Rex Stout - Before Midnight

He coughed, and shut his eyes and breathed a little, then went on. “The point is that it’s been twenty-six years since I made a fool of myself, and if you and those other fools only knew it, once was enough. There’s only one thing you can tell me that I’m interested in, and that’s this, what are they going to do about the contest? As it stands now it’s a giveaway, and I’ll fight it. That young woman, Susan Tescher — she lives here in New York and she’s a researcher for Clock magazine. She’s working on it right now — and here I am. I’ll fight it.”

“Fight it how?” I asked.

“That’s the question.” He passed his finger tips over his right cheek and then over his left one. “I haven’t shaved today. I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell you one idea I had.”

“Neither do I.”

He had his eyes steady on me, and they didn’t look so sick. “You strike me as a sensible young man.”

“I am.”

“It’s just possible that Miss Tescher is a sensible young woman. If she tries to bull it through on the basis of what was agreed last night, after what has happened, she may end up by wishing she’d never heard of the damn contest. I think the rest of us might get together with her and suggest that we split it up five ways. The first five prizes total eight hundred and seventy thousand dollars, so that would make it one hundred and seventy-four thousand apiece. That ought to satisfy everybody, and I don’t see why you people would object to it. As it stands now — was that a knock at the door?”

“It sounded like it.”

“I told them I didn’t want... oh well. Come in!”

The door opened slowly and there was Carol Wheelock, without coat or hat. As I left my chair she stopped, and apparently was about to turn and scoot, but I spoke. “Hello there. Come on in.”

“Leave the door open,” Younger said.

“I’m here,” I told him.

“I know you are. With a woman in my hotel room the door stays open.”

“I shouldn’t have come.” She stood. “I should have phoned, but with all the wiretapping—”

“It’s all right.” I was moving another chair up. “Mr. Younger is resting because he had a little paroxysm, nothing serious.”

“Crap,” Younger said. “Sit down. I want to talk to you anyway.”

She still hesitated, then came on and sat. If she had eaten anything there was no noticeable result. She looked at me. “Does he know about Miss Frazee?”

I shook my head. “I hadn’t got to that yet.”

She looked at Younger. “I couldn’t reach Miss Tescher, and I wanted to speak to you before Mr. Rollins. You know Miss Frazee is the head of the Women’s Nature League. You remember it was mentioned last evening, and Mr. Dahlmann was very witty about it. He thought it would be amusing for her to win a prize, and of course she was going to, one of the first five.”

“I didn’t think he was witty,” Younger declared.

She didn’t press it. “Well, he thought he was. What I wanted to tell you, three hundred women, members of her league, have been working with Miss Frazee on the contest, and she has sent them the verses we got last night by long distance telephone, and they’re working on them now — three hundred of them.”

“Just a minute,” I put in. “As Mr. Wolfe told you, she said they helped her, but not that they have the new verses. That’s an assumption. I admit it has four legs.”

Younger had raised himself to an elbow, and the open front of his pajama top showed a hairy chest. “Three hundred women?” he demanded.

“Right. So I doubt if you can sell Miss Frazee on your plan to split it five ways. You’ll have to think up—”

“Get out!” he commanded. Not me; it was for Mrs. Wheelock. “Get out of here. I’m getting up and I haven’t got any pants on. — Wait a minute! You’ll be in your room? Stay in your room until you hear from me. I’m going to find Rollins and the three of us are going to fight. We’ll blow it so high they won’t find any pieces. Stay in your room!”

He gave the covers a kick, proving he had been right about the pants, and she ran. I looked at my watch, and took my hat from the back of the chair.

“I have an appointment,” I told him, “and anyway, you’re going to be busy.”

Up in the plant rooms on the roof it was Cattleya mossiae time. In the cool room, the first one you enter from the vestibule, the odontoglossums were sporting their sprays, and in the middle room, the tropical room, two benches of Phalaenopsis, the hardiest of all to grow well, were crowding the aisle with racemes two feet long, but at mossiae time the big show was in the third room. Of Wolfe’s fourteen varieties of mossiae my favorite was reineckiana, with its white, yellow, lilac, and violet. But then, passing through, I only had time for a glance at them.

Wolfe, in the potting-room, washing his hands at the sink and talking with Theodore, growled at me. “Couldn’t it wait?”

“Just rhetoric,” I said. “It’s ten to six and Miss Tescher may be there when you come down, and you might want a report on Younger before you see her. If not, I’ll go look at orchids.”

“Very well. Since you’re here.”

I gave it to him verbatim. He had no questions and no comments. By the time I finished he had his hands and nails clean and had moved to the workbench to frown at a bedraggled specimen in a pot.

“Look at this Oncidium varicosum,” he grumbled. “Dry rot in April. It has never happened before and there is no explanation. Theodore is certain—”

The buzz of the house phone kept me from learning what Theodore was certain of. Instead, I learned what had upset Fritz downstairs: “Archie, you only told me to admit a Miss Susan Tescher. She has come, but there are three men with her. What do I do?”

“Are they in?”

“Of course not. They’re out on the stoop and it has started to rain.”

I said I’d be right down, told Wolfe Miss Tescher had arrived with outriders, and beat it. I rarely use the elevator, and never squeeze in together with Wolfe’s bulk. Descending the three flights to the main hall, and taking a look through the one-way glass panel, I saw that Fritz’s count was accurate. One female and three males were standing in the April shower, glaring in my direction but not seeing me. The men were strangers but not dicks unless they had changed brands without telling me, and it seemed unnecessary to let them get any wetter, so I went and unbolted the door and swung it open, and in they came. A remark about rain being wet might have been expected from the males, but they started removing their coats with no remarks at all. The female said in a clear strong capable voice, “I’m Susan Tescher.”

I told her who I was and hung her coat up for her. She was fairly tall, slender but not thin, and not at all poorly furnished with features. From a first glance, and I try to make first glances count, everything about her was smart, with the exception of the ear-rings, which were enameled clock dials the size of a quarter. She had gray eyes and brassy hair and very good skin and lipstick.

As we were starting for the office the elevator door opened and Wolfe emerged. He stopped, facing her.

“I’m Susan Tescher,” she said.

He bowed. “I’m Nero Wolfe. And these gentlemen?”

She used a hand. “Mr. Hibbard, of the legal staff of Clock.” Mr. Hibbard was tall and skinny. “Mr. Schultz, an associate editor of Clock.” Mr. Schultz was tall and broad. “Mr. Knudsen, a senior editor of Clock.” Mr. Knudsen was tall and bony.

I had edged on ahead, to be there to get her into the red leather chair, which was where Wolfe always wanted the target, without any fuss. There was no problem. The men were perfectly satisfied with the three smaller chairs I placed for them, off to my right and facing Wolfe at his desk. All three crossed their legs, settled back, and clasped their hands. When I got out my notebook Schultz called Hibbard’s attention, and Hibbard called Knudsen’s attention, but there was no comment.