Рекс Стаут - The Silent Speaker

I might have suspected him of sending me outdoors to play, to keep me out of mischief, but for the fact that it was a nuisance for him to have me out of the house, since he either had to answer the phone himself or let Fritz interrupt his other duties to attend to both the phone and the doorbell. So I granted his good faith, at least tentatively, and swiveled my chair to dial the Waldorf’s number, and asked for Mrs. Boone’s room. The room answered with a male voice that I didn’t recognize, and after giving my name, and waiting longer than seemed called for, I had Nina.

“This is Nina Boone. Is this Mr. Goodwin of Nero Wolfe’s office? Did I get that right?”

“Yep. In the pay of the NIA. Thank you for coming to the phone.”

“Why — you’re welcome. Did you — want something?”

“Certainly I did, but forget it. I’m not calling about what I want or wanted, or could easily want. I’m calling about something somebody else wants, because I was asked to, only in my opinion he’s cuckoo. You realize the position I’m in. I can’t call you up and say this is Archie Goodwin and I just drew ten bucks from the savings bank and how about using it to buy dinner for two at that Brazilian restaurant on Fifty-second Street? What’s the difference whether that’s what I want to do or not, as long as I can’t? Am I keeping you from something important?”

“No... I have a minute. What is it that somebody else wants?”

“I’ll come to that. So all I can say is, this is Archie Goodwin snooping for the NIA, and I would like to use some NIA expense money to buy you a dinner at that Brazilian restaurant on Fifty-second Street, with the understanding that it is strictly business and I am not to be trusted. To give you an idea how tricky I am, some people look under the bed at night, but I look in the bed, to make sure I’m not already there laying for me. Is the minute up?”

“You sound really dangerous. Is that what somebody else wanted you to do, kid me into having dinner with you?”

“The dinner part was my idea. It popped out when I heard your voice again. As for somebody else — you appreciate that working on this thing I’m thrown in with all sorts of people, not only Nero Wolfe, who is — well, he can’t help it, he’s what he is — but also the police, the FBI, the District Attorney’s outfit — all kinds. What would you say if I told you that one of them told me to call you and ask where Ed Erskine is?”

“Ed Erskine?” She was flabbergasted. “Ask me where Ed Erskine is?”

“That’s right.”

“I’d say he was out of his mind.”

“So would I. So that’s settled. Now before we hang up, to leave no loose ends hanging, maybe you’d better answer my own personally conducted question, about the dinner. How do you usually say no? Blunt? Or do you zigzag to avoid hurting people’s feelings?”

“Oh, I’m blunt.”

“All right, wait till I brace myself. Shoot.”

“I couldn’t go tonight, no matter how tricky you are. I’m eating here with my aunt in her room.”

“Then supper later. Or breakfast. Lunch. Lunch tomorrow at one?”

There was a pause. “What kind of a place is this Brazilian restaurant?”

“Okay, out of the way, and good food.”

“But... whenever I go on the street—”

“I know. That’s how it is. Leave by the Forty-ninth Street entrance. I’ll be there at the curb with a dark blue Wethersill sedan. I’ll be right there from twelve-fifty on. You can trust me to be there, but beyond that, remember, be on your guard.”

“I may be a little late.”

“I should hope so. You look perfectly normal to me. And please don’t, five or ten years from now, try to tell me that I said you look average. I didn’t say average, I said normal. See you tomorrow.”

As I pushed the phone back I had a notion that a gleam of self-congratulation might be visible in my eyes, so I didn’t turn immediately to face Wolfe but found papers on my desk that needed attention. After a moment he muttered:

“This evening would have been better.”

I counted ten. Then, still without turning, I said distinctly, “My dear sir, try getting her to meet you any time whatever, even at Tiffany’s to try things on.”

He chuckled. Before long he chuckled again. Finding that irritating, I went up to my room and kept busy until dinnertime, straightening up. Fritz and Charley hadn’t been able to get up that high on account of the condition of the rest of the house, and while the microscope experts had been neat and apparently respectable, I thought a spot inventory wouldn’t do any harm.

Toward the end of dinner, with the salad and cheese, a little controversy arose. I wanted to have our coffee there in the dining room and then go straight up to bed, and Wolfe, while admitting that he too needed sleep, wanted the coffee in the office as usual. He got arbitrary about it, and just as an object lesson I sat tight. He went to the office and I stayed in the dining room. When I was through I went to the kitchen and told Fritz:

“I’m sorry you had that extra trouble, serving coffee in two places, but he has got to learn how to compromise. You heard me offer to split the difference and drink it in the hall.”

“It was no trouble at all,” Fritz said graciously. “I understand, Archie. I understand why you’re being erratic. There goes the doorbell.”

It was a temptation to let the damn thing ring. I needed sleep. So did Wolfe, and all I had to do was flip the switch there on the kitchen wall to stop the bell ringing. But I didn’t flip it. I said to Fritz, “Justice. The public weal. Duty, goddam it,” and went to the front and pulled the door open.

The guy standing there said, “Good evening. I would like to see Mr. Wolfe.”

I had never seen him before. He was around fifty, medium-sized, with thin straight lips and the kind of eyes that play poker for blood. The first tenth of a second I thought he was one of Bascom’s men, and then saw that his clothes ruled that out. They were quiet and conservative and must have had at least three try-ons. I told him:

“I’ll see if he’s in. Your name, please?”

“John Smith.”

“Oh. What do you want to see him about, Mr. Jones?”

“Private and urgent business.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“I can to him, yes.”

“Good. Sit down and read a magazine.”

I shut the door on him, clear shut, and went to the office and told Wolfe:

“Mr. John Smith, which he must have got out of a book, looks like a banker who would gladly lend you a dime on a cupful of diamonds. I left him on the stoop, but don’t worry about him being insulted because he has no feelings. Please don’t ask me to find out what he wants because it might take hours.”

Wolfe grunted. “What is your opinion?”

“None at all. I am not being permitted to know where we’re at. The natural impulse is to kick him off the stoop. I’ll say this for him, he’s not an errand boy.”

“Bring him in.”

I did so. In spite of his obnoxious qualities and of his keeping us up, I put him in the red leather chair because that had him facing both of us. He was not a lounger. He sat up straight, with his fingers intertwined in his lap, and told Wolfe:

“I gave the name of John Smith because my name is of no significance. I am merely an errand boy.”

Starting off by contradicting me. He went on:

“This is a confidential matter and I must speak with you privately.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Mr. Goodwin is my confidential assistant. His ears are mine. Go ahead.”

“No.” Smith’s tone implied, and that settles it. “I have to be alone with you.”