Archie Meets Nero Wolfe (21 page)

“Tommie likes you a lot,” Williamson said. “If he’s told me once, he’s told me ten times that you have taught him how to throw a spiral pass.”

“And that’s pretty impressive, given how small his hands are. He is a really nice kid, very enthusiastic. You should toss the football around with him yourself.”

“Are you telling me how to be a father?” he snapped.

“No, sir. Sorry, I was out of line.”

Williamson sighed. “Damn! No, you really were not out of line, Goodwin—I was. You are absolutely right. I need to spend more time with Tommie, and less time with my work. I really appreciate the attention you’ve given him. It won’t be the same when you’re gone.”

“Well, the job was for the short term. We all knew that going in.”

“True, and I need to bring you up to date on that subject. I have begun a search for a new chauffeur, both through newspaper advertisements and conversations with acquaintances. I realize Wolfe wanted you on the job to determine if one of my employees was part of the kidnapping plot. That seems unlikely, with the possible exception of poor Bell, who I still feel was not involved. Do you now have any suspicions as regards the household staff?”

“None that I can put my finger on.”

“Then I believe the time has come to make a move. But Tommie is really going to miss you.”

“For what it’s worth, sir, I’ll miss him, too. One thing that should make you feel good: I’ve noticed that at school, he seems to have a lot of friends. When I drop him off in the morning, four or five other boys always run over to greet him, and they all head off playing one game or another until they get herded inside. I always wait until he’s in the building before I drive off.”

“That’s good to know, and I’ll make sure that the next man in your job does the same thing. I may even arm the man with a gun, to be on the safe side. By the way, Tommie has also told his mother and me about how well he gets along with the other lads. I gather you don’t think the kidnapping has been too traumatic on him.”

“No, sir, I don’t. Now I haven’t been around eight-year-olds much, but he seems very well adjusted to me.”

“Well, I believe you are at least partly responsible for that, Goodwin. Say, I have an idea. Since Tommie seems to like football so much, how about the three of us going to a Columbia University game in the next few weeks, maybe against Princeton? I’ve got a good friend who can get us seats on the fifty-yard line.”

“I would like that.”

“Good, I’ll go ahead and make the arrangements. What are your plans after you leave us?”

“I haven’t given it a lot of thought, but I’d like to see if I can really make it as a private investigator.”

“Perhaps you could go to work for Nero Wolfe,” Williamson said. “He seems to like you.”

I laughed. “He’s already got himself a good bunch of operatives—particularly that Saul Panzer, who could find a black cat in a coal bin without a flashlight.”

“You may be right, but I still think Wolfe could use a resourceful young man like you.”

“Well, you’ve given me something to think about,” I said as I steered the big automobile through the Long Island darkness.

L
ess than a week later, my stint as the Williamson chauffeur came to an end. My replacement was a stocky, good-natured chap of about fifty named Gentry, who had been the longtime driver for a recently deceased dowager up in Scarsdale, which I learned was a prosperous suburb.

“I thought I would be in the breadlines after dear Mrs. Parnell passed, God rest her soul,” Gentry said, “but then this opportunity blessedly came along. I sincerely hope it does not inconvenience you.”

“Not in the least,” I told him after I had gone over some of the particulars of the job. “It was only a temporary position for me.”

Before Williamson and Waverly the butler introduced Gentry to the staff, I made it a point to go to each of them individually and bid them good-bye. Their reactions were varied, to say the least.

Waverly, not surprising, remained stiffly formal, shaking hands and wishing me well “in all your future endeavors.” Emily Stratton coughed delicately and observed that I had turned out to be “more mature” than she had expected.

Lloyd Carstens stopped watering plants in the greenhouse long enough to peer at me over his half-glasses. “Huh! On your way, eh? Seems like you came aboard only yesterday. I always figured you was a snoop, and to be honest, I ain’t changed my mind on that. I hope they get themselves a real chauffeur this time around, not like you or that nose-in-the-air Bell.”

Simons, the stable master, was only slightly less hostile than Carstens. “Thought you were too young to be handling those pricey autos,” he snorted. “I made a bet with myself that you’d run one of ’em off the road, and I still think you would have if you’d stayed around much longer.”

Mary Trent seemed genuinely sorry to see me go, although she didn’t try to kiss me again, maybe because there were people around. “You were the friendliest one here, along with Miss Moore,” she said, offering her small hand. “I hope really that we meet again sometime ... soon.” I had no answer for that, other than to say that I hoped so as well.

Sylvia Moore told me she was sorry I had been at the Williamsons at such an unhappy time, and she hoped I would not judge the staff by their actions of the last weeks. “Everyone has been so upset over Tommie and then Charles Bell. They all are really nicer people than their recent behavior would indicate.”

I thought Mrs. Price would squeeze the life out of me as she wrapped those pudgy arms around my middle and pulled my head down so she could nuzzle my neck. “I will truly miss you, laddie. No one has ever enjoyed my cooking as much as you,” she said. “I do wish you were staying with us, but a young fellow like you, I can understand your wanting to get out and see more of the world than a big old estate stuck away on Long Island.”

My hardest farewell was with Tommie. “I’m really sorry that you’re leaving, Archie,” he said, sniffling as I drove him home from school my last day on the job. “I really had fun with you.”

“I believe you will like Mr. Gentry,” I told him. “He seems to be very friendly.”

“He won’t want to play football with me though, or fly a kite like we did that one afternoon,” he said, jaw set and arms folded across his chest.

“Speaking of football, you and I will be going to a game with your dad at Columbia University in a few weeks, so we will be seeing each other again. This is big-time football, in a stadium and everything.” That quickly turned his face from a pout to a smile, and at that moment, I realized how much I would miss the boy.

That evening after dinner, Gentry drove me to the commuter station with my suitcase and I rode a Long Island line local into Penn Station, then took the subway north to the Melbourne Hotel. My room was far smaller than my quarters in the Williamson house, but I felt I was returning home, which was a good feeling. I was asleep seconds after my head hit the pillow.

T
he next morning, I resumed what had previously been my Manhattan routine: up at seven thirty, fifteen minutes of exercise, take a shower down the hall, get dressed, then amble along the block to Mort’s little beanery for some breakfast.

“Archie Goodwin!” he boomed when I walked in. “Haven’t seen you for what seems like ages. I figured you gave up on New York and went back home to Indiana.”

“Ohio,” I said, dropping onto one of the stools at the counter.

“Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, they’re all the same to me,” Mort said, gesturing in a westerly direction and sliding a cup of coffee along the counter from ten feet down. It came to a stop directly in front of me, with not a drop spilled.

“How do you always do that?” I asked, taking a sip of the delicious brew.

“Years of practice and great wrist action,” he said, flexing an arm. “Where have you been lately? I thought that you liked this joint.”

“Oh, I do, Mort, but I had to go out of town on a hard-driving job. When duty calls, I answer.”

Half an hour later, having breakfasted on wheat cakes, bacon, and eggs, I hoofed it south to the office of the Bascom Detective Agency. Wilda looked up as I stepped off the elevator, her mouth twitching in what may have been a smile. “The man around?” I asked, and she tilted her head toward his office. “Go on in, he’s expecting you.”

“Ah, home from the land of the rich,” Del said, looking up from the
Gazette
crossword puzzle and grinding out what was left of his nickel stogie. “Saul Panzer told me that you had got sprung from that rough duty out on the island.”

“Save your sympathy,” I told him, dropping into the guest chair and setting my hat on the corner of his desk.

“So, during your stay out in the country, did you figure out who in the Williamson household is not to be trusted?”

“I’m not sure I would trust several of them very far,” I said, “but I’m not ready to send anybody to the chair yet. What’s happening back here among the riffraff?”

“Well, for one thing, we’re having yet another meeting in Wolfe’s office today, and you, lucky chap, are invited.”

“He doesn’t want to let go of this business, is that it? How does he expect to get paid from here on out? Williamson already forked over a nice hunk of cash to get his son back.”

“Archie, I don’t claim to know Nero Wolfe and how he thinks as well as Panzer and others who work with him more often than me, but I believe his pride is at stake here,” Bascom said. “Sure, his planning was responsible for getting the boy back, but Wolfe is still smarting from those two murders and the ransom money. For him, the job is unfinished.”

“If I might ask then, who are we working for now?” I posed. “And who’s going to pay us?”

Bascom leaned back and torched another cigar. “Truth is, I got no work right now, which means neither do you. I’m willing to take my chances that something comes out of this meeting with Wolfe.”

“Okay, that’s good enough for me. If you’re in, I’m in,” I told him. “When do we meet?”

“Eleven o’clock. From what Panzer said, it sounds like every operative Wolfe has ever used will be there.”

“Gee, a regular detectives’ convention. How exciting!”

“All right, Archie, cut the sarcasm. I don’t think our host is going to be in the mood for that kind of humor.”

“My distinct impression is that Nero Wolfe is never in the mood for any kind of humor, but I promise to be a good boy and keep my ears open and my mouth shut—more or less.”

“Good idea. Wolfe seems to like you, and I leave it to you to figure out whether it’s because of your smart-alecky comments or in spite of them.”

A
t five before eleven, Fritz Brenner swung open the door of the brownstone on West Thirty-Fifth to admit Bascom and me. “Everyone else is here, please go on in,” he said. The usual faces were seated in the office, plus one I did not recognize.

“Hi, Bill,” Bascom said to a husky, balding guy seated on the sofa next to Cather. “Meet Archie Goodwin, who works with me. Archie, this is Bill Gore, a first-class operative I’ve had the honor to work with a few times.”

“Thanks for the nice words, Del,” Gore said, rising. He went at least six foot two and two hundred pounds, none of it fat. A good man to have on your side when things got rough. “Nice to meet you, Goodwin,” he said, pumping my hand.

Wolfe walked in, greeted us with his usual dip of the head, and moved around behind his desk, ringing for beer. Everyone passed on his invitation for refreshments.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, adjusting his bulk. “Saul, I assume you have brought Mr. Gore up to date on the situation.”

“Yes, sir, I have.”

“Very well. As you all are aware, I no longer possess a client, Mr. Williamson having settled his account with me after his son was freed and the ransom paid. By the way, Mr. Goodwin, did you receive remuneration for your services in his employ?”

“I got a check from him,” I said, again making a mental note to look up “remuneration” in the dictionary I had yet to buy.

“You merited payment,” Wolfe replied, opening the first of the beers Fritz had placed on a tray in front of him. “Speaking of remuneration, I want each of you to know that you will be paid for your work on this endeavor, regardless of our success. You will not find me stinting on the amount. Saul, if you please, a review of the situation.”

Panzer cleared his throat. “We know that the kidnappers—who presumably also killed both Barney Haskell and Charles Bell—are a pair of tall, thin brothers who have been involved for years in a variety of long and short cons and other grifting. Through sources, never mind who or how, I found three sets of brothers who could fit the bill,” he said, consulting his notebook.

“By name, they are: the Harkers, James and Melvin; the McCalls, Reese and Ronald; and the Bagleys, Chester and Calvin. All of them, no surprise, have records, although none for murder or even for armed robbery.”

“So, nobody on your list is named Edgar or Leon Jasper, eh?” I asked.

“No, why?” Panzer asked.

“They were the names given by a hotel desk clerk for two guys who Del and I think rented the truck used in the kidnapping.”

“None of these characters ever use their real names in hotels,” Orrie Cather muttered.

“True,” Panzer said. “Did those Jaspers fit the description?”

Del Bascom nodded. “Yeah, both of them tall and dark and skinny.”

“I know all of you except Mr. Gore got glimpses of at least one of the two kidnappers that night in the Bronx,” Wolfe said. “Based on that brief skirmish, does anyone think they could make a definite identification?” We all shook our heads.

“I thought not. Gentlemen, here is my position: despite Mr. Williamson’s approval and payment, I remain dissatisfied and irritated at what I view as an incomplete job on my part. I want those two men found and brought in. I also want the ransom money retrieved if possible.”

“What about the police?” Durkin asked.

“What indeed, Fred? They are angry with me, a not unusual occurrence, nor one that disturbs me. More important, they seem to have no idea how to proceed, other than to question Tommie Williamson. I suspect Mr. Goodwin here got more information from Tommie by being patient and conversational than the police will get with their heavy-handed approach.”