Рекс Стаут - Gambit

“That depends,” I said. “If your daughter’s over twenty-one and she pays Mr. Wolfe with her own money, who can say it’s wrong?”

“I can. I’m her mother.”

I nodded. “Sure, but that doesn’t settle it, that just starts an argument. If by ‘wrong’ you mean illegal or unethical, the answer is no. Isn’t it fairly simple, Mrs. Blount? Isn’t it just a difference of opinion? Your daughter thinks the services of Nero Wolfe are needed, and you don’t. Isn’t that it?”

“No. I mean it’s not just a difference of opinion.”

“Then what is it?”

Her lips parted and closed again. Her eyes went to Sally and came back to me. “I don’t know what my daughter has told you,” she said.

I turned to Sally. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere unless I have a free hand. Unless you turn me loose, no strings. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m not a wizard, Sally.”

“That’s all right if you meant what you said about being with me.”

“I did. Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

I turned to Mrs. Blount. “Your daughter told Mr. Wolfe that her father thinks Dan Kalmus is competent to handle his defense, and you do too, but she doesn’t; that Kalmus may be good on business matters but he is no good for this; and she is afraid that if it is left to Kalmus her father will be convicted of murder. So I will say it’s a difference of opinion. Admitting that she may be wrong, it’s her opinion, and it’s her money. And even if she’s wrong and Kalmus makes good, why all the fuss? She’ll have the satisfaction of making a try, her father will be free, and Mr. Wolfe will collect a fee, so everyone will be happy. The only ground for objection is that Mr. Wolfe might mess it up and make it tougher instead of easier, and of course for him and me that’s out. It would also be out for anyone who knows his record.”

She was slowly shaking her head, and I, looking at her, was getting a faint glimmer of the impression she had made on Lon Cohen. It didn’t come from her eyes or from anything about her you could name, it simply came somehow from her to me, the idea that though she could explain nothing, she didn’t have to; between her and me no explanation was needed. Of course that can come to a man from any woman he has fallen for, or is falling, but I wasn’t falling for her, far from it, and yet I was distinctly feeling it. Probably a witch and didn’t know it, Lon had said. A damned dangerous woman, whether she knew it or not.

She spoke. “It’s not that, Mr. Goodwin.”

Guessing what a woman means is usually the shortest way, but guessing that one wrong would have been risky, so I asked, “What’s not what, Mrs. Blount?”

“Read this,” she said, and extended a hand with a folded paper.

I took it and unfolded it. It was a memo size, 4 × 6, good quality, with from the desk of Daniel Kalmus printed at the top. Written on it with a ball-point pen was this:

Friday.

My dearest — I send this by Dan. Tell Sally I know she means well, but I fully agree with Dan about her idea of hiring that detective, Nero Wolfe. I don’t see how it could help and it isn’t necessary. As Dan has told you, there is a certain fact known only to him and me which he will use at the right time and in the right way — a fact I haven’t told even you. Don’t worry, my dearest, don’t worry, and tell Sally not to — Dan knows what he’s doing. All my love,

I read it twice, folded it, and handed it back to her. “I still say it’s a difference of opinion. Of course you have shown that to your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any idea what the fact is, the fact that your husband says is known only to him and Kalmus?”

“No.”

I turned. “Have you, Sally?”

“No,” she said.

“Not even a wild guess?”

“No.”

“You see why this is wrong,” Mrs. Blount said. “Mr. Kalmus has spoken with me on the phone, and he says that item in the paper has already done harm because everyone will think he has hired Nero Wolfe. So tomorrow the paper must say that it was a mistake, that no one has hired Nero Wolfe. Whatever my daughter has paid him, that doesn’t matter, he can keep it.”

I looked up at Sally, who was still standing. My mind, still harping on the facts, of course excluding the one known only to Kalmus and Blount, wanted to grab at the excuse to ditch the whole damn mess. If Kalmus already had a fact that would do the trick, that was that; and if he didn’t, the chance that there was one somewhere and Wolfe and I could dig it up looked slimmer than ever. Of course we would have to return the twenty-two grand. Whenever Wolfe sent me on an errand without specific instructions the general instruction was that I was to use my intelligence guided by experience. I would have to go home and tell him that I had done so and had concluded that we should drop it. So I looked up at Sally. If she had been looking at me with any sign of doubt or funk I might have passed. But she had her big brown eyes aimed straight at her mother, no blinking, with her chin up and her lips tight. So I turned to Mrs. Blount and said, “All right, I admit it’s not just a difference of opinion.”

She nodded. “I was sure you would understand if I showed you that note from my husband.”

I shook my head. “That’s beside the point. The point is that your daughter has paid Mr. Wolfe twenty-two thousand dollars, and in order to—”

“I said he could keep it.”

“He only keeps money he earns. In order to get that amount she cleaned out her bank account and sold her jewelry. A girl doesn’t sell her jewelry just like that.” I snapped my fingers. “I’m not telling you now what she told Mr. Wolfe, I’m telling you what I inferred from what she did tell him. She told him three times that Kalmus is in love with you. I inferred that she thinks her father will be convicted of murder not just because Kalmus is incompetent, but because with Blount convicted and sent up either to the chair or for life, you would be loose. So if that’s what—”

“Stop,” she said. She was sitting straight, stiff, staring at me, frowning. “I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying that Mr. Kalmus wants my husband to be convicted?”

“No. I’m saying that I believe your daughter thinks he does. So she sold her jewelry. And she certainly deserves—”

“Stop.” She was on her feet. She moved, across to her daughter, and gripped her arms. “Sally,” she said, “my dear Sally. You can’t think... you can’t!”

“Yes, I can,” Sally said. “I do. You know he’s in love with you. You know he would do anything, anything , to have you. Are you blind, mother? Are you blind? Do you actually not see how men look at you? How Dan Kalmus always looks at you? I was going... last week I was going to—”

A voice came booming, “Anybody home?”

I turned. A man had passed through the arch and was coming. Mrs. Blount said, raising her voice, “We’re busy, Mort,” but, not stopping, he said, “Maybe I can help,” and, arriving, kissed her on both cheeks. Sally had backed away. He turned for a look at me, started to say something, stopped, and looked some more. “You’re Archie Goodwin,” he said. “I’ve seen you around.” He offered a hand. “I’m Mort Farrow. You may have seen me too, but I’m not a famous detective so I don’t get pointed out.” He wheeled to his aunt. “I had that dinner date, but I broke away as soon as I could. I thought something might be stirring when I heard about Nero Wolfe. Was it you, or Dan? Or Uncle Matt? Brief me, huh?”

A fine moment for a six-foot big-mouth to break in. If I had been his aunt or uncle and he had been living under my roof I would have trimmed him down to size long ago. But Anna Blount only said, no protest, “It was a mistake, Mort — about Nero Wolfe. I was explaining to Mr. Goodwin. I’ll tell you about it later.” Her eyes came to me. “So you see, Mr. Goodwin, it was just a — a mistake. A misunderstanding. I’m sorry, we regret it very much, and Mr. Kalmus will tell the newspaper. As for the money, please tell Nero Wolfe—”