Rex Stout - Too Many Clients

“Do you know how Mr. Aiken found out that Mr. Yeager had that place?”

“Yes. I told him.”

“When?”

“About two months ago. Mr. Yeager had had me go there twice — no, three times — to take dictation in the evening. He said he could think better, do better work, away from the office. Of course you’re right, what you said about that room. I thought it was very — well, vulgar for him to ask me to go there. I worried about it, and I decided my loyalty shouldn’t be to Mr. Yeager, it should be to the corporation. It paid my salary. So I told Mr. Aiken.”

“What did he say?”

“He thanked me for telling him.”

“What did he do?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if he did anything.”

“Did he speak to Mr. Yeager about it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Pfui. Certainly you know. If he had, Mr. Yeager would have known you told him. Did you remark any change in Mr. Yeager’s attitude to you?”

“No.”

“Did he continue to ask you to go there to take dictation?”

“Yes.”

“How many times in the two months since you told Mr. Aiken?”

“Twice.”

Wolfe shut his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a fingertip. Ten seconds. His eyes opened. “When did Mr. Aiken ask you to go there this evening?”

“This afternoon at the office. He asked if I still had the keys, and I said yes. He asked if I had ever told anyone else about that place, and I said no. He said it would be a great favor to the corporation if I would go there and make sure that — what I told you.”

“Have you any reason to suppose that Mr. Aiken has ever been there?”

Her eyes widened. “Of course not.”

He shook his head. “No, Miss McGee. No assumption is of course in an unsolved problem. I may if I choose assume that you have been entirely candid with me, but I may not—”

The doorbell rang. I got up and went, and there on the stoop was the president. The stoop light is at an angle on someone facing the door, from the side, so features aren’t distinct, but the gray homburg and the fit of the gray topcoat were enough. I went and opened the door and asked, “Mr. Aiken? Come in.”

He stayed put. “Am I expected?”

“Yes, sir. Miss McGee is with Mr. Wolfe.”

He crossed the sill, and I helped him off with his coat. With his hat off, I recognized him; he had been seated near Thomas G. Yeager in the picture I had seen in Lon Cohen’s office of the banquet of the National Plastics Association. His face was well formed and well kept, and though his hair was mostly gray, he still had it. Every inch a president. He had paid at least eight times as much for his suit as the phony Yeager had paid for his. When I convoyed him to the office he stopped four steps in and said, “Good evening, Miss McGee,” then turned to Wolfe and said, “Good evening, sir. I’m Benedict Aiken.”

She was on her feet. I thought she had risen to show respect, but Wolfe spoke to Aiken. “I have told Miss McGee that I’ll speak with you privately first. If you please, madam? The door, Archie.”

“Just a minute.” Aiken wasn’t belligerent, just firm. “I’d like to speak with Miss McGee myself.”

“No doubt.” Wolfe upturned a palm. “Mr. Aiken. What Miss McGee told you on the phone was correct except for one detail, that she was attacked. I stationed a man in that room on the chance that someone would come there. Miss McGee came, and she—”

“Why are you interested in that room?”

“Because it belonged to Thomas G. Yeager and was used by him. The man didn’t attack Miss McGee; she attacked him. In explaining to me why she went there she mentioned you, and I would like an explanation from you so I can compare it with hers. She may be present if you prefer, but not if she tries to interrupt. If she does, Mr. Goodwin will stop her.”

Aiken looked at me, sizing me up. He went to the red leather chair and sat, in no hurry, making himself comfortable with his elbows on the arms. His eyes went to Wolfe. “Why do you think that room belonged to Thomas G. Yeager?”

“I don’t think, I know.”

“Why are you concerned? Whom are you acting for?”

“Myself. I have no engagement. I am in possession of a fact about a man who was murdered that is not commonly known. I am not legally obliged to communicate it to the police, and I am exploring the possibility of using it to my profit — not by concealing it, but by exploiting it. Like doctors, lawyers, plumbers, and many others, I get my income from the necessities, the tribulations, and the misfortunes of my fellow beings. You are under no compulsion to tell me why you are concerned, but I am willing to listen. I didn’t get you here.”

Aiken was smiling, not with amusement. “I can’t complain,” he said, “since you have the handle. I didn’t expect you to tell me who has hired you, but it’s hard to believe that no one has. How did you find out about that room?”

Wolfe shook his head. “I owe you no light, sir. But I have not been hired. If I had a client I would say so, of course without naming him.”

“How are you going to use the fact you possess about that room?”

“I don’t know. That will be determined by events. My man is still there.”

“When you speak of using it to your profit, of course you mean get paid by somebody.”

“Certainly.”

“All right.” Aiken shifted in the chair. “You want to compare my explanation with Miss McGee’s. Of course you know that Yeager was the executive vice-president of my corporation, Continental Plastic Products. Miss McGee was his secretary. Some two months ago she came to me and told me about that room, that Yeager had had her go there several times in the evening to work with him on various matters. She had no complaint of his conduct, but she thought I should know about that room and what it indicated of Yeager’s character and habits. From her description of the room I thought she was fully justified. Obviously it was a difficult problem. I asked her to mention it to no one, and not to refuse to go there again; I would have to take time to consider how to deal with it.”

“Did you mention it to him?”

“No. I don’t know how much you know of the administrative complexities of a large corporation, but the main question was whether the best procedure would be to discuss it with him first or take it up with my board of directors. I still hadn’t decided yesterday when the news came that he was dead, that his body had been found in a hole in the street in front of that house. Naturally that was a shock, that he had been murdered, that was — well, very unpleasant — but it would be worse than unpleasant, it would be disastrous, if the existence of that room became known. Since his body had been found in front of that house, it would be assumed that someone involved in his activities in that room had killed him, and the investigation, the publicity, the inevitable scandal would be terrible. I was going to call an emergency meeting of my board, but decided instead to consult three of my directors in confidence. It was possible that Yeager had kept the existence of that room so secret that his connection with it would not become known. I suggested asking Miss McGee to go there and get any articles that might identify Yeager, and the suggestion was approved. And your man was there.” His head turned. “Exactly what happened, Miss McGee?”

“When I got out of the elevator, there he was,” she said. “I guess I lost my head. I supposed he was a detective, a police detective. I tried to get back in the elevator, and he grabbed me, and I tried to get loose but couldn’t. He folded a bed cover around me and strapped it tight, and made a phone call, and after a while this man came, Archie Goodwin. He found out who I was from things in my bag and told me they were working for Nero Wolfe and they knew it was Mr. Yeager’s room, and since they knew that I thought I had better come here when he asked me to. He wouldn’t let me phone until I got here. I’m sorry, Mr. Aiken, but what could I do?”