Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 27 (6 page)

Wolfe shook his head. “I don’t like conversing on my feet. If you want to say something without a witness, Miss Weltz and Mr. Goodwin can leave us. Archie?”

I stood up. Helen Weltz looked up at Unger, and at me, and then slowly lifted herself from her chair.
“Let’s go and pick flowers,” I suggested. “Mr. Unger will want me in sight and out of hearing.”

She moved. We picked our way through the windfalls of the apple tree, and of two more trees, and went on into a meadow where the grass and other stuff was up to our knees. She was in the lead. “Goldenrod I know,” I told her back, “but what are the blue ones?”

No answer. In another hundred yards I tried again. “This is far enough unless he uses a megaphone.”

She kept going. “Last call!” I told her. “I admit he would be a maniac to jump Mr. Wolfe under the circumstances, but maybe he is one. I learned long ago that with people involved in a murder case nothing is impossible.”

She wheeled on me. “He’s not involved in a murder case!”

“He will be before Mr. Wolfe gets through with him.”

She plumped down in the grass, crossed her legs, buried her face in her hands, and started to shake. I stood and looked down at her, expecting the appropriate sound effect, but it didn’t come. She just went on shaking, which wasn’t wholesome. After half a minute of it I squatted in front of her, made contact by taking a firm grip on her bare ankle, and spoke with authority.

“That’s no way to do it. Open a valve and let it out. Stretch out and kick and scream. If Unger thinks it’s me and flies to the rescue that will give me an excuse to plug him.”

She mumbled something. Her hands muffled it, but it sounded like “God help me.” The shakes turned into shivers and were tapering off. When she spoke again it came through much better. “You’re hurting me,” she said, and I loosened my grip on her ankle and in a
moment took my hand away, when her hands dropped and she lifted her head.

Her face was flushed, but her eyes were dry. “My God,” she said, “it would be wonderful if you put your arms around me tight and told me, ‘All right, my darling, I’ll take care of everything, just leave it to me.’ Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“I may try it,” I offered, “if you’ll brief me on what I’d have to take care of. The arms around you tight are no problem. Then what?”

She skipped over it. “God,” she said bitterly, “am I a fool! You saw my car. My Jaguar.”

“Yeah, I saw it. Very fine.”

“I’m going to burn it. How do you set fire to a car?”

“Pour gasoline on it, all over inside, toss a match in, and jump back fast. Be careful what you tell the insurance company or you’ll end up in the can.”

She skipped again. “It wasn’t only the car, it was other things too. I had to have them. Why didn’t I get me a man? I could have had a dozen, but no, not me. I was going to do it all myself. It was going to be
my
Jaguar. And now here I am, and you, a man I never saw before—it would be heaven if you’d just take me over. I’m telling you, you’d be getting a bargain!”

“I might, at that.” I was sympathetic but not mealy. “Don’t be too sure you’re a bad buy. What are the liabilities?”

She twisted her neck to look across the meadow toward the house. Wolfe and Unger were in their chairs under the apple tree, evidently keeping their voices down, since no sound came, and my ears are good.

She turned back to me. “Is it a bluff? Is he just trying to scare something out of us?”

“No, not just. If he scares something out, fine. If
not, he’ll get it the hard way. If there’s anything to get he’ll get it. If you’re sitting on a lid you don’t want opened, my advice is to move, the sooner the better, or you may get hurt.”

“I’m already hurt!”

“Then hurt worse.”

“I guess I can be.” She reached for one of the blue flowers and pulled it off with no stem. “You asked what these are. They’re wild asters, just the color of my eyes.” She crushed it with her fingers and dropped it. “I already know what I’m going to do. I decided walking over here with you. What time is it?”

I looked at my wrist. “Quarter past three.”

“Let’s see, four hours—five. Where can I see Nero Wolfe around nine o’clock in town?”

From long habit I started to say at his office, but remembered it was out of bounds. “His address and number are in the phone book,” I told her, “but he may not be there this evening. Phone and ask for Fritz. Tell him you are the Queen of Hearts, and he’ll tell you where Mr. Wolfe is. If you don’t say you’re the Queen of Hearts he won’t tell you anything because Mr. Wolfe hates to be disturbed when he’s out. But why not save time and trouble? Evidently you’ve decided to tell him something, and there he is. Come on and tell him now.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I don’t dare.”

“On account of Unger?”

“Yes.”

“If he can ask to speak privately with Mr. Wolfe, why can’t you?”

“I tell you I don’t dare!”

“We’ll go and come back as soon as Unger leaves.”

“He’s not going to leave. He’s going to ride to town with me.”

“Then record it on tape and use me for tape. You
can trust my memory. I guarantee to repeat it to Mr. Wolfe word for word. Then when you phone this evening he will have had time—”

“Helen!
Helen!
” Unger was calling her.

She started to scramble up, and I got upright and gave her a hand. As we headed across the meadow she spoke, barely above a whisper. “If you tell him I’ll deny it. Are you going to tell him?”

“Wolfe, yes. Unger, no.”

“If you do I’ll deny it.”

“Then I won’t.”

As we approached they left their chairs. Their expressions indicated that they had not signed a mutual nonaggression pact, but there were no scars of battle. Wolfe said, “We’re through here, Archie,” and was going. Nobody else said anything, which made it rather stiff. Following Wolfe around the house to the open space, I saw that it would take a lot of maneuvering to turn around without scraping the Jaguar, so I had to back out through the bushes to the dirt road, where I swung the rear around to head the way we had come.

When we had gone half a mile I called back to my rearseat passenger, “I have a little item for you!”

“Stop somewhere,” he ordered, louder than necessary. “I can’t talk like this.”

A little farther on there was roadside room under a tree, and I pulled over and parked.

I twisted around in the seat to face him. “We got a nibble,” I said, and reported on Helen Weltz. He started frowning, and when I finished he was frowning more.

“Confound it,” he growled, “she was in a panic, and it’ll wear off.”

“It may,” I conceded. “And so? I’ll go back and do it over if you’ll write me a script.”

“Pfui. I don’t say I could better it. You are a connoisseur of comely young women. Is she a murderess in a funk trying to wriggle out? Or what is she?”

I shook my head. “I pass. She’s trying to wriggle all right, but for out of what I would need six guesses. What did Unger want privately? Is he trying to wriggle too?”

“Yes. He offered me money—five thousand dollars, and then ten thousand.”

“For what?”

“Not clearly defined. A retaining fee for investigative services. He was crude about it for a man with brains.”

“I’ll be damned.” I grinned at him. “I’ve often thought you ought to get around more. Only five hours ago you marched out of that courtroom in the interest of justice, and already you’ve scared up an offer of ten grand. Of course it may have nothing to do with the murder. What did you tell him?”

“That I resented and scorned his attempt to suborn me.”

My brows went up. “He was in a panic, and it’ll wear off. Why not string him along?”

“It would take time, and I haven’t any. I told him I intend to appear in court tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” I stared. “With what, for God’s sake?”

“At the least, with a diversion. If Miss Weltz’s panic endures, possibly with something better, though I didn’t know that when I was talking with Mr. Unger.”

I looked it over. “Uh-huh,” I said finally. “You’ve had a hard day, and soon it will be dark and dinnertime, and then bedtime, and deciding to go back to
court tomorrow makes it possible for you to go home. Okay, I’ll get you there by five o’clock.”

I turned and reached for the ignition key, but had barely touched it when his voice stopped me. “We’re not going home. Mr. Cramer will have a man posted there all night, probably with a warrant, and I’m not going to risk it. I had thought of a hotel, but that might be risky too, and now that Miss Weltz may want to see me it’s out of the question. Isn’t Saul’s apartment conveniently located?”

“Yes, but he has only one bed. Lily Rowan has plenty of room in her penthouse, and we’d be welcome, especially you. You remember the time she squirted perfume on you.”

“I do,” he said coldly. “We’ll manage somehow at Saul’s. Besides, we have errands to do and may need him. We must of course phone him first. Go ahead. To the city.”

He gripped the strap. I started the engine.

For more years than I have fingers Inspector Cramer of Homicide had been dreaming of locking Wolfe up, at least overnight, and that day he darned near made it. He probably would have if I hadn’t spent an extra dime. Having phoned Saul Panzer, and also Fritz, from a booth in a drugstore in Washington Heights, I called the
Gazette
office and got Lon Cohen. When he heard my voice he said, “Well, well. Are you calling from your cell?”

“No. If I told you where I am you’d be an accomplice. Has our absence been noticed?”

“Certainly, the town’s in an uproar. A raging mob
has torn the courthouse down. We’re running a fairly good picture of Wolfe, but we need a new one of you. Could you drop in at the studio, say in five minutes?”

“Sure, glad to. But I’m calling to settle a bet. Is there a warrant for us?”

“You’re damn right there is. Judge Corbett signed it first thing after lunch. Look, Archie, let me send a man—”

I told him much obliged and hung up. If I hadn’t spent that dime and learned there was a warrant, we wouldn’t have taken any special precaution as we approached Saul’s address on East Thirty-eighth Street and would have run smack into Sergeant Purley Stebbins, and the question of where to spend the night would have been taken off our hands.

It was nearly eight o’clock. Wolfe and I had each disposed of three orders of chili con carne at a little dump on 170th Street where a guy named Dixie knows how to make it, and I had made at least a dozen phone calls trying to get hold of Jimmy Donovan, Leonard Ashe’s attorney. That might not have been difficult if I could have left word that Nero Wolfe had something urgent for him, and given a number for him to call, but that wouldn’t have been practical, since an attorney is a sworn officer of the law, and he knew there was a warrant out for Wolfe, not to mention me. So I hadn’t got him, and as we crawled with the traffic through East Thirty-eighth Street the sight of Wolfe’s scowl in the rear-view mirror didn’t make the scene any gayer.

My program was to let him out at Saul’s address between Lexington and Third, find a place to park the car, and join him at Saul’s. But just as I swung over and was braking I saw a familiar broad-shouldered figure on the sidewalk, switched from the brake to the gas pedal, and kept going. Luckily a gap had opened,
and the light was green at Third Avenue, so I rolled on through, found a place to stop without blocking traffic, and turned in the seat to tell Wolfe, “I came on by because I decided we don’t want to see Saul.”

“You did.” He was grim. “What flummery is this?”

“No flummery. Sergeant Purley Stebbins was just turning in at the entrance. Thank God it’s dark or he would have seen us. Now where?”

“At the entrance of Saul’s address?”

“Yes.”

A short silence. “You’re enjoying this,” he said bitterly.

“I am like hell. I’m a fugitive from justice, and I was going to spend the evening at the Polo Grounds watching a ball game. Where now?”

“Confound it. You told Saul about Miss Weltz.”

“Yes, sir. I told Fritz that if the Queen of Hearts phones she is to call Saul’s number, and I told Saul that you’d rather have an hour alone with her than a blue orchid. You know Saul.”

Another silence. He broke it. “You have Mr. Donovan’s home address.”

“Right. East Seventy-seventh Street.”

“How long will it take to drive there?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Go ahead.”

“Yes, sir. Sit back and relax.” I fed gas.

It took only nine minutes at that time of evening, and I found space to park right in the block, between Madison and Park. As we walked to the number a cop gave us a second glance, but Wolfe’s size and carriage rated that much notice without any special stimulation. It was just my nerves. There were a canopy and a doorman, and rugs in the lobby. I told the doorman casually, “Donovan. We’re expected,” but he hung on.

“Yes, sir, but I have orders—Your name, please?”

“Judge Wolfe,” Wolfe told him.

“One moment, please.”

He disappeared through a door. It was more like five moments before he came back, looking questions but not asking them, and directed us to the elevator. Twelve B, he said.

Getting off at the twelfth floor, we didn’t have to look for B because a door at the end of the foyer was standing open, and on the sill was Jimmy Donovan himself. In his shirt sleeves, with no necktie, he looked more like a janitor than a champion of the bar, and he sounded more like one when he blurted, “It’s you, huh? What kind of a trick is this?
Judge
Wolfe!”

“No trick.” Wolfe was courteous but curt. “I merely evaded vulgar curiosity. I had to see you.”

“You can’t see me. It’s highly improper. You’re a witness for the prosecution. Also a warrant has been issued for you, and I’ll have to report this.”

He was absolutely right. The only thing for him to do was shut the door on us and go to his phone and call the DA’s office. My one guess why he didn’t, which was all I needed, was that he would have given his shirt, and thrown in a necktie, to know what Wolfe was up to. He didn’t shut the door.

“I’m not here,” Wolfe said, “as a witness for the prosecution. I don’t intend to discuss my testimony with you. As you know, your client, Leonard Ashe, came to me one day in July and wanted to hire me, and I refused. I have become aware of certain facts connected with what he told me that day which I think he should know about, and I want to tell him. I suppose it would be improper for me to tell you more than that, but it wouldn’t be improper to tell him. He is on trial for first-degree murder.”