Рекс Стаут - The Father Hunt

“Maybe fifteen minutes,” I told him. “When you get up don’t put your hand on the right chair arm. It has four Floyd Vance prints on it.”

“Thanks for telling me.” He put both palms on the right chair arm and twisted around as he got to his feet. He faced Wolfe. “I want to be there when he brings him in. I admit you sound good, but you nearly always do sound good. I’m buying nothing, at least not until I see this Floyd Vance. If it goes one way you may hear from me, and if it goes another way you will hear from me. Have I ever thanked you for anything?”

“No.”

“And I’m not thanking you now. Not yet.” He turned and went. I stayed put.

Wolfe opened his desk drawer to take another look, and I attacked the mess Stebbins had made. Vandalism. There was no danger that he had taken anything important because no classified items were ever left in an unlocked drawer, and after getting things in order and back where they belonged I decided that he had taken nothing, except possibly a few of my calling cards. That suggested the question, if it’s illegal for a private detective to impersonate a cop why isn’t it illegal for a cop to impersonate a private detective? I would ask Wolfe. He had shut the drawer and was leaning back, looking thoughtful but not concentrated. When I turned to him he nodded and said, “Phalaenopsis Aphrodite sanderiana.”

I said, “If this is a quiz: rose, brown, purple, and yellow.”

“We’ll send some to that Dorothy Sebor, and I’ll go up and get them now. I intended to bring them down but those intruders came. Also I brought none for my desk.” He pushed his chair back.

“Instructions?”

“No. There is nothing you can do.”

“Saul is standing by. So are Fred and Orrie.”

“Release them. There is nothing. Our next step is obvious, but it must wait until Mr. Cramer learns his motive. If he learns his motive. He should, with a thousand trained men.”

After the sound came of the elevator starting up I sat and looked it over from every angle. It was nice to know the next step was obvious, but it would have been even nicer to know what it was.

I didn’t know then, and I still don’t, exactly how long it took the city employees to find out why Floyd Vance killed Elinor Denovo. I mean really wrap it up. All I know is that Cramer’s phone call didn’t come until 6:38 p.m. Thursday, just in time to make me late at the poker party again. And I still didn’t know what the obvious step was. One of the eighty-seven facts about Wolfe that I would change if I knew how is that he doesn’t believe in talking merely to satisfy anyone’s curiosity, even mine. I admit that in this case there might have been other factors — for instance, he might have wanted to see if I would dope it out for myself and make some suggestions. You probably have, but maybe you wouldn’t if you had been in my shoes, waiting for a development which depended entirely on other people, and you didn’t know what they were doing and not doing.

I did do one thing. When I learned from the noon news broadcast on Wednesday that Floyd Vance was being held without bail, and rang Lon Cohen to check it, I phoned Lily Rowan to say I wanted to see the client and was invited to lunch; and after we had finished the lobster salad and cantaloupe mousse and had gone out to the terrace, I told Amy that there was no more danger of her being a special target and if she went out for a walk her chances of getting back in one piece were as good as anybody else’s. Naturally she wanted to know what had happened, and Lily did too, and I think that was the first and only time that Lily suspected me of putting on an act in connection with my work. She remembered that she had a date, some kind of a committee meeting, which I doubted, and left me there with Amy. I admit she thought she was being considerate, but it was no favor to me. I had been stalling Amy for two weeks and she wanted to know, and I couldn’t blame her. Usually you can tell a client something , but I had already told her that her mother’s name was Carlotta Vaughn, and there was absolutely nothing that I was ready to add. When I left I wasn’t at all sure that I was still the one man in the world she could trust.

Of course I read every word in the Wednesday and Thursday papers about the hit-and-run driver the police had nabbed after three months, but learned nothing about motive. I got the impression that the fingerprints which had identified him had been secured by extremely competent detective work by the Homicide Bureau, but there were no published details about it. There was no mention of Nero Wolfe or Archie Goodwin. There was a lot of new information, new to me, about Floyd Vance, and one item cleared up a point that I had wondered about. In 1944 he had been in his late twenties and single, and why hadn’t he been sent, either to Europe or to Asia, to help several million of his fellow citizens do some expert handling of the public image of the United States of America? According to Wednesday’s Gazette and News , and Thursday’s Times , he had been excused because he had some kind of a trick knee. Other items, though they cleared up nothing, told me more about him — for instance, that he had always been a tadpole in a big frog pond as a public-relations counselor. Evidently he had had very little effect on the dignity of man, either way.

When the phone rang at 6:38 p.m. Thursday, I was at my desk working on germination records and Wolfe was at his with a book he had just started on, an advance copy of The Future of Germany , by Karl Jaspers. I reached for the receiver.

“Nero Wolfe’s Office, Archie—”

“I want Wolfe, Goodwin. Cramer.”

“Greetings.” Without bothering to cover the transmitter, I turned my head and said, “Cramer,” perhaps a little louder than usual, and Wolfe reached for his phone, perhaps a little faster than usual. I kept mine.

“Yes, Mr. Cramer?”

“About Floyd Vance. You read the papers.”

“Yes.”

“We’re going for first-degree and we expect it to stick. We’ve followed the new rules and we don’t even ask him if he’s thirsty unless his lawyer’s present. I’m willing to give you some information we haven’t released if you give me your word that you’ll keep it in confidence.”

“That’s rather difficult. Information that I can’t use won’t help.”

“I doubt if you can use it. If you can use it without divulging it, okay.”

“Very well. You have my word.”

“For what you want, it’s negative. For at least a year and probably longer, we’re still digging at it, Elinor Denovo was knifing him. She must have been a slick article. We can’t find that she ever once actually mentioned his name, but last spring the only two clients he had that amounted to anything left him, and we have it in writing that they switched to a firm that was suggested and recommended by Elinor Denovo. Those are the two outstanding cases, but there are several others, and by the time it gets to trial we’ll have a good file on it. As it stands now his lawyer would like to cop a plea for second-degree, but we want to wrap it up for first and I think we will. Evidently she decided, I think about a year and a half ago, to make it impossible for him to operate and she was doing a damn good job of it. You worked on him. Didn’t you get any line on it?”

“No.”

“You wouldn’t withhold information.”

“Sarcasm isn’t your best blade, Mr. Cramer.”

“That’s why I never use it. And I doubt if you can use what I’m giving you. We’ve got a motive for Floyd Vance that’s plenty good enough and it will be even better before we’re through, but her motive for cooking him is your problem, not mine. It could be that she decided to even up for something that happened back in nineteen forty-four, but I’m glad we don’t have to dig that deep. If you want to try, you’re welcome, but Goodwin can’t get him to come and spend another evening in that chair. He’s not available.”