by Rex Stout
Nuts, I thought, and cut the cord with my knife and slashed the paper. Inside was a fiber carton with the flaps taped down. I got cautious again and severed the flaps from the sides by cutting all the way around, and lifted one corner for a peek. All I saw was newspaper. I inserted the knife point and tore a piece of it off, and what I saw then made me raise my brows. Removing the flaps and the newspaper, and seeing more of the same, I got the carton up under my arm, marched into the office with it, and asked Wolfe, “Do you mind if I unpack this on your desk? I don’t want to make a mess in the hall?”
Ignoring his protest, I put the package down on his desk and started taking out stacks of twenty-dollar bills. They were used bills, not a new one among them as well as I could tell from the edges, and they were banded in bundles of fifty, which meant a thousand bucks to a bundle.
“What the devil is this?” Wolfe demanded.
“Money,” I told him. “Don’t touch it, it may be a trap. It may be covered with germs.” I was arranging the bundles ten to a pile, and there were five piles. “That’s a coincidence,” I remarked. “Of course we’ll have to check the bundles, but if they’re labeled right it’s exactly fifty grand. That’s interesting.”
“Archie.” Wolfe was glowering. “What fatuous flummery is this? I told you to deposit that check, not cash it.” He pointed. “Wrap that up and take it to the bank.”
“Yes, sir. But before I do—” I went to the safe and got the bank book, opened it to the current page, and displayed it to him. “As you see, the check was deposited. This isn’t flummery, it’s merely a coincidence. You heard the doorbell and saw me go to answer it. A boy handed me this package and gave me a receipt to sign—General Messenger Service, Twenty-eight West Forty-seventh Street. I thought it might be a clock bomb and opened it in the hall, away from you. There is nothing on the package or in it to show who sent it. The only clue is the newspaper the carton was lined with—from the second edition of the New York Times. Who do we know that reads the Times and has fifty thousand bucks for a practical joke?” I gestured. “Answer that and we’ve got him.”
Wolfe was still glowering, but at the pile of dough, not at me. He reached for one of the bundles, flipped through it, and put it back. “Put it in the safe. The package too.”
“Shouldn’t we count it first? What if one of the bundles is short a twenty?”
There was no reply. He was leaning back in his chair, pushing his lips out and in, and out and in again. I followed instructions, first returning the stuff to the carton to save space, and then went to the hall for the wrapping paper and cord and put them in the safe also.
I sat at my desk, waited until Wolfe’s lips were quiet again, and asked coldly, “How about a raise? I could use twenty bucks a week more. So far this case has brought us one hundred and five thousand, three hundred and twelve dollars. Deduct expenses and the damage—”
“Where did the three hundred and twelve come from?”
“From Rony’s wallet. Saul’s holding it. I told you.”
“You know, of course, who sent that package.”
“Not exactly. D, C, B, or A, but which? It wouldn’t come straight from X, would it?”
“Straight? No.” Wolfe shook his head. “I like money, but I don’t like that. I only wish you could answer a question.”
“I’ve answered millions. Try me.”
“I’ve already tried you on this one. Who drugged that drink Saturday evening—the one intended for Mr. Rony which you drank?”
“Yeah. That’s the question. I myself asked it all day yesterday, off and on, and again this morning, and I don’t know.”
Wolfe sighed. “That, of course, is what constrains us. That’s what forces us to assume that it was not an accident, but murder. But for that I might be able to persuade myself to call it closed, in spite of my deception of Mr. Archer.” He sighed again. “As it is, we must either validate the assumption or refute it, and heaven knows how I’m going to manage it. The telephone upstairs has been restored. I wanted to test it, and thought I might as well do so with a call to Mr. Lowenfeld of the police laboratory. He was obliging but didn’t help much. He said that if a car is going slightly downhill at twenty-five miles an hour, and its left front hits a man who is standing erect, and its wheels pass over him, it is probable that the impact will leave dents or other visible marks on the front of the car, but not certain. I told him that the problem was to determine whether the man was upright or recumbent when the car hit him, and he said the absence of marks on the front of the car would be suggestive but not conclusive. He also asked why I was still interested in Louis Rony’s death. If policemen were women they couldn’t be more gossipy. By evening the story will be around that I’m about ready to expose that reptile Paul Emerson as a murderer. I only wish it were true.” Wolfe glanced up at the clock. “By the way, I also phoned Doctor Vollmer, and he should be here soon.”
So I was wrong in supposing that nothing had been done toward making good on his promise. “Your trip to the country did you good,” I declared. “You’re full of energy. Did you notice that the Gazette printed Kane’s statement in full?”
“Yes. And I noticed a defect that escaped me when Mr. Sperling read it. His taking my car, the car of a fellow guest whom he had barely met, was handled too casually. Reading it, it’s a false note. I told Mr. Sperling it was well drafted, but that part wasn’t. A better explanation could have been devised and put in a brief sentence. I could have—”
The phone ringing stopped him. I reached for my instrument and told the transmitter, “Nero Wolfe’s office.”
“May I speak to Mr. Wolfe, please?”
There was a faint tingle toward the bottom of my spine. The voice hadn’t changed a particle in thirteen months.
“Your name, please?” I asked, hoping my voice was the same too.
“Tell him a personal matter.”
I covered the transmitter with a palm and told Wolfe, “X.”
He frowned. “What?”
“You heard me. X.”
He reached for his phone. Getting no sign to do otherwise, I stayed on.
“Nero Wolfe speaking.”
“How do you do, Mr. Wolfe. Goodwin told you who I am? Or my voice does?”
“I know the voice.”
“Yes, it’s easily recognized, isn’t it? You ignored the advice I gave you Saturday. You also ignored the demonstration you received Sunday night. May I say that that didn’t surprise me?”
“You may say anything.”
“It didn’t. I hope there will never be occasion for a more pointed demonstration. It’s a more interesting world with you in it. Have you opened the package you received a little while ago?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need to explain why I decided to reimburse you for the damage to your property. Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, come. Surely not. Not you. If the amount you received exceeds the damage, no matter. I intended that it should. The District Attorney has decided that Rony’s death is fully and satisfactorily explained by Kane’s statement, and no charge will be made. You have already indicated that you do not concur in that decision by your inquiry to the New York police laboratory, and anyway of course you wouldn’t. Not you. Rony was an able young man with a future, and he deserves to have his death investigated by the best brain in New York. Yours. I don’t live in New York, as you know. Good-by and good luck.”
The connection went. Wolfe cradled his receiver. I did likewise.
“Jesus,” I said softly. I whistled. “Now there’s a client for you. Money by messenger, snappy phone calls, hopes he’ll never have to demonstrate by croaking you, keep the change, best brain in New York, go to it, click. As I think I said once before, he’s an abrupt bastard.”
Wolfe was sitting with his eyes closed to slits. I asked him, “How do I enter it? Under X, or Z for Zeck?”
“Archie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I told you on
ce to forget that you know that man’s name, and I meant it. The reason is simply that I don’t want to hear his name because he is the only man on earth that I’m afraid of. I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me; I’m afraid of what he may someday force me to do to keep him from hurting me. You heard what I told Mr. Sperling.”
“Okay. But I’m the bookkeeper. What do I put it under, X?”
“Don’t put it. First, go through it. As you do so you might as well count it, but the point is to see if there is anything there besides money. Leave ten thousand dollars in the safe. I’ll need it soon, tomorrow probably, for something that can’t appear in our records. For your information only, it will be for Mr. Jones. Take the remainder to a suburban bank, say somewhere in New Jersey, and put it in a safe deposit box which you will rent under an assumed name. If you need a reference, Mr. Parker will do. After what happened Saturday night—we’ll be prepared for contingencies. If we ever meet him head on and have to cut off from here and from everyone we know, we’ll need supplies. I hope I never touch it. I hope it’s still there when I die, and if so it’s yours.”
“Thank you very much. I’ll be around eighty then and I’ll need it.”
“You’re welcome. Now for this afternoon. First, what about the pictures you took up there?”
“Six o’clock. That was the best they could do.”
“And the keys?”
“You said after lunch. They’ll be ready at one-thirty.”
“Good. Saul will be here at two?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have Fred and Orrie here this evening after dinner. I don’t think you’ll need them this afternoon; you and Saul can manage. This is what we want. There must—”
But that was postponed by the arrival of Doc Vollmer. Doc’s home and office were on our street, toward Tenth Avenue, and over the years we had used his services for everything from stitching up Dora Chapin’s head to signing a certificate that Wolfe was batty. When he called he always went to one of the smaller yellow chairs because of his short legs, sat, took off his spectacles and looked at them, put them on again, and asked, “Want some pills?”
Today he added, “I’m afraid I’m in a hurry.”
“You always are,” Wolfe said, in the tone he uses only to the few people he really likes. “Have you read about the Rony case?”
“Of course. Since you’re involved in it—or were.”
“I still am. The body is at the morgue in White Plains. Will you go there? You’ll have to go to the District Attorney’s office first to get yourself accredited. Tell them I sent you, and that I have been engaged by one of Mr. Rony’s associates. If they want more than that they can phone me, and I’ll try to satisfy them. You want to examine the body—not an autopsy, merely superficially, to determine whether he died instantly or was left to suffer a prolonged agony. What I really want you to inspect is his head, to see if there is any indication that he was knocked out by a blow before the car ran over him. I know the chance of finding anything conclusive is remote, but I wish you’d try, and there’ll be no grumbling about your charge for the trip.”
Vollmer blinked. “It would have to be done this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you any idea what weapon might have been used?”
“No, sir.”
“According to the papers he had no family, no relatives at all. Perhaps I should know whom I’m representing—one of his professional associates?”
“I’ll answer that if they ask it. You’re representing me.”
“I see. Anything to be mysterious.” Vollmer stood up. “If one of my patients dies while I’m gone—” He left it hanging and trotted out, making me move fast to get to the front door in time to open it for him. His habit of leaving like that, as soon as he had all he really needed, was one of the reasons Wolfe liked him.
I returned to the office.
Wolfe leaned back. “We have only ten minutes until lunch. Now this afternoon, for you and Saul …”
Chapter 15
The locksmith soaked me $8.80 for eleven keys. That was about double the market, but I didn’t bother to squawk because I knew why: he was still collecting for a kind of a lie he had told a homicide dick six years ago at my suggestion. I think he figured that he and I were fellow crooks and therefore should divvy.
Even with keys it might have taken a little maneuvering if Louis Rony had lived in an apartment house with a doorman and elevator man, but as it was there was nothing to it. The address on East Thirty-seventh Street was an old five-story building that had been done over in good style, and in the downstairs vestibule was a row of mailboxes, push buttons, and perforated circles for reception on the speaking tube. Rony’s name was at the right end, which meant the top floor. The first key I tried was the right one, and Saul and I entered, went to the self-service elevator, and pushed the button marked 5. It was the best kind of setup for an able young man with a future like Rony, who had probably had visitors of all kinds at all hours.
Upstairs it was the second key I tried that worked. Feeling that I was the host, in a way, I held the door open for Saul to precede me and then followed him in. We were at the center of a hall, not wide and not very long. Turning right, toward the street front, we stepped into a fairly large room with modern furniture that matched, bright-colored rugs that had been cleaned not long ago, splashy colored pictures on the walls, a good supply of books, and a fireplace.
“Pretty nice,” Saul remarked, sending his eyes around. One difference between Saul and me is that I sometimes have to look twice at a thing to be sure I’ll never lose it, but once will always do for him.
“Yeah,” I agreed, putting my briefcase on a chair. “I understand the tenant has given it up, so maybe you could rent it.” I got the rubber gloves from the briefcase and handed him a pair. He started putting them on.
“It’s too bad,” he said, “you didn’t keep that membership card Sunday night when you had your hands on it. It would have saved trouble. That’s what we want, is it?”
“It’s our favorite,” I began on the second glove. “We would buy anything that looks interesting, but we’d love a souvenir of the American Communist party. The best bet is a safe of some kind, but we won’t hop around.” I motioned to the left. “You take that side.”
It’s a pleasure to work with Saul because I can concentrate completely on my part and pay no attention to him. We both like a searching job, when it’s not the kind where you have to turn couches upside down or use a magnifying glass, because when you’re through you’ve got a plain final answer, yes or no. For that room, on which we spent a good hour, it was no. Not only was there no membership certificate, there was nothing at all that was worth taking home to Wolfe. The only thing resembling a safe was a locked bond box, which one of the keys fitted, in a drawer of the desk, and all that it contained was a bottle of fine liqueur Scotch, McCrae’s, half full. Apparently that was the one item he didn’t care to share with the cleaning woman. We left the most tedious part, flipping through the books, to the last, and did it together. There was nothing in any of them but pages.
“This bird trusted nobody,” Saul complained.
In our next objective, the bedroom, which was about half the size of the front room, Saul darted a glance around and said, “Thank God, no books.”
I agreed heartily. “We ought to always bring a boy along for it. Flipping through books is a hell of a way to earn a living for grownups.”
The bedroom didn’t take as long, but it produced as little. The further we went the more convinced I got that Rony had either never had a secret of any kind, or had had so many dangerous ones that no cut and dried precautions would do, and in view of what had happened to the plant rooms the choice was easy. By the time we finished with the kitchenette, which was about the size of Wolfe’s elevator, and the bathroom, which was much larger and spick-and-span, the bottle of Scotch locked in the bond box, hidden from the cleaning woman, struck me as pathetic—the one secret i
nnocent enough to let into his home.
Thinking that that notion showed how broad-minded I was, having that kind of a feeling even for a grade A bastard like Rony, I thought I should tell Saul about it. The gloves were back in the briefcase and the briefcase under my arm, and we were in the hall, headed for the door, ready to leave. I never got the notion fully explained to Saul on account of an interruption. I was just reaching for the doorknob, using my handkerchief, when the sound of the elevator came, stopping at that floor, and then its door opening. There was no question as to which apartment someone was headed for because there was only one to a floor. There were steps outside, and the sound of a key being inserted in the lock, but by the time it was turned and the door opened Saul and I were in the bathroom, with its door closed to leave no crack, but unlatched.
A voice said, not too loud, “Anybody here?” It was Jimmy Sperling.
Another voice said, lower but with no sign of a tremble in it, “Are you sure this is it?” It was Jimmy’s mother.
“Of course it is,” Jimmy said rudely. It was the rudeness of a guy scared absolutely stiff. “It’s the fifth floor. Come on, we can’t just stand here.”
Steps went to the front, to the living room. I whispered to Saul to tell him who they were, and added, “If they came after something they’re welcome to anything they find.”
I opened the door to a half-inch crack, and we stood and listened. They were talking and, judging from other sounds, they weren’t anything like as methodical and efficient as Saul and I had been. One of them dropped a drawer on the floor, and a little later something else hit that sounded more like a picture. Still later it must have been a book, and that was too much for me. If Saul and I hadn’t been so thorough it might have been worth while to wait it out, on the chance that they might find what they were after and we could ask them to show us before they left; but to stand there and let them waste their time going through those books when we had just flipped every one of them—it was too damn silly. So I opened the bathroom door, walked down the hall into the living room, and greeted them.
