Рекс Стаут - Death of a Doxy

Or maybe we did. When I went to bed Sunday night, after winning $1.25 from Julie at gin, there had been no discussion and no instructions, nothing. The Ten Little Indians was closed Sundays. Julie had had an afternoon nap, and I had had a long walk. Wolfe had had the Times and a book, and probably, while I was out, his weekly battle with television. That may occur almost any evening, when he has got disgusted with a book, but usually it’s a Sunday afternoon, because that’s when TV is supposed to be dressed for company. He turns on one channel after another, getting grimmer and grimmer, until he is completely assured that it’s getting worse instead of better, and quits.

The only time he and Julie were together was at the dinner table, and it was different from any meal at that table I could remember. Ordinarily Wolfe is perfectly willing to do most of the talking, with or without company, but that time, from the Neptune bouchées right through to the chestnut whip, he not only let the guest, a female guest, take over, he egged her on. He asked her questions, dozens of questions, about her work and her background and the people she knew. By the time coffee came, I had settled on the only possible explanation: he had decided that I didn’t understand women as well as he had thought I did, and it was up to him to fill the gap. I could have told him that that kind of approach wouldn’t help much, but apparently I was no longer regarded as an expert.

So I got a surprise when I entered the kitchen Monday morning and Fritz told me I was wanted, and I went up one flight and knocked and entered, and Wolfe said, “Good morning. Can that woman be trusted in a matter that requires adroit execution and full discretion?”

“You ought to know,” I said, “after the quiz you put her through.”

“I don’t. Do you?”

“Yes. Adroit, yes. You heard her with Cramer. It would depend on how well she liked it, whatever it was. The discretion would also depend. She would never spill anything she didn’t want to spill. She wouldn’t talk just to hear herself.”

“How much verity was there in what she told Mr. Cramer?”

“None at all. She couldn’t think I’m what a man because she couldn’t think any man is.”

“Then we’ll risk it. Ask Mr. Ballou to come at eleven o’clock. Tell him I’ll need only ten minutes. Miss Jaquette must not see him. Can you make sure she doesn’t?”

I said I could, and went up one flight to see if there was any sign of life there. It was only a quarter to nine, but she had gone to bed early — for her — and she might have opened the door to enjoy it. She hadn’t. I had told her to buzz either the kitchen or the office on the house phone when she wanted breakfast, and to allow half an hour. I went down to the office and did the chores.

I didn’t know if Avery Ballou was the early kind of president, and waited till a quarter to ten to dial the number of the Federal Holding Corporation. A woman answered, of course, and switched me to a man. He would submit my name to Mr. Ballou only if I told him what I wanted; that’s one of the ways junior executives try to keep wise to what their seniors are up to. I finally persuaded him the name was enough and Ballou would want it, but there was a long wait before his voice came.

“Goodwin? Archie Goodwin?”

“Right. Mr. Ballou?”

“Yes.”

“There has been a development in that matter we discussed Thursday evening, and we must tell you about it. Can you be here at eleven o’clock? Same address.”

“This morning?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. Is it urgent?”

“Yes. Eleven-thirty or twelve would do, but eleven would be better. It shouldn’t take more than ten minutes.”

“Hold the wire... All right. I’ll be there at eleven or shortly after.”

If the junior executive had listened in, he must have been wondering what the hell could make Ballou jump like that, and wishing he knew.

After buzzing the plant rooms to tell Wolfe he was coming, I had a problem. Even if Julie was awake, it wasn’t advisable to go up and tell her that a man was coming whom she must not see, so would she please stay in her room with the door shut. She was a fine brave plucky game girl, and she might go to my room, which fronts on 35th Street, and look out the window just to be helpful. It wouldn’t be fair to tempt her like that, so I went to the kitchen, explained the situation to Fritz, and arranged with him. When the bell rang and I went to the door, he would go up to the second stair landing with the vacuum cleaner and camp there. If her door was open, he would vacuum the hall carpet. He said he couldn’t vacuum that carpet for an hour, and I said he wouldn’t have to.

Actually it was only eight or nine minutes. Wolfe came down on the dot at eleven, as he always does, and hadn’t finished looking through the mail when the bell rang. I waited until Fritz was on his way upstairs, then admitted the caller, took his hat and coat, and followed him to the office. He stood and told Wolfe he didn’t have time to sit.

“I like eyes at a level,” Wolfe said. “It takes three seconds to sit.”

Ballou sat.

“I’ll make it as brief as possible,” Wolfe said. “The first point, I am now satisfied that you didn’t kill Isabel Kerr, because I know who did, barely short of certainty. Her brother-in-law. The blackmailer. The second point, there is no longer any question of achieving my primary purpose, to clear Mr. Cather. That is assured. The third point, I would like to earn that fifty thousand dollars. How can I earn it?”

“I thought that was understood. Keep me out of this mess. Keep my name out. I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. I have wanted a dozen times to call you, but I’m afraid to talk on the phone.”

Wolfe shook his head. “It needs definition. Your name is known now. Five people know it — Mr. and Mrs. Fleming, Mr. Cather, Mr. Goodwin, and I. As for the last three, the best you can get is our assurance that we will disclose it to no one. As for Mr. and Mrs. Fleming, the best I could possibly do would be to create a situation which would make it highly unlikely that they would ever disclose it. I can’t open their skulls and remove the cells where your name is filed. You see that.”

“Yes.”

“You would be the judge of the situation. I want to earn the money, not extort it. Now the fourth point, the reason I had to see you without delay. To proceed with any expectation of success, I must enlist help. I need the assistance of a woman named Julie Jaquette, or Amy Jackson, who was the friend—”

“I know the name. I know about her.”

“From Miss Kerr.”

“Yes.”

“She doesn’t know your name, and she doesn’t need to. She calls you the lobster. I want to ask her help, without telling her your name, and I want to tell her that if we succeed she will receive fifty thousand dollars in cash. Will you supply it?”

Ballou frowned at him.

“You told me,” Wolfe said, “that the fifty thousand was just a retainer and implied that there would be more if I served your purpose. I wouldn’t want more. I’ll get it done in a day or two, or not at all. I make it contingent on success, against precedent, to preclude any smell of extortion. Also, the prospect is dim. What are the odds against us, Archie?”

I didn’t have to consider. “A thousand to one.”

“This is pointless,” Ballou said. “You know damned well I’m trapped. You told me you’re my only hope. What’s another fifty thousand, or ten times fifty? If you think she can help, all right. You don’t seem—”

He wasn’t interrupted; I was, by the sound of the vacuum cleaner. I rose and went to the hall, stood at the foot of the stairs, and heard no voices, just the vacuum cleaner. I was thinking the conversation was finished anyway and was turning to go and tell him where the door was, when he came. I was at the rack, ready with his coat, by the time he got there. His car was out in front, and I waited until he was in it and it was rolling, before going to the stairs and on up to the second landing.