Rex Stout: Where There's a Will

“Ah,” Wolfe murmured. Prescott, his lips still in a tight line, nodded at him as if to say, “Just so. Ah.”

June snapped at her sister. “You’re only making it more difficult, May, and perhaps impossible. Anyhow, you’re bluffing. I know you. You wouldn’t dream of stirring up this nasty mess. If Mr. Wolfe can talk that woman into it, all right; I’m perfectly willing your fund should get the million, but the main point is Daisy and you know it. We agreed on that—”

She stopped because the door from the hall opened. Fritz, entering, approached Wolfe’s desk and extended his hand with a card tray. Wolfe took the card, glanced at it, and placed it neatly under the paperweight. Then he looked at Mrs. Dunn and addressed her:

“This card says Mrs. Noel Hawthorne. ”

They all stared.

“Oh, my God!” April blurted. May said quietly, “We should have tied her up.” June arose from her chair and demanded, “Where is she? I’ll see her.”

“Please.” Wolfe pushed air down with his palm. “She is calling on me. I’ll see her myself—”

“But this is ridiculous.” June stayed on her feet. “She gave us until Monday. She promised to do nothing till then. I left my son and daughter with her to make sure—”

“You left them with her where?”

“At my brother’s home. Her home. We all spent the night there — not her home either, that’s one reason she’s acting the way she is, as a part of the residuary estate it will go to that woman and not to her — but she promised to do nothing—”

“Please sit down, Mrs. Dunn. I’d have to see her anyway, before I could accept this job. Bring Mrs. Hawthorne in, Fritz.”

“There are two ladies and a gentleman with her, sir.”

“Bring them all in.”

Four people, not counting Fritz, acting as usher, entered the office. Fritz had to bring a couple of chairs from the front room.

I like to look at faces. In a good many cases, I admit, a glance will do me, but usually they have points, of one kind or another, that will stand more of an eye. Andrew Dunn looked like a nice husky kid, with a strong resemblance to pictures I had seen of his father. His sister Sara had her mother’s dark eyes of a fighting bird and the Hawthorne forehead, but her mouth and chin was something new. The other girl was a blonde in the bud who would have convinced any impartial jury that all of this great country’s anatomical scenery had not been monopolized by Hollywood. Later information disclosed that her name was Celia Fleet and that she was April Hawthorne’s secretary.

But though I like to look at faces, and those three were worthy of attention, the one that drew my gaze was the one I couldn’t see. The story had it that Noel Hawthorne’s arrow which had accidentally struck his beautiful wife had plowed diagonally across from the brow to the chin, and what was left was there behind that veil — with, it was said, one eye working — and that was what I looked at. You couldn’t help it. The gray veil was fastened to her hat and extended below her chin, and was harnessed with a strip of ribbon. No skin was in sight except her ears. She was mediumsized, with what would ordinarily be called a nice youthful figure, only with the veil and knowing why it was there, you didn’t have the feeling of anything being nice. I sat and stared at it, trying to ignore an inclination to offer somebody a ten-spot to pull the veil up, knowing that if it was done I’d probably offer another ten-spot to get it pulled down again.

She didn’t take the chair I placed for her. She stood there stiff. I had the feeling she couldn’t see, but she obviously could. After the greetings, and when I was back in my chair again, I noticed that April’s fingers were unsteady as she fumbled for a cigarette. May was looking sweet again, but she was tense. So was June’s voice:

“My dear Daisy, this was unnecessary! We were completely candid with you! We told you we were going to consult Mr. Nero Wolfe. You gave us till Monday. There was no reason whatever why you should have any suspicion — Sara, you little devil, what on earth are you doing? Put that away!”

“In a second, Mom.” Sara’s tone was urgent. “Everybody sit tight.”

A dazzling flash blinded us. There were ejaculations, the loudest and least gentle from Prescott. I, having bounded up from my chair, stood feeling foolish.

Sara said composedly, “I wanted one of Nero Wolfe sitting at his desk. Excuse it please. Hand me that dingus, Andy.”

“Go chase a snail. You darned little fool.”

“Sara! Sit down!”

“Okay, Mom. That’s all.”

We stopped blinking. I was back in my chair. Wolfe inquired dryly, “Is your daughter a professional photographer, Mrs. Dunn?”

“No. She’s a professional fiend. It’s this damnable saga of the illustrious Hawthorne girls. She wants to carry it on. She thinks she can—”

“That isn’t so! I only wanted a shot—”

“Please!” Wolfe scowled across. Sara grinned at him. He slanted his gaze upward at the veil. “Won’t you sit down, Mrs. Hawthorne?”

“I think not, thank you.” Her voice gave me the creeps and made me want to pull the veil off myself. It was pitched high, with a strain in it that gave me the impression it wasn’t coming from a mouth. She turned the veil on June:

“So you think my coming was unnecessary? That’s very funny. Didn’t you leave Andrew and Sara and April’s secretary to guard me so I wouldn’t interfere with you?”

“No,” June declared, “we didn’t. For God’s sake, Daisy, be reasonable. We only wanted—”

“I have no desire to be reasonable. I’m not an imbecile, June. It was my face Noel ruined, not my mind.” She whirled, suddenly, and unexpectedly, to the younger sister. “By the way, April, speaking of faces, your secretary is much better-looking than you are. Of course she’s only half your age. How brave of you.”

April kept her eyes down and said nothing.

“You can never bear to look at me, can you?” From behind the veil came a terrible little laugh, and then it turned again to June. “I didn’t come here to interfere. I came because I’m suspicious and I have cause to be. You are Hawthornes — the notorious Hawthornes. Your brother was a Hawthorne. He assured me many times that I would be generously cared for. His word, generous. I knew he had that woman, he told me so — he was candid too, like you. He gave me, monthly, more money than I needed, more than I could use, to deceive me, to stop my suspicions. And now even my house is not mine!”

“My Lord, don’t I know it?” June raised a hand and let it fall. “My dear Daisy, don’t I know it? Can’t you believe that our one desire, our one purpose—”

“No, I can’t. I don’t believe a word a Hawthorne says.” The breath of the bitter words was fluttering the veil, but the silk harness held it in place. “Nor you, Glen Prescott. I don’t trust you. Not one of you. I didn’t even believe you were coming to see this Nero Wolfe, but I find you did.”

She turned to confront Wolfe. “I know about you. I know a man you did something for — I used to know him. I telephoned him today to ask about you. He said you may be relied upon completely in trust, but that as an opponent you are ruthless and dangerous. He said if I asked you point-blank whether you are on my side or not, you wouldn’t lie. I came here to ask you.”

“Sit down, Mrs. Hawthorne.”

“No. I only came to ask you that.”

“Then I’ll answer it.” Wolfe was brusque. “I’m not on anybody’s side. Not yet. I have a violent distaste for quarrels over a dead man’s property. However, I am at the moment badly in need of money. I need a job. If I accept this one, I undertake to persuade Miss Naomi Karn to relinquish a large share, as large a share as possible, of Mr. Noel Hawthorne’s legacy to her, in your favor. That’s what these people have asked me to do. Do you want that done?”