Archie Meets Nero Wolfe (13 page)

“A fair question. I remain convinced that the key to the kidnapping of the boy and the murder of Barney Haskell lies at the Williamson estate.”

“What about the chauffeur, Charles Bell?” I asked. “As Del says, his disappearance is suspicious, damned suspicious. Seems to me there’s your man.”

“Possibly,” Wolfe said, leaning back and placing his hands palms down on the desk. “Mr. Bascom and the others will be pursuing that avenue.”

“There’s one other thing, of course,” I said. “Several of these people on the household staff already have met me, and they sure as hell will tell the others who I am. I’ll be seen as a spy in their midst.”

“Not necessarily,” Wolfe responded. “Mr. Williamson will present you to the staff as the young man who has the necessary attributes to protect young Tommie.’

“Sounds a little on the flimsy side,” I said.

Wolfe considered me. “Would I be guilty of patronizing you if I said I believe you can pull it off?” he asked.

“I guess not. But as far as the chauffeur part of the job goes, you should know that I am no expert on automobiles. The closest I ever came to being a mechanic was when I used to change the sparkplugs on my father’s old truck.”

“It is my understanding that Mr. Bell is not an auto mechanic, either,” Wolfe said. “All the work on the Williamson machines is done at a garage in the town near the estate.”

“Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that I take the job. What is it that you expect me to learn? Chances are nobody’s going to open up to me.”

“Not right away,” Wolfe conceded, “but you may be able to integrate yourself into the life of the estate faster than you think. One of your responsibilities will be to drive Tommie to and from school, and assuming that you and he develop a rapport, that friendship likely will find favor with other members of the staff who are devoted to the boy. Bear in mind also that Mr. Bell was not universally admired by his coworkers, so you may be seen as a great improvement.”

“Speaking of Tommie, do you expect me to pump him about the details of his abduction?” I asked.

“Not overtly. But specifics of the ordeal may come out little by little during your trips to and from the school. Have you had any experience talking to small boys?”

“Some. I’ve got two nephews, ages six and ten, back in Ohio, and I’ve always gotten along pretty well with them. They seem to think that I’m funny—as in ha-ha, not peculiar.”

“Perhaps young Master Williamson will find you amusing as well,” Wolfe said. “While you are piloting the Williamson automobiles and getting to know the staff, an effort will be made at this end to locate Mr. Bell, who apparently took all his clothing and personal effects when he made his hurried departure.”

“Am I expected to live in the chauffeur’s quarters on the estate?”

“Yes, to help establish the illusion of semi-permanence for you in this role.”

“Swell. Being in an apartment tucked away above a garage on Long Island is a far cry from the bright lights and excitement of Manhattan,” I complained.

“Excitement comes in many guises,” Wolfe said. “And who knows, you just may develop an affinity for the country life.”

“Not likely. I had enough of the country growing up in southern Ohio to last a lifetime.”

T
he next morning, Saul Panzer drove me out to the Williamson mansion in Wolfe’s Heron. “As I said before, you’ve got yourself an interesting task here, Archie,” he remarked as we entered the grounds in a blowing rainstorm and wheeled around the big house to the rear.

“I’m not sure how you define ‘interesting,’ but I hope it doesn’t equal ‘boring,’” I said. “I’d rather be with you guys hunting for Charles Bell. For my money, he’s the key to this whole business.”

“Maybe, although Mr. Wolfe seems to feel it’s important to have you out here, which makes me think that at least part of the puzzle lies with one or more of the Williamson staff—other than Mr. Bell.”

“I will keep an eagle eye on all of ’em. Who knows, I may become smitten with one of the female members of this crew and we run away together to build a new life on an island in the South Seas.”

“Have you been reading those dime detective magazines of yours again?” Panzer asked.

“No, it’s just the romantic in me, bursting to find expression.”

“Geez, I hope it isn’t catching. Me, all I want out of life is my quiet little flat on East Thirty-Eighth Street with its piano, shelves of good books, Cuban cigars, champagne chilling in the icebox, and the occasional poker game to keep my mind sharp and my wallet full of Lincolns and Hamiltons and, if I’m especially lucky, Jacksons.”

“Seems like little enough to ask,” I said.

“Precisely my sentiments, Archie. Oh, I almost forgot—you will need this in your new role,” he said, handing me a card that turned out to be a New York State chauffeur’s license.

“Where did this come from? Don’t I need to take some sort of test? And who got my address?”

“Isn’t the address correct?” Panzer asked.

“Yeah, but ...

“Archie, don’t ask questions. You have just seen the power of Burke Williamson in action. He took care of everything.”

“Sure seems like it,” I replied, sliding the license into my billfold.

“Well, good luck with your assignment,” Panzer said as I hauled my suitcase out of the backseat and headed for the house. “Have fun in the world of the very rich.”

A few minutes later, I sat with Burke Williamson in his study. “I will introduce you to the staff just before lunch,” he said. “Of course, you already have met several of them, and almost everyone will no doubt be somewhat suspicious of you. I will explain that you are here in the combination role of chauffeur and bodyguard for my son, and that your work as a private detective has trained you well for the latter role.”

“How are members of your household reacting to Mr. Bell’s disappearance?”

“I think it is fair to say they all are shocked in various degrees. Coming so quickly after Tommie’s kidnapping, this has further unnerved everyone here, as you can imagine.”

“Do you have any explanation for his disappearance?”

“As I told Mr. Wolfe, Charles believed that others on the staff—he would not say who—felt he had something to do with what happened to Tommie. I told him that was total rot, but he was not consoled by my support. He apparently left Monday afternoon after driving Tommie back here from school. He took everything of his and left a brief note saying he would inform us of his new address, where we could forward any mail he received here.”

“How did he leave?”

“He had an auto of his own, a Plymouth coupe, which he kept in the garage here. We have room for five machines, and I have three of them myself, so there was plenty of space.”

Williamson leaned back at his desk. “Young Mr. Goodwin, I must be honest with you. Having you come here was not my idea, it was Nero Wolfe’s. He insists—and I continue to strongly disagree—that someone in my employ helped engineer the kidnapping. I yielded to him for two reasons: first, I am in his incalculable debt for bringing my son back; second, I was impressed with how you handled yourself under pressure in the Bronx both nights. You appear to be mature well beyond your years. If Wolfe had suggested anyone other than you for this role, I very well might have said no.”

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir.”

“Do not be too quick to thank me. I remain concerned about your presence here, which has the potential to cause further unrest among an already unnerved staff. Doubtless, they—or at least some of them—are going to view you as a Caleb in their midst.”

“A Caleb?”

“A biblical reference. He was a spy in the Old Testament.”

“Guess I must have stayed home from Sunday school that day. Mr. Williamson, I will go out of my way to avoid seeming like a detective.”

“I appreciate that. Now let’s go over to the garage. I will show you the vehicles you’ll be driving and also your living quarters. You look to be about Charles Bell’s build, so his uniforms should fit you. If not, you can wear a business suit until we get them altered.”

As it turned out, Bell’s uniforms were a near-perfect fit, although looking in a mirror in what was about to become my new home, I felt more than a little foolish in a black monkey suit and black beaked cap. I would have been right at home driving a hearse for a mortuary.

“That will do just fine,” Williamson said, nodding his approval. “Now we will go down to the kitchen and I’ll introduce you. They should be gathering for lunch.”

As we entered the kitchen, conversations stopped in midsentence and all eyes bore in on me. “Excuse my barging in,” Williamson said, “but I would like you to meet Mr. Archie Goodwin, who will be taking over the chauffeur’s duties for the time being and also serving as Tommie’s bodyguard. I believe one or more of you may have met him when he was here earlier this week with the other detectives.”

Williamson then proceeded to introduce each member of the staff. Mostly, I just got expressionless nods from them, although the portly cook, Mrs. Price, stepped forward, grinning. “You’ve picked a good day to start, lad,” she said. “Given it is so blustery and rainy outside, I have decided to prepare my lamb stew for lunch. Everybody here loves it.”

“I’m sure I will, too. It has always been a favorite of mine,” I said, causing her grin to widen and her face to flush.

We went to a long, sturdy wooden table at one end of the large basement kitchen. I waited until the others were seated, figuring they each had their reserved spot. I then parked myself in the last open chair, which put me between the housekeeper, Emily Stratton, and the gardener, Lloyd Carstens, and directly across from Sylvia Moore, the only member of the staff I had previously met. She nodded to me, showing the hint of a smile. I gave her a full-fledged grin in return, then turned to Carstens, as the housekeeper already was talking with the butler, Waverly, on her right.

“The grounds here are really beautiful,” I told Carstens. “They seem more like a park than a yard.”

He nodded, poker-faced. “Bigger’n any so-called yard you’d be likely to find. Eight acres in all, which takes a powerful lot of tending to.”

“I’m sure it does. Do you enjoy your work?”

Another nod. “Yep, and we got us a mite longer growing season than up Maine way, where I hail from.”

Just then, Emily Stratton made a noise in her throat to get my attention and passed me a steaming platter of lamb stew. I thanked her and received a thin-lipped nod for my trouble. She didn’t seem like one who smiled much.

It was becoming clear that there would be very little animated chatting, at least in my immediate area. In fact, there wasn’t much talk at all during that lunch. Whether or not it had to do with my presence, I couldn’t say, but I was somewhat disappointed, because I had expected to be questioned on my knowledge of automobiles and was ready with all kinds of answers.

One thing that did not disappoint me, however, was Mrs. Price’s lamb stew, of which I had two helpings. During the meal, I made a couple of halfhearted attempts at conversation with both Carstens and Miss Stratton, both of which died for lack of participation on their behalf.

After lunch, I reported to Williamson’s study, as he had requested. He would ride with me to pick up Tommie from school, as I did not know the way. “How did lunch go?” he asked.

“All in all, they seem like a pretty quiet bunch.”

“I couldn’t say, as I have never intruded on the staff’s meals,” he said, “but perhaps they are simply getting used to your presence. However, I warned you they would be suspicious of you.”

“That may well be, and I’ll try my best to allay that suspicion,” I told him as we went to the garage and climbed into the Pierce-Arrow, with me behind the wheel. “When you get out to the road, take a left,” Williamson said. The auto handled beautifully, nothing like my father’s rickety old truck.

“I have told Tommie that he would be getting a new driver this afternoon,” his father said.

“How did he take the news?”

“Oh, he seemed fine with it. He’s a pretty stoic boy on the whole, and I don’t think he ever felt strongly one way or the other about Charles Bell.”

“More important, how has he been since ... well, since he’s been back?”

“Surprisingly good. His mother and I were terribly worried about the emotional damage that might have been done, but so far we’ve seen no signs whatever of any, shall we say ... scarring?”

“Has he talked much about what happened?”

“A little. He was blindfolded and bundled into that food purveyor’s truck—that phony food purveyor, I should say—and got taken someplace in New York City, he couldn’t tell for sure, probably the Bronx, given that’s where we were told to go with the money both nights. It was an upstairs flat, he said, second or third floor. He was carried up, so he couldn’t be sure. And all the window shades in the place were pulled down, so he was never able to see out.”

“What about the kidnappers?”

“There were two men,” Williamson said as he gave me directions to turn right onto a street that ran along some railroad tracks. “They both wore dark glasses the whole time that Tommie was without a blindfold. And to answer your next question, neither of them resembled anyone in my employ—and that includes the man you are replacing.”

“Was Tommie treated well?” I asked.

“Absolutely. He was well fed and never harmed in any way. He was given fresh pajamas, and his clothes were laundered. Turn left here, it’s just another block.”

The MeadesGate Academy stood well back from the road, a respectable-looking two-story brick building with white shutters and a slate roof. Williamson directed me along a curving, finely graveled lane that wrapped around the structure to a parking lot in the back, where several other automobiles idled, all apparently waiting for students. Two of the vehicles, I noted, were Rolls-Royces, another an exotic-looking vehicle that I guessed had been made on the European continent. Among the other machines, I also spotted a Duesenberg, a Cadillac, two Packards, a Lincoln, and a Graham Paige phaeton.

“You could hold a chauffeurs’ convention here every afternoon,” I observed.