Rex Stout - Prisoner's Base

Abruptly and surprisingly he calmed down. The fist opened and was only a chubby little hand. “Of course,” he said, “if millions ever were at stake in this, which is open to question, it is very doubtful if they are now. But even ignoring the Softdown stock, Priscilla’s estate is probably substantial, and I do not grant that the stock must be ignored. Even if title to it passes legally to the five persons named in Eads’s will, that document is still a powerful moral weapon, especially in view of the time and circumstances of Priscilla’s death. And it occurred to me that you can probably speak to the authenticity of the document. She came to consult you that day and spent hours with you. Surely the document was mentioned, and surely she acknowledged that she had signed it. Helmar was here that evening, and he too could have mentioned it and either assumed or acknowledged its validity.”

He glanced at me and back at Wolfe. “If Mr. Goodwin was present and can also speak, that will clinch it, and in that case I am prepared to make a concrete offer after discussing it with Blanco on the phone. Such assistance in authentication would be of great value to Mr. Hagh, amounting to five per cent of the total sum received by him in settlement of his claim under the terms of the document.”

There were at least two things seriously wrong with it. One, the offer was on a contingent basis, which, while not necessarily disreputable, was against Wolfe’s principles. Two, it was an offer to pay us either for telling the truth, which was rather coarse, or for telling a lie, which was downright vulgar.

“Naturally,” Dewdrop Irby said, with his voice dripping sugary syrup, “the best form would be affidavits, one from each of you. I’ll be glad to draw them, glad and proud, on your information. As for the arrangement for payment to you, I invite your suggestion, with the comment that it is probably inadvisable to put it in writing.”

It was a perfect out for Wolfe, and I fully expected to be told to steer the lawyer to the door, but Wolfe is nothing if not contrary. He snapped a question. “Mr. Hagh is coming to New York?”

“Yes.”

“When will he arrive?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Three o’clock.”

“I want to see him.”

“Certainly. I want you to. I’ll bring him straight here from the airport. Meanwhile, with the affidavits—”

“No.” Wolfe was blunt. “There will be no affidavits until I have talked with your principal, and then well see. Don’t bring him here from the airport; phone me first. I have in mind a step that you won’t like but will probably have to assent to. I think there should be a meeting of those concerned in this matter, both sides, with you present, that it should take place tomorrow, and that it should be held in this room. I’ll undertake to get Mr. Helmar and his associates here.”

Irby was concentrating so hard he was squinting his eyes into narrow slits. “What makes you think I won’t like it?”

“The fact that lawyers are convinced that no quarrel involving a substantial sum of money should ever be pursued except by lawyers.”

The lawyer would have taken a much worse crack than that without offense. He didn’t even feel it. He shook his head earnestly. “I would welcome such a meeting,” he declared. “But I would want to have some idea of what I was letting myself in for. If I knew that you and Mr. Goodwin were going to state that both Priscilla Eads and Helmar had either implied or acknowledged the authenticity—”

“No,” Wolfe said flatly. “By making me a flagrantly improper offer you have forfeited all right to amenity. You’ll have to take it as it comes.”

And that was the best Irby could get, though he was so stubborn about it that I finally crossed over to pick up his briefcase and hand it to him, and by then it was dinnertime. When I closed the front door and turned after letting him out, Wolfe was emerging from the office, headed for the dining room.

“Are you satisfied?” he barked at me.

“No, sir,” I said politely. “And neither are you.”

The next morning, Thursday, I cashed in on an investment.

I needed some kind of a break. There had been no follow-up of any kind on the Irby thing. Granted for the sake of argument that after dinner Wednesday evening was no time for it, what was wrong with Thursday morning? I decided for the thousandth time that I didn’t have the right temperament for working for Nero Wolfe. If I had, I would long ago have quit being exasperated by his matter-of-fact assumption that, barring specific urgencies, there was no point in starting the day’s detecting activities until after he came down from the plant rooms at eleven o’clock. And anyway it seemed to me that this was a specific urgency. So when I had got up and shaved and showered and dressed, and gone down and greeted Fritz and had breakfast, and read the morning paper, learning among other things that no one had been charged with the murder of Priscilla Eads or Margaret Fomos, and proceeded to the office and opened the morning mail, and nine o’clock had come and gone with no word from on high, I buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone and got him and inquired, “Do you invite people to the party or do I?”

“Neither, until we’re sure of Mr. Hagh.” He was gruff, of course.

“He’ll land at three.”

“Or never.”

That was it. One of his deepest convictions was that no vehicle propelled by machinery, from a scooter to an ocean liner, could reasonably be expected ever to reach its destination, and that only a dunce would bank on it. There was nothing I could do about it. After hanging up, I called Pan-Atlantic, and was told that Flight 193 was expected to arrive on schedule. As I got up to put the mail on Wolfe’s desk, the phone rang, and I sat down and got it.

“Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking.”

“This is Archie Goodwin?”

“Right.”

“This is Sarah Jaffee, Mr. Goodwin.”

“So it is, by the voice. Good morning.”

“Good morning. I wanted — how are you?”

“I’m fine. And you?”

“I’m fine too. I just had my breakfast and I wanted to phone you. There was no place at the table but mine.”

“Good. In the long run that’ll save a lot of breakage on dishes.”

“It will save more than that.” A pause. “You took the coat and hat with you.”

“I did, and for God’s sake don’t tell me you want them back. I disposed of them.”

“I’ll never want them back.” She sounded quite positive. “When I went to the hall, long after you had left, and saw that the coat and hat were gone, I cried like a baby. When I quit crying I was scared. I was afraid I had been crying because the coat and hat were gone, but then I realized that wasn’t it, only I didn’t know what it was. Anyhow I quit worrying about why I had cried because I knew one thing for certain — I knew I was glad the coat and hat were gone, and I knew you had done a wonderful thing for me after the way I acted. I guess you understood why I acted like that. I’m a terrible coward, I always have been. I’m such a coward that three times yesterday afternoon when I started to phone you I simply couldn’t make my finger turn the dial.”

“You could have—”

“No, please! Let me finish or I won’t. I slept better than I have for a long time — I don’t know when. I had a wonderful sleep! And while I was eating breakfast, there where you were with me yesterday, I realized how it was. I realized that I had to do anything you asked me to do, anything — only of course not — I mean, anything you would ask me — that is, anything I can do. So just tell me what it is.”

“I told you yesterday.”