by Rex Stout
Now he was telling us to lay off of Barry Rackham. That probably meant that without turning a finger we had found the answer to Mrs. Rackham’s question—where was her husband getting his pocket money? He had got inside the circle of Arnold Zeck’s operations, about which Wolfe had once remarked that all of them were illegal and some of them were morally repulsive. And Zeck didn’t want any snooping around one of his men. That was almost certainly the sketch, but whether it was or not, the fact remained that we had run smack into Zeck again, which was fully as bad as having a gob of Darst sausage turn into a cylinder of tear gas.
“He likes to time things right, damn him,” I complained. “He likes to make things dramatic. He had someone within range of this house to see the package being delivered, and when I left the front door open and then went and stood on the stoop that showed that the package had been opened, and as soon as he got the word he phoned. Hell, he might even—”
I stopped because I saw that I was talking to myself. Wolfe wasn’t hearing me. He still sat gazing at the corner of the blotter. I shut my trap and sat and gazed at him. It was a good five minutes before he spoke.
“Archie,” he said, looking at me.
“Yes, sir.”
“How many cases have we handled since last July?”
“All kinds? Everything? Oh, forty.”
“I would have thought more. Very well, say forty. We crossed this man’s path inadvertently two years ago, and again last year. He and I both deal with crime, and his net is spread wide, so that may be taken as a reasonable expectation for the future: once a year, or in one out of forty cases that come to us, we will run into him. This episode will be repeated.” He aimed a thumb at the phone. “That thing will ring, and that confounded voice will presume to dictate to us. If we obey the dictate we will be maintaining this office and our means of livelihood only by his sufferance. If we defy it we shall be constantly in a state of trepidant vigilance, and one or both of us will probably get killed. Well?”
I shook my head. “It couldn’t be made plainer. I don’t care much for either one.”
“Neither do I.”
“If you got killed I’d be out of a job, and if I got killed you might as well retire.” I glanced at my wristwatch. “The hell of it is we haven’t got a week to decide. It’s twelve-twenty, and I’m expected at the Hillside Kennels at three o’clock, and I have to eat lunch and shave and change my clothes. That is, if I go. If I go?”
“Precisely,” Wolfe sighed. “That’s point two. Two years ago, in the Orchard case, I took to myself the responsibility of ignoring this man’s threat. Last year, in the Kane case, I did the same. This time I don’t want to and I won’t. Basic policy is my affair, I know that, but I am not going to tell you that in order to earn your pay you must go up there today and look at Mr. Rackham. If you prefer, you may phone and postpone it, and we’ll consider the matter at greater length.”
I had my brows raised at him. “I’ll be damned. Put it on me, huh?”
“Yes. My nerve is gone. If public servants and other respected citizens take orders from this man, why shouldn’t I?”
“You damn faker,” I said indulgently. “You know perfectly well that I would rather eat soap than have you think I would knuckle under to that son of a bitch, and I know that you would rather put horseradish on oysters than have me think you would. I might if you didn’t know about it, and you might if I didn’t know about it, but as it is we’re stuck.”
Wolfe sighed again, deeper. “I take it that you’re going?”
“I am. But under one condition, that the trepidant vigilance begins as of now. That you call Fritz in, and Theodore down from the plant rooms, and tell them what we’re up against, and the chain bolts are to be kept constantly on both doors, and you keep away from windows, and nothing and no one is to be allowed to enter when I’m not here.”
“Good heavens,” he objected sourly, “that’s no way to live.”
“You can’t tell till you try it. In ten years you may like it fine.” I buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone to get Theodore.
Wolfe sat scowling at me.
Chapter 3
When, swinging the car off the Taconic State Parkway to hit Route 100, my dash clock said only 2:40, I decided to make a little detour. It would be only a couple of miles out of my way. So at Pines Bridge I turned right, instead of left across the bridge. It wouldn’t serve my purpose to make for the entrance to the estate where EASTCREST was carved on the great stone pillar, since all I would see there was a driveway curving up through the woods, and I turned off a mile short of that to climb a bumpy road up a hill. At the top the road went straight for a stretch between meadows, and I eased the car off onto the grass, stopped, and took the binoculars and aimed them at the summit of the next hill, somewhat higher than the one I was on, where the roof and upper walls of a stone mansion showed above the trees. Now, in early April, with no leaves yet, and with binoculars, I could see most of the mansion and even something of the surrounding grounds, and a couple of men moving about.
That was Eastcrest, the legal residence of the illegal Arnold Zeck—but of course there are many ways of being illegal. One is to drive through a red light. Another is to break laws by proxy only, for money only, get your cut so it can’t be traced, and never try to buy a man too cheap. That was what Zeck had been doing for more than twenty years—and there was Eastcrest.
All I was after was to take a look, just case it from a hilltop. I had never seen Zeck, and as far as I knew Wolfe hadn’t either. Now that we were headed at him for the third time, and this time it might be for keeps, I thought I should at least see his roof and count his chimneys. That was all. He had been too damn remote and mysterious. Now I knew he had four chimneys, and that the one on the south wing had two loose bricks.
I turned the car around and headed down the hill, and, if you care to believe it, I kept glancing in the mirror to see if something showed up behind. That was how far gone I was on Zeck. It was not healthy for my self-respect, it was bad for my nerves, and I was good and tired of it.
Mrs. Rackham’s place, Birchvale, was only five miles from there, the other side of Mount Kisco, but I made a wrong turn and didn’t arrive until a quarter past three. The entrance to her estate was adequate but not imposing. I went on by, and before I knew it there was a neat little sign on the left:
HILLSIDE KENNELS
Doberman Pinschers
The gate opening was narrow and so was the drive, and I kept going on past the house to a bare rectangle in the rear, not very well graveled, and maneuvered into a corner close to a wooden building. As I climbed out a voice came from somewhere, and then a ferocious wild beast leaped from behind a bush and started for me like a streak of lightning. I froze except for my right arm, which sent my hand to my shoulder holster automatically.
A female voice sounded sharp in command. “Back!”
The beast, ten paces from me, whirled on a dime, trotted swiftly to the woman who had appeared at the edge of the rectangle, whirled again and stood facing me, concentrating with all its might on looking beautiful and dangerous. I could have plugged it with pleasure. I do not like dogs that assume you’re guilty until you prove you’re innocent. I like democratic dogs.
A man had appeared beside the woman. They advanced.
She spoke. “Mr. Goodwin? Mr. Leeds had to go on an errand, but he’ll be back soon. I’m Annabel Frey.” She came to me and offered a hand, and I took it.
This was my first check on an item of information furnished us by Mrs. Rackham, and I gave her an A for accuracy. She had said that her daughter-in-law was very beautiful. Some might have been inclined to argue it, for instance those who don’t like eyes so far apart or those who prefer pink skin to dark, but I’m not so finicky about details. The man stepped up, and she pronounced his name, Hammond, and we shook. He was a stocky middle-aged specimen in a bright blue shirt, a tan jacket, and gray slacks—a hell of a combination. I was wearing a mixed tweed ma
de by Fradick, with an off-white shirt and a maroon tie.
“I’ll sit in my car,” I told them, “to wait for Mr. Leeds. With the livestock around loose like that.”
She laughed. “Duke isn’t loose, he’s with me. He wouldn’t have touched you. He would have stopped three paces off, springing distance, and waited for me. Don’t you like dogs?”
“It depends on the dog. You might as well ask if I like lemon pie. With a dog who thinks of space between him and me only in terms of springing distance, my attitude is strictly one of trepidant vigilance.”
“My Lord.” She blinked long lashes over dark blue eyes. “Do you always talk like that?” The eyes went to Hammond. “Did you get that, Dana?”
“I quite agree with him,” Hammond declared, “as you know. I’m not afraid to say so, either, because it shows the lengths I’ll go to, to be with you. When you opened his kennel and he leaped out I could feel my hair standing up.”
“I know,” Annabel Frey said scornfully. “Duke knows too. I guess I’d better put him in.” She left us, speaking to the dog, who abandoned his pose and trotted to her, and they disappeared around a corner of the building. There was a similarity in the movements of the two, muscular and sure and quick, but sort of nervous and dainty.
“Now we can relax,” I told Hammond.
“I just can’t help it,” he said, irritated. “I’m not strong for dogs anyhow, and with these …” He shrugged. “I’d just as soon go for a walk with a tiger.”
Soon Annabel rejoined us, with a crack about Hammond’s hair. I suggested that if they had something to do I could wait for Leeds without any help, but she said no.
“We only came to see you,” she stated impersonally. “That is, I did, and Mr. Hammond went to the length of coming along. Just to see you, even if you are Archie Goodwin, I wouldn’t cross the street; but
I want to watch you work. So many things fall short of the build-up, I want to see if a famous detective does. I’m skeptical already. You look younger than you should, and you dress too well, and if you really thought that dog might jump you, you should have done something to—where did that come from? Hey!”
Sometimes I fumble a little drawing from my armpit, but that time it had been slick and clean. I had the barrel pointed straight up. Hammond had made a noise and an involuntary backward jerk.
I grinned at her. “Showing off. Okay? Want to try it? Get him and send him out from behind that same bush, with orders to take me, and any amount up to two bits, even, that he won’t reach me.” I returned the gun to the holster. “Ready?”
She blinked. “You mean you would?”
Hammond giggled. He was a full-sized middle-aged man and he looked like a banker, and I want to be fair to him, but he giggled. “Look out, Annabel,” he said warningly. “He might.”
“Of course,” I told her, “you would be in the line of fire, and I’ve never shot a fast-moving dog, so we would both be taking a risk. Only I don’t like you being skeptical. Stick around and you’ll see.”
That was a mistake, caused by my temperament. It is natural and wholesome for a man of my age to enjoy association with a woman of her age, maid, wife, or widow, but I should have had sense enough to stop to realize what I was getting in for. She had said that she had come to watch me work, and there I was asking for it. As a result, I had to spend a solid hour pretending that I was hell bent to find out who had poisoned one of Leeds’ dogs when I didn’t care a hang. Not that I love dog-poisoners, but that wasn’t what was on my mind.
When Calvin Leeds showed up, as he did soon in an old station wagon with its rear taken up with a big wire cage, the four of us made a tour of the kennels and the runs, with Leeds briefing me, and me asking questions and making notes, and then we went in the house and extended the inquiry to aspects such as the poison used, the method employed, the known suspects, and so on. It was a strain. I had to make it good, because that was what I was supposed to be there for, and also because Annabel was too good-looking to let her be skeptical about me. And the dog hadn’t even died! He was alive and well. But I went to it as if it were the biggest case of the year for Nero Wolfe and me, and Leeds got a good fifty bucks’ worth of detection for nothing. Of course nobody got detected, but I asked damn good questions.
After Annabel and Hammond left to return to Birchvale next door, I asked Leeds about Hammond, and sure enough he was a banker. He was a vice-president of the Metropolitan Trust Company, who handled affairs for Mrs. Rackham—had done so ever since the death of her first husband. When I remarked that Hammond seemed to have it in mind to handle Mrs. Rackham’s daughter-in-law also, Leeds said he hadn’t noticed. I asked who else would be there at dinner.
“You and me,” Leeds said. He was sipping a highball, taking his time with it. We were in the little living room of his little house, about which there was nothing remarkable except the dozens of pictures of dogs on the walls. Moving around outside, there had been more spring to him than to lots of guys half his age; now he was sprawled on a couch, all loose. I was reminded of one of the dogs we had come upon during our tour, lying in the sun at the door of its kennel.
“You and me,” he said, “and my cousin and her husband, and Mrs. Frey, whom you have met, and Hammond, and the statesman, that’s seven—”
“Who’s the statesman?”
“Oliver A. Pierce.”
“I’m intimate with lots of statesmen, but I never heard of him.”
“Don’t let him know it.” Leeds chuckled. “It’s true that at thirty-four he has only got as far as state assemblyman, but the war made a gap for him the same as for other young men. Give him a chance. One will be enough.”
“What is he, a friend of the family?”
“No, and that’s one on him.” He chuckled again. “When he was first seen here, last summer, he came as a guest of Mrs. Frey—that is, invited by her—but before long either she had seen enough of him or he had seen enough of her. Meanwhile, however, he had seen Lina Darrow, and he was caught anyhow.”
“Who’s Lina Darrow?”
“My cousin’s secretary—by the way, she’ll be at dinner too, that’ll make eight. I don’t know who invited him—my cousin perhaps—but it’s Miss Darrow that gets him here, a busy statesman.” Leeds snorted. “At his age he might know better.”
“You don’t think much of women, huh?”
“I don’t think of them at all. Much or little.” Leeds finished his drink. “Look at it. Which would you rather live with, those wonderful animals out there, or a woman?”
“A woman,” I said firmly. “I haven’t run across her yet, there are so many, but even if she does turn out to be a dog I hope to God it won’t be one of yours. I want the kind I can let run loose.” I waved a hand. “Forget it. You like ’em, you can have ’em. Mrs. Frey is a member of the household, is she?”
“Yes,” he said shortly.
“Mrs. Rackham keeping her around as a souvenir of her dead son? Being neurotic about it?”
“I don’t know. Ask her.” Leeds straightened up and got to his feet. “You know, of course, that I didn’t approve of her going to Nero Wolfe. I went with her only because she insisted on it. I don’t see how any good can come of it, but I think harm might. I don’t think you ought to be here, but you are, and we might as well go on over and drink their liquor instead of mine. I’ll go and wash up.”
He left me.
Chapter 4
Having been given by Leeds my choice of driving over—three minutes—or taking a trail through the woods, I voted for walking. The edge of the woods was only a hundred yards to the rear of the kennels. It had been a warm day for early April, but now, with the sun gone over the hill, the sharp air made me want to step it up, which was just as well because I had to, to keep up with Leeds. He walked as if he meant it. When I commented on the fact that we ran into no fence anywhere, neither in the woods nor in the clear, he said that his place was merely a little corner of Mrs. Rackham’s property which she had let him
build on some years ago.
The last stretch of our walk was along a curving gravel path that wound through lawns, shrubs, trees, and different-shaped patches of bare earth. Living in the country would be more convenient if they would repeal the law against paths that go straight from one place to another place. The bigger and showier the grounds are, the more the paths have to curve, and the main reason for having lots of bushes and things is to compel the paths to curve in order to get through the mess. Anyhow, Leeds and I finally got to the house, and entered without ringing or knocking, so apparently he was more or less a member of the household too.
All six of them were gathered in a room that was longer and wider than Leeds’ whole house, with twenty rugs to slide on and at least forty different things to sit on, but it didn’t seem as if they had worked up much gaiety, in spite of the full stock of the portable bar, because Leeds and I were greeted as though nothing so nice had happened in years. Leeds introduced me, since I wasn’t supposed to have met Mrs. Rackham, and after I had been supplied with liquid, Annabel Frey gave a lecture on how I worked. Then Oliver A. Fierce, the statesman, wanted me to demonstrate by grilling each of them as suspected dog poisoners. When I tried to beg off they insisted, so I obliged. I was only so-so.
Pierce was a smooth article. His manner was, of course, based on the law of nature regulating the attitude of an elected person toward everybody old enough to vote, but his timing and variations were so good that it was hard to recognize it, although he was only about my age. He was also about my size, with broad shoulders and a homely honest face, and a draw on his smile as swift as a flash bulb. I made a note to look up whether I lived in his assembly district. If he got the breaks the only question about him was how far and how soon.
