Рекс Стаут - A Family Affair

“I doubt it. I suppose I might. My kind of work, I never know what I’m going to do. Huh. You get out of here.”

Turning, I said, “Huh.” I didn’t really say it, it just came out. And I walked out.

Also I walked the ten blocks down to Thirty-fifth Street and across town to the old brownstone. As I mounted the stoop it was half past four and Wolfe would be up in the plant rooms, and I hung up my coat and went to the office, sat, and looked at the list. He had written not only the names, but also what they did. If my time hadn’t been up, he might have included ages and addresses. I tossed it on the desk and sat and looked at the picture. It was now an entirely new ballgame. By tossing Richard Nixon into that dinner party he had put a completely new face on it. Knowing Wolfe as I did, that was obvious. It was so obvious that it took me only ten minutes to decide what to do first, and I did it. I got at the phone and dialed a number.

It took more than half an hour to get all three of them. Actually I only got Fred; for Saul and Orrie I had to leave urgent messages. Then I pulled the typewriter around and made five copies of the list of names. I don’t have to type it here for you because I already have. Then I typed the conversation with Igoe, verbatim, one carbon. I usually don’t read things over, but I did that, and was on the second page when the elevator rattled coming down and clanked at the bottom, and Wolfe came.

He went to his desk and sat and said, “You’re back.” He rarely says things that are obvious, but he says that fairly often because it’s a miracle that I’m not limping or bleeding after spending hours out in the concrete jungle.

“Yes, sir. I’ll try to cover it all before dinner. I saw Felix and Lon Cohen and Miss Rowan and Felix again and one of the guests at that dinner named Benjamin Igoe, an electronics engineer with NATELEC, Bassett’s company, and you’ll want it all, but I prefer to give you the last one first. Igoe. I’ve typed my talk with him for the record.” I swiveled to get it from my desk, swiveled again, and got up and handed it to him.

Three pages. He read the last page twice, looked at me with his eyes half shut, and said, “By God.”

I stared at him. I may have gaped. He never says by god, and he said it with a capital G. So I didn’t say anything.

He did. “Was he gibbering? Was it flummery?”

“No, sir. It was straight.”

“He gave you their names.”

“Right.” It was in my hand, the one he had written, not a typed copy, and I passed it to him. He read it twice too. He put it down on his desk and then picked it up for another look. “I am not easily overwhelmed,” he said. “If I could have them here now, all of them, I would pretermit dinner. I have occasionally asked you to bring people when I knew no one else could, but this — these six — not even you.”

“I agree. So before I typed that conversation I did something. I used the telephone. More than once. And got results. You may have one guess.”

He looked at me, straight, then closed his eyes. In about a minute, maybe a little more, he opened them and asked, “When will they come?”

“Nine o’clock. Fred sure, and Saul and Orrie probable. As you know, they like doing errands for you.”

“Satisfactory,” he said. “I’ll taste my dinner. I haven’t tasted food for two days.”

I forget who once called them the Three Musketeers. Saul was in the red leather chair, and Fred and Orrie were in the two yellow ones I had moved up to face Wolfe’s desk. Saul had brandy, Orrie had vodka and tonic, Fred had bourbon, I had milk, and Wolfe had beer.

Saul Panzer was two inches shorter, much less presentable with his big ears and unpressed pants, and in some ways smarter than me. Fred Durkin was one inch shorter, two inches broader, heavier-bearded, and in some ways a little more gullible. Orrie Cather was half an inch taller, a lot handsomer, and a little vainer. He was still sure he should have my job and thought it was conceivable that someday he would. He also thought he was twice as attractive to all women under forty, and I guess he was. He could say let’s look at the record.

I had been doing most of the talking for more than an hour, and their notebooks were more than half full. I had given them the crop, saving nothing, with a little help from Wolfe in spots, but of course omitting irrelevant items such as the luncheon menu at Lily Rowan’s. That had also been skipped when reporting to Wolfe before dinner. His real opinion of her wasn’t anything near as low as he liked to pretend it was, but he didn’t need another minus for her.

I took a sip of milk and said, “Now questions, I suppose.”

“No,” Wolfe said. His eyes moved left to right and back, to take them in. “I must first tell you the situation. Archie doesn’t need to be told; he was aware of it before I was. What Mr. Igoe told him. He sees me every day, and hears me. He knew that for the first time in my life I had an itch that could not be relieved — that I hankered for something I couldn’t get. He knew that I would have given all of my orchids — well, most of them — to have an effective hand in the disclosure of the malfeasance of Richard Nixon. I once dictated to him a letter offering my services to Mr. Jaworski, and he typed it, but it wasn’t sent. I tore it up.”

He picked up the bottle, decided not to pour, and put it down. “Well. Mr. Nixon is now out, no longer in command of our ship of state, no longer the voice of authority to us and of America to the world, but the record is by no means complete. History will dig at it for a century. You heard what Mr. Igoe told Archie. Was he merely babbling, Archie?”

“No, sir. It was square.”

“So I accept it and I expect you to. I trust Archie’s eyes and ears, and I think you do. I am assuming that there was some connection between the name on that slip of paper, if it was a name, and the web of events and circumstances that is called Watergate; and further, that it resulted in the death by violence of Harvey Bassett and Pierre Ducos. Of Pierre, in this house. That’s what I expect to establish, with your help. I have no client, so there will be no fee. Your usual rates will be paid, and of course expenses. I instruct you not to stint. It’s nearing the end of a good year for me, even this year of a delirious economy, and it won’t pinch me.”

He sat straighter and palmed the chair arms. “Now. You have always trusted my judgment and followed instructions without question. Now you can’t. I don’t. On this I can’t be sure my intellect will ignore the goad of my emotions. It may already have been gulled. The assumptions I have made — are they witless? I have asked Archie. Saul?”

“For a try, no.”

“Fred?”

“No, sir.”

“Orrie?”

“I agree with Saul. Good enough to work on.”

Wolfe nodded. “I’m not convinced, but in any case I am going to get the man who killed Pierre — and might have killed Archie. But don’t trust me blindly. If you doubt the soundness of my conclusions or instructions, say so. I would like to come out of this with my self-esteem intact, and so would you.”

He leaned back. “To the job. If one of those six men is the culprit, he was with Bassett in an automobile last Friday night, and he had access to Pierre’s coat Monday, day before yesterday, no matter what his motive was. To that the soundness of my assumptions is immaterial, and my emotions are not involved. Archie has given you lists of their names and has told you that five of them are in the Manhattan telephone directory. One of the lawyers, Mr. Ackerman, is in the Washington directory. Saul, you will start with the other lawyer, Mr. Judd. What is he? Where was he? Of course you won’t ask him . If he learns you are inquiring about him, he may ask you, and if you need to consult with Archie, he will be here. Better Archie than me; on this I am suspect. As I said.”