by Rex Stout
“Certainly,” he nodded. “Strictly confidential. I’ll never mention it.”
“Okay.” I flipped the notebook open to the next blank page. “Now for this murder you want to buy a piece of. Spill it.”
Chapter 2
So the next morning I had Nero Wolfe braving the elements—the chief element for that day being bright warm March sunshine. I say I had him, because I had conceived the persuasion which was making him burst all precedents. What pulled him out of his front door, enraged and grim, with overcoat, scarf, gloves, stick, something he called gaiters, and a black felt pirate’s hat size 8 pulled down to his ears, was the name of Winold Glueckner heading the signatures on the letter—Glueckner, who had recently received from an agent in Sarawak four bulbs of a pink Coellogyne pandurata, never seen before, and had scorned Wolfe’s offer of three thousand bucks for two of them. Knowing what a tough old heinie Glueckner was, I had my doubts whether he would turn loose of the bulbs no matter how many murders Wolfe solved at his request, but anyhow I had lit the fuse.
Driving from the house on 35th Street near the Hudson River—where Wolfe had lived for over twenty years and I had lived with him—to the address on 52nd Street, I handled the sedan so as to keep it as smooth as a dip’s fingers. Except for one I couldn’t resist; on Fifth Avenue near Forty-third there was an ideal little hole about two feet across where I suppose someone had been prospecting for the twenty-six dollars they paid the Indians, and I maneuvered to hit it square at a good clip. I glanced in the mirror for a glimpse of Wolfe in the back seat and saw he was looking bitter and infuriated.
I said, “Sorry, sir, they’re tearing up the streets.”
He didn’t answer.
From what Llewellyn Frost had told me the day before about the place of business of Boyden McNair Incorporated—all of which had gone into my notebook and been read to Nero Wolfe Monday evening—I hadn’t realized the extent of its aspirations in the way of class. We met Llewellyn Frost downstairs, just inside the entrance. One of the first things I saw and heard, as Frost led us to the elevator to take us to the second floor, where the offices and private showrooms were, was a saleswoman who looked like a cross between a countess and Texas Guinan, telling a customer that in spite of the fact that the little green sport suit on the model was of High Meadow Loom hand-woven material and designed by Mr. McNair himself, it could be had for a paltry three hundred. I thought of the husband and shivered and crossed my fingers as I stepped into the elevator. And I remarked to myself, “I’ll say it’s a sinister joint.”
The floor above was just as elegant, but quieter. There was no merchandise at all in sight, no saleswomen and no customers. A long wide corridor had doors on both sides at intervals, with etchings and hunting prints here and there on the wood paneling, and in the large room where we emerged from the elevator there were silk chairs and gold smoking stands and thick deep-colored rugs. I took that in at a glance and then centered my attention on the side of the room opposite the corridor, where a couple of goddesses were sitting on a settee. One of them, a blonde with dark blue eyes, was such a pronounced pippin that I had to stare so as not to blink, and the other one, slender and medium-dark, while not as remarkable, was a cinch in a contest for Miss Fifty-second Street.
The blonde nodded at us. The slender one said, “Hello, Lew.”
Llewellyn Frost nodded back. “ ’Lo, Helen. See you later.”
As we went down the corridor I said to Wolfe, “See that? I mean, them? You ought to get around more. What are orchids to a pair of blossoms like that?”
He only grunted at me.
Frost knocked at the last door on the right, opened it, and stood aside for us to precede him. It was a large room, fairly narrow but long, and there was only enough let-up on the elegance to allow for the necessities of an office. The rugs were just as thick as up front, and the furniture was Decorators’ Delight. The windows were covered with heavy yellow silk curtains, sweeping in folds to the floor, and the light came from glass chandeliers as big as barrels.
Frost said, “Mr. Nero Wolfe. Mr. Goodwin. Mr. McNair.”
The man at the desk with carved legs got up and stuck out a paw, without enthusiasm. “How do you do, gentlemen. Be seated. Another chair, Lew?”
Wolfe looked grim. I glanced around at the chairs, and saw I’d have to act quick, for I knew that Wolfe was absolutely capable of running out on us for less than that, and having got him this far I was going to hold on to him if possible. I stepped around to the other side of the desk and put a hand on Boyden McNair’s chair. He was still standing up.
“If you don’t mind, sir. Mr. Wolfe prefers a roomy seat, just one of his whims. The other chairs are pretty damn narrow. If you don’t mind?”
By that time I had it shoved around where Wolfe could take it. McNair stared. I brought one of the Decorators’ Delights around for him, tossed him a grin, and went around and sat down by Llewellyn Frost.
McNair said to Frost, “Well, Lew, you know I’m busy. Did you tell these gentlemen I agreed to give them fifteen minutes?”
Frost glanced at Wolfe and then looked back at McNair. I could see his hands, with the fingers twined, resting on his thigh; the fingers were pressed tight. He said, “I told them I had persuaded you to see them. I don’t believe fifteen minutes will be enough—”
“It’ll have to be enough. I’m busy. This is a busy season.” McNair had a thin tight voice and he kept shifting in his chair—that is, temporarily his chair. He went on, “Anyway, what’s the use? What can I do?” He spread out his hands, glanced at his wrist watch, and looked at Wolfe. “I promised Lew fifteen minutes. I am at your service until 11:20.”
Wolfe shook his head. “Judging from Mr. Frost’s story, I shall need more. Two hours or more, I should say.”
“Impossible,” McNair snapped. “I’m busy. Now, fourteen minutes.”
“This is preposterous.” Wolfe braced his hands on the arms of the borrowed chair and raised himself to his feet. He stopped Frost’s ejaculation by showing him a palm, looked down at McNair and said quietly, “I didn’t need to come here to see you, sir. I did so in acknowledgment of an idiotic but charming gesture conceived and executed by Mr. Frost. I understand that Mr. Cramer of the police has had several conversations with you, and that he is violently dissatisfied with the lack of progress in his investigation of the murder of one of your employees on your premises. Mr. Cramer has a high opinion of my abilities. I shall telephone him within an hour and suggest that he bring you—and other persons—to my office.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “For much longer than fifteen minutes.”
He moved. I got up. Frost started after him.
“Wait!” McNair called out. “Wait a minute, you don’t understand!” Wolfe turned and stood. McNair continued, “In the first place, why try to browbeat me? That’s ridiculous. Cramer couldn’t take me to your office, or any place, if I didn’t care to go, you know that. Of course Molly—of course the murder was terrible. Good God, don’t I know it? And naturally I’ll do anything I can to help clear it up. But what’s the use? I’ve told Cramer everything I know, we’ve been over it a dozen times. Sit down.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead and nose, started to return it to his pocket and then threw it on the desk. “I’m going to have a breakdown. Sit down. I worked fourteen hours a day getting the spring line ready, enough to kill a man, and then this comes on top of it. You’ve been dragged into this by Lew Frost. What the devil does he know about it?” He glared at Frost. “I’ve told it over and over to the police until I’m sick of it. Sit down, won’t you? Ten minutes is all you’ll need for what I know, anyhow. That’s what makes it worse, as I’ve told Cramer, nobody knows anything. And Lew Frost knows less than that.” He glared at the young man. “You know damn well you’re just trying to use it as a lever to pry Helen out of here.” He transferred the glare to Wolfe. “Do you expect me to have anything better than the barest courtesy for you? Why should I?”
Wolf
e had returned to his chair and got himself lowered into it, without taking his eyes off McNair’s face. Frost started to speak, but I silenced him with a shake of the head. McNair picked up the handkerchief and passed it across his forehead and threw it down again. He pulled open the top right drawer of his desk and looked in it, muttered, “Where the devil’s that aspirin?” tried the drawer on the left, reached in and brought out a small bottle, shook a couple of tablets onto his palm, poured half a glass of water from a thermos carafe, tossed the tablets into his mouth, and washed them down.
He looked at Wolfe and complained resentfully, “I’ve had a hell of a headache for two weeks. I’ve taken a ton of aspirin and it doesn’t help any. I’m going to have a breakdown. That’s the truth—”
There was a knock, and the door opened. The intruder was a tall handsome woman in a black dress with rows of white buttons. She came on in, glanced politely around, and said in a voice full of culture:
“Excuse me, please.” She looked at McNair: “That 1241 resort, the cashmere plain tabby with the medium oxford twill stripe—can that be done in two shades of natural shetland with basket instead of tabby?”
McNair frowned at her and demanded, “What?”
She took a breath. “That 1241 resort—”
“Oh. I heard you. It cannot. The line stands, Mrs. Lamont. You know that.”
“I know. Mrs. Frost wants it.”
McNair straightened up. “Mrs. Frost? Is she here?”
The woman nodded. “She’s ordering. I told her you were engaged. She’s taking two of the Portsmouth ensembles.”
“Oh. She is.” McNair had suddenly stopped fidgeting, and his voice, though still thin, sounded more under command. “I want to see her. Ask if it will suit her convenience to wait till I’m through here.”
“And the 1241 in two shades of shetland—”
“Yes. Of course. Add fifty dollars.”
The woman nodded, excused herself again, and departed.
McNair glanced at his wrist watch, shot a sharp one at young Frost, and looked at Wolfe. “You can still have ten minutes.”
Wolfe shook his head. “I won’t need them. You’re nervous, Mr. McNair. You’re upset.”
“What? You won’t need them?”
“No. You probably lead too active a life, running around getting women dressed.” Wolfe shuddered. “Horrible. I would like to ask you two questions. First, regarding the death of Molly Lauck, have you anything to add to what you have told Mr. Cramer and Mr. Frost? I know pretty well what that is. Anything new?”
“No.” McNair was frowning. He picked up his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “No. Nothing whatever.”
“Very well. Then it would be futile to take up more of your time. The other question:, may I be shown a room where some of your employees may be sent to me for conversation? I shall make it as brief as possible. Particularly Miss Helen Frost, Miss Thelma Mitchell, and Mrs. Lamont. I don’t suppose Mr. Perren Gebert happens to be here?”
McNair snapped, “Gebert? Why the devil should he be?”
“I don’t know.” Wolfe lifted his shoulders half an inch, and dropped them. “I ask. I understand he was here one week ago yesterday, the day Miss Lauck died, when you were having your show. I believe you call it a show?”
“I had a show, yes. Gebert dropped in. Scores of people were here. About talking with the girls and Mrs. Lamont—if you make it short you can do it here. I have to go down to the floor.”
“I would prefer something less—more humble. If you please.”
“Suit yourself.” McNair got up. “Take them to one of the booths, Lew. I’ll tell Mrs. Lamont. Do you want her first?”
“I’d like to start with Miss Frost and Miss Mitchell. Together.”
“You may be interrupted, if they’re needed.”
“I shall be patient.”
“All right. You tell them, Lew?”
He looked around, grabbed his handkerchief from the desk and stuffed it in his pocket, and bustled out.
Llewellyn Frost, rising, began to protest, “I don’t see why you didn’t—”
Wolfe stopped him. “Mr. Frost. I endure only to my limit. Obviously, Mr. McNair is sick, but you cannot make that claim to tolerance. Don’t forget that you are responsible for this grotesque expedition. Where is this booth?”
“Well, I’m paying for it.”
“Not adequately. You couldn’t. Come, sir!”
Frost led us out and back down the corridor, and opened the door at the end on the left. He switched on lights, said he would be back soon, and disappeared. I moved my eyes. It was a small paneled room with a table, a smoking stand, full-length mirrors, and three dainty silk chairs. Wolfe stood and looked at the mess, and his lips tightened.
He said, “Revolting. I will not—I will not.”
I grinned at him. “I know damn well you won’t, and for once I don’t blame you. I’ll get it.”
I went out and strode down the corridor to McNair’s office, entered, heaved his chair to my shoulder, and proceeded back to the booth with it. Frost and the two goddesses were going in as I got there. Frost went for another chair, and I planked my prize down behind the table and observed to Wolfe, “If you get so you like it we’ll take it home with us.” Frost returned with his contribution, and I told him, “Go and get three bottles of cold light beer and a glass and an opener. We’ve got to keep him alive.”
He lifted his brows at me. “You’re crazy.”
I murmured, “Was I crazy when I suggested that letter from the orchid guys? Get the beer.”
He went. I negotiated myself into a chair with the blonde pippin on one side and the sylph on the other. Wolfe was sniffing the air. He suddenly demanded:
“Are all of these booths perfumed like this?”
“Yes, they are.” The blonde smiled at him. “It’s not us.”
“No. It was here before you came in. Pfui. And you girls work here. They call you models?”
“That’s what they call us. I’m Thelma Mitchell.” The blonde waved an expert graceful hand. “This is Helen Frost.”
Wolfe nodded, and turned to the sylph. “Why do you work here, Miss Frost? You don’t have to. Do you?”
Helen Frost put level eyes on him, with a little crease in her brow between them. She said quietly, “My cousin told us you wished to ask us about—about Molly Lauck.”
“Indeed.” Wolfe leaned back, warily, to see if the chair would take it. There was no creak, and he settled. “Understand this, Miss Frost: I am a detective. Therefore, while I may be accused of incompetence or stupidity, I may not be charged with impertinence. However nonsensical or irrelevant my questions may seem to you, they may be filled with the deepest significance and the most sinister implications. That is the tradition of my profession. As a matter of fact, I was merely making an effort to get acquainted with you.”
Her eyes stayed level. “I am doing this as a favor to my cousin Lew. He didn’t ask me to get acquainted.” She swallowed. “He asked me to answer questions about last Monday.”
Wolfe leaned forward and snapped, “Only as a favor to your cousin? Wasn’t Molly Lauck your friend? Wasn’t she murdered? You aren’t interested in helping with that?”
It didn’t jolt her much. She swallowed again, but stayed steady. “Interested—yes. Of course. But I’ve told the police—I don’t see what Lew—I don’t see why you—” She stopped herself and jerked her head up and demanded, “Haven’t I said I’ll answer your questions? It’s awful—it’s an awful thing—”
“So it is.” Wolfe turned abruptly to the blonde. “Miss Mitchell. I understand that at twenty minutes past four last Monday afternoon, a week ago yesterday, you and Miss Frost took the elevator together, downstairs, and got out at this floor. Right?”
She nodded.
“And there was no one up here; that is, you saw no one. You walked down the corridor to the fifth door on the left, across the corridor from Mr. McNair’s office, and entered that room, w
hich is an apartment used as a rest room for the four models who work here. Molly Lauck was in there. Right?”
She nodded again. Wolfe said, “Tell me what happened.”
The blonde took a breath. “Well, we started to talk about the show and the customers and so on. Nothing special. We did that about three minutes, and then suddenly Molly said she forgot, and she reached under a coat and pulled out a box—”
“Permit me. What were Miss Lauck’s words?”
“She just said she forgot, she had some loot—”
“No. Please. What did she say? Her exact words.”
The blonde stared at him. “Well, if I can. She said, let’s see: ‘Oh, I forgot, girls, I’ve got some loot. Swiped it as clean as a whistle.’ While she was saying that she was pulling the box from under the coat—”
“Where was the coat?”
“It was her coat, lying on the table.”
“Where were you?”
“Me? I was right there, standing there. She was sitting on the table.”
“Where was Miss Frost?”
“She was—she was across by the mirror, fixing her hair. Weren’t you, Helen?”
The sylph merely nodded. Wolfe said:
“And then? Exactly. Exact words.”
“Well, she handed me the box and I took it and opened it, and I said—”
“Had it been opened before?”
“I don’t know. It didn’t have any wrapping or ribbon or anything on it. I opened it and I said, ‘Gee, it’s two pounds and never been touched. Where’d you get it, Molly?’ She said, ‘I told you, I swiped it. Is it any good?’ She asked Helen to have some—”
“Her words.”
Miss Mitchell frowned. “I don’t know. Just ‘Have some, Helen,’ or ‘Join the party, Helen’—something like that. Anyway, Helen didn’t take any—”
“What did she say?”
“I don’t know. What did you say, Helen?”
