Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 41 (15 page)

The layout was the same as upstairs, but the furniture was quite different. Rugs here and there instead of carpet, smaller couch smothered with pillows, no desk or typewriter, fewer chairs, about one-fourth as many books, five little pictures on the walls which the bold lover must have considered old hat. The drapes were drawn, and I turned the lights on, put my coat and hat on the couch, and went and opened a closet door.

There were two facts: the cleaning woman might come any minute; and I had no idea what I might find, if anything. The point was simply that there might be something that would help, no matter what was going to happen Thursday night, to square it with Cramer for that carton of milk. A fast once-over was called for, and I spent only ten minutes on the living room and its two closets and then went to the bedroom.

I came mighty close to passing it by. The bedroom closet was crammed—clothes on hangers, shoe racks, luggage, cartons and hatboxes on two high shelves. The bag and two suitcases were packed with summer clothes, and I skipped the hatboxes; I would have given a finif of
my
money to know if the cleaning woman came Wednesdays. But ten minutes later, going through a drawerful of photographs one by one, I realized that it was dumb to skip the hatboxes and then waste time with a bunch of photographs which could tell me nothing I didn’t already know, so I took a chair to the closet, mounted it, and got the boxes down. There were three. The first one contained three so-called hats and two bikinis. The second one held one big floppy hat. I lifted it out, and there on the bottom was a revolver. I gawked at it for five seconds, then took it out and inspected it. It was an S & W .38 and held one cartridge that had been fired and five that hadn’t.

I stood with it in my hand. It was a hundred to one that it was the gun that Althaus had had a permit for, and it had fired the bullet that had gone through him, and Sarah Dacos had pulled the trigger. To hell with the one chance in a hundred. The question was what to do with it. If I took it, it would never be an acceptable exhibit in a murder trial, since I had got it illegally. If I left it there and went out to a phone booth and rang Cramer to tell him to get a warrant to search Sarah Dacos’s apartment, the cops would get the gun all right, but if the FBI found out about it within thirty-six hours, as they easily might, the big act for Thursday night would be kaput. And of course if I left it in the hatbox and
didn’t
phone Cramer, Sarah Dacos might decide that tonight would be a good time to take it and toss it in the river.

Since that left only one alternative, the only decision that had to be made was where to put it. I returned the hat to the box and the boxes to the shelf, put the chair back where it belonged, and looked around. No spot in the bedroom appealed to me, and I moved to the living room. It was now more than ever desirable not to be interrupted by a cleaning woman or anyone else. I went and examined the couch and found that underneath the cushion was a box spring, and underneath the spring was a plywood bottom. Good enough. If she got the hatbox down and found the gun gone, she certainly wouldn’t suppose it had merely been moved to another spot in the apartment and start looking. I put it on the bottom under the spring, glanced around to see that things were as I had found them, grabbed my hat and coat, and got out of there in such a hurry that I almost appeared on the sidewalk wearing rubber gloves.

In the taxi I had to answer another question: did I or didn’t I tell Wolfe? Why not wait until Thursday night had come and gone? The answer was really simple, but
of course that’s one thing we use our minds for, finding complicated reasons for dodging simple answers. By the time the cab stopped in front of the old brownstone my mind had run out of reasons and I was facing the fact that it wouldn’t improve with age.

It was ten minutes past eleven, so Wolfe would be down from the plant rooms, but he wasn’t in the office. There was noise in the kitchen, the radio going loud, and I went there. Wolfe was standing by the big table scowling at Fritz, who was bending over to sniff at a slab of smoked sturgeon. They didn’t hear me enter, but Fritz saw me when he straightened up, and Wolfe turned and demanded, “Where have you been?”

I told him I had a report. He told Fritz to have the cutlets ready at a quarter past two, he wasn’t going to wait longer than that, and headed for the office, and I followed. I turned the radio on. As I brought a yellow chair around I saw three screwdrivers on his desk pad—one from my desk drawer and two from the kitchen, and I had to grin. He had the tools ready, himself. As I sat I told him I had assumed that he would eat an early lunch. He said no, if a man has guests he should be at table with them.

“Then there’s plenty of time,” I said, “to discuss a brief report. With so much on your mind I could save it, but you’ll like to know that I have clinched the alternative we prefer. I went for a walk and happened to pass Sixty-three Arbor Street, and I happened to have a key in my pocket that fitted the lock on Sarah Dacos’s door, so I went in and looked around, and in a hatbox in a closet I found a revolver, an S & W thirty-eight. One cartridge had been fired. As you know, Cramer told me that Althaus had a permit for an S & W thirty-eight and it wasn’t in his apartment, though there was a box of cartridges in a drawer. So she—”

“What did you do with it?”

“I moved it. It seemed out of place in a box with a lady’s hat, so I put it under a box spring on a couch.”

He took a deep breath, held it in a second, and let it out. “She shot him,” he growled.

“Right. As I was saying when you interrupted.”

“Will she find it?”

“No. If she misses it she won’t even look. My understanding of attractive young women. She might lam. If she does I’ll have a problem. If she’s gone and I tell Cramer about the gun I’ll be up a tree. If I don’t tell him I’ll lie awake nights.”

He shut his eyes. In two moments he opened them. “You should have told me you were going.”

“I should not. It was a personal errand in which a quart of milk was involved. Even if she stays put I’ll have a problem, if tomorrow night is a turkey. If and if. Just not I wanted to ring Hewitt from a booth and ask him if the orchids are packed. Shall I?”

“No. He’s busy. I believe guns can be identified?”

“Sure. Scientists can do it now even if the number has been filed off. And Cramer will have the number of the one Althaus had a permit for.”

“Then there will be no problem. I must see about that sturgeon.” He left his chair and headed for the door. Short of it he stopped and turned, said, “Satisfactory,” and went. I shook my head and went on shaking it as I replaced the yellow chair. “There will be no problem,” for God’s sake. I thought if I had an ego that size I’d be the boss of the FBI, and then realized that that wasn’t exactly the way to put it. I returned the keys and gloves to the cabinet, went to the kitchen to get a glass of milk, since lunch would be late, and to listen to them discuss sturgeon.

With a couple of hours to go, possibly more, after the milk was down I made the rounds—first two flights up to my room, to see that everything was in order for the
guests who would occupy my bed. Fritz isn’t supposed to touch my room; it’s mine, including the responsibility. It was okay, except that the two pillows I had got from the closet that morning weren’t the same size, but that couldn’t be helped. Then to the South Room, which is above Wolfe’s, where two more guests would sleep on the twin beds. That visit was unnecessary, since Fritz never makes mistakes, but I had time to kill.

It got killed somehow.

I wasn’t expecting them until two at the earliest, but I should have known better, since Saul was in charge. Wolfe was in the kitchen and I was in the front room, which adjoins the office, checking that blankets were on the sofa, when the doorbell rang and I glanced at my watch. Twenty to two, so it couldn’t be the truck. But it was. Going to the hall, I saw a big bozo in a leather jacket on the stoop. When I opened the door he boomed at me, “Nero Wolfe? Orchids for you!”

I stepped out. At the curb was a big green truck with red lettering on its side:
NORTH SHORE TRUCKING CORPORATION
. Another big bozo was at its rear, opening the doors. I said fairly loud that it was pretty damn cold for orchids and I would come and help. By the time I got my coat on and went out they had a box on the edge at the back and were pulling it around. I happened to know its exact size—three feet wide, five feet long, and two feet high—because I had packed boxes exactly like it with orchid plants on their way to dealers or exhibitions. On its side it was marked:

I descended to the sidewalk, but they lifted it off and got the handles at the ends, obviously not needing any
help, even up the steps. Above, Wolfe had the door open and they entered. The natural thing for me was to stay and guard the truck, so I did. There were five more boxes inside, all the same. One of the five would be quite a load even for those two huskies, but I didn’t know which one. It proved to be the next to the last. As they eased it down and took the handles one of them said, “Jesus, these must be in lead pots,” and the other one said, “Naw, gold.” I wondered if there was a G-man close enough to hear. They got it up the stoop without a stumble, though it was close to three hundred pounds, counting the box—or I hoped it was. When they took the last one in I went along. Wolfe signed a receipt, and I gave each of them two bucks and got thanked and waited until they were on the sidewalk to shut the door and bolt it.

The boxes were strung along the hall, the radio in the office was on loud, and Wolfe was using a screwdriver on the third box from the end. I asked him if he was sure, and when he said yes, an X was chalked on it, I got another screwdriver. There were only eight screws, and in a couple of minutes we had them out. I lifted the top off, and there was Saul Panzer, on his side with his knees pulled up. I started to tilt the box, but Saul, who is undersized except for his ears and nose, twisted around and was on his knees and then his feet.

“Good afternoon,” Wolfe said.

“Not very.” Saul stretched. “I can talk?”

“Yes, with the radio.”

He stretched again. “That was a ride. I hope they’re alive.”

“I want to be sure,” Wolfe said, “that I have their names right. Mr. Hewitt gave them to Archie on the phone.”

“Ashley Jarvis. That’s you. Dale Kirby is Archie. We’d better get them out.”

That was the first and only time I have ever heard men introduced while boxed.

“In a moment,” Wolfe said. “You have given them a full explanation?”

“Yes, sir. They are not to speak, not a word, unless you ask them to—or Archie. They don’t know who has bugged the house and is watching it, or why, but they have bought Hewitt’s promise that they are in no danger and won’t be. He gave them five hundred dollars apiece and you are to give them another five hundred. He also gave them the statements signed by you. I think they’ll do.” He lowered his voice a little. “Kirby is better than Jarvis, but they’ll do.”

“They know they are to stay in their room and keep away from windows?”

“Yes. Except when they are—uh—rehearsing.”

“They have the proper clothes for Thursday evening?”

“In that box.” Saul pointed. “Our things are in it too, including guns. Of course they’ll wear your hat and coat, and Archie’s.”

Wolfe made a face. “Very well. Fred and Orrie first.”

“They’re marked.” He took the screwdriver from Wolfe, went to the box with a circle chalked on it, told me, “Orrie’s has a triangle,” and started on a screw. I found the triangle and started on it. He had Fred out before I got Orrie because one of the screws had a bad head. They too had been told not to speak unless spoken to, and from the expressions on their faces when they got upright I thought it was just as well. I raised my brows at Saul and tapped my chest, and he pointed to the box at the far end, and I went and started on it.

I realized that professional actors have had a lot of practice saying only what they are supposed to say and
keeping their traps closed if that’s what the script calls for, but even so I had to hand it to Ashley Jarvis and Dale Kirby. They had had a rough two hours or more—especially Jarvis, who carried fully as many pounds as Wolfe, and it wasn’t quite as well distributed. We had to ease the box over on its side before he could come loose, and he stayed on the floor a good five minutes, refusing offers of help working his arms and legs, but when he finally made it and was erect he turned to Wolfe and bowed, a damn good bow. Kirby hadn’t bowed to me, but he hadn’t said a word. While we waited for Jarvis to get up he stood to one side doing calisthenics, keeping time with the music on the radio.

I was agreeing with Saul, they’ll do. Kirby was half an inch shorter than me, but his build was just right. Jarvis was exactly Wolfe’s height. His shoulders weren’t quite as broad and his middle was a little farther around, but with an overcoat on he would do fine. The faces were only so-so, but it would be dark and no G-man was going to get a close-up.

Wolfe returned the bow with a nod, said, “Come, gentlemen,” and entered the office. Instead of going to his desk, he moved a yellow chair to the center of the rug, which was thick enough to prevent noise, and went for another one. I got a couple, and Saul and Fred and Orrie each got one, and we all sat, in two circles, with Wolfe and Jarvis and Kirby on the inside. But Wolfe said, “The money, Archie,” and I got up and went to the safe for it—two wads with twenty-five twenties in each which were there waiting.

Wolfe’s eyes went from Jarvis to Kirby and back. “Lunch is ready,” he said, “but first a few points. That money is yours. Archie?”

I handed it to them, a wad to each. Jarvis merely glanced at it and stuck it in his side pocket. Kirby got a
wallet from his breast pocket, put the bills in nice and neat, and replaced the wallet.

“Mr. Hewitt explained,” Wolfe said, “that you would each receive one thousand dollars, and now you have. But having seen you emerge from those boxes, I feel that you have already earned the thousand. Amply. Therefore, if you perform the rest of it satisfactorily, I shall feel that you have earned another thousand, and you will receive it. Friday or Saturday.”