we’re dressing…”