Rex Stout: The Black Mountain

There were murmurs from the few scattered customers in the bar. Leo wheeled again, clapped his hand to his mouth, crossed to us, and stood staring at Wolfe. I saw sweat on his brow, another misdemeanor. In restaurants that sell squabs for five bucks or more apiece, captains and headwaiters are not allowed to sweat.

“It’s true,” Leo hissed, his hand still covering his mouth. He seemed to be shrinking in front of our eyes, and he was none too big anyway — not a shorty, but quite narrow up to his shoulders, where he spread out some. He let the hand fall, but kept his voice down. “Good God, Mr. Wolfe, is it true? It must—”

A hand gripped his shoulder from behind. Joe was there, and Joe was built for gripping. His years with Marko had polished him so that he no longer looked like a professional wrestler, but he had the size and lines.

“Get hold of yourself, damn it,” he muttered at Leo. “Did you want a table, Mr. Wolfe? Marko’s not here.”

“I know he’s not. He’s dead. I don’t—”

“Please not so loud. Please. Then you know he’s dead?”

“Yes. I saw him. I don’t want a table. Where’s Felix?”

“Felix is up in the office with two men. They came and said Marko had been shot and killed. He left the dinner to Leo and me and took them upstairs. No one has been told except Vincent at the door because Felix said Marko would not want the dinner to be spoiled. It makes me want to vomit to see them eating and drinking and laughing, but it may be that Felix is right — and the face he had, it was no time to argue. Do you think he is right? I would myself want to put everybody out and lock the door.”

Wolfe shook his head. “No. Felix is right. Let them eat. I’m going upstairs. Archie?” He headed for the elevator.

The third floor of the building had been remodeled a year or so previously to provide an office in front and three private dining rooms to the rear. Wolfe opened the door to the office, without knocking, and entered, and I followed. The three men in chairs over by a table turned to us. Felix Martin, a wiry, compact little guy with quick black eyes and gray hair — in his uniform, of course — got up and started toward us. The other two stayed put. They rated uniforms too, one an inspector’s and the other a sergeant’s, but didn’t wear them to work.

“Mr. Wolfe,” Felix said. You didn’t expect a voice so deep from one that size, even after you were acquainted with it. “The worst thing on earth! The worst thing! Everything was going so fine!”

Wolf gave him a nod and went on by to Inspector Cramer. “What have you got?” he demanded.

Cramer controlled himself. His big round face was always a little redder, and his cold gray eyes a little colder, when he was exercising restraint. “I know,” he conceded, “that you’re interested in this one personally. Sergeant Stebbins was saying to me that we would have to make allowances, and I agreed. Also this is one time when I’ll gladly take all the help you’ll give, so let’s all take it easy. Bring chairs, Goodwin.”

For Wolfe I went and got the one at Marko’s desk because it was nearer the size desired than any of the others. For myself I wasn’t so particular. As I was joining the party Wolfe was demanding, not taking it easy at all, “Have you got anything?”

Cramer tolerated it. “Anything hot, no. The murder was committed just two hours ago.”

“I know.” Wolfe tried to shift to a more acceptable position in the chair. “Of course you have asked Felix if he can name the murderer.” His eyes moved. “Can you, Felix?”

“No, sir. I can’t believe it.”

“You have no suggestions?”

“No, sir.”

“Where have you been since seven o’clock?”

“Me?” The black eyes were steady at Wolfe. “I’ve been right here.”

“All the time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where has Joe been?”

“Right here too.”

“All the time?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re sure of that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where has Leo been?”

“Here too, all the time. Where else would we be at dinnertime? And when Marko didn’t come—”

“If you don’t mind,” Cramer cut in, “I’ve already got this. I don’t need—”

“I do,” Wolfe told him. “I have a double responsibility, Mr. Cramer. If you assume that I intend to see that the murderer of my friend is caught and brought to account with the least possible delay, you are correct. But another onus is on me. Under my friend’s will, as you will soon learn officially, I am executor of his estate and trustee ad interim. I am not a legatee. This restaurant is the only substantial asset, and it was left to six of the men who work here, with the biggest shares going to the three men I have just inquired about. They were told of the terms of the will when it was altered a year ago. Mr. Vukcic had no close relatives, and none at all in this country.”

Cramer was eying Felix. “What’s this place worth?”

Felix shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“Did you know that if Vukcic died you would be part owner of it?”

“Certainly. You heard what Mr. Wolfe said.”

“You hadn’t mentioned it.”

“Good God!” Felix was out of his chair, on his feet, quivering. He stood a moment, got the quivering stopped, sat down again, and leaned forward at Cramer. “It takes time to mention things, officer. There is nothing about Marko and me, about him and us here, that I will not be glad to mention. He was hard about the work, hard and sometimes rough, and he could roar, but he was a great man. Listen, and I’ll tell you how I feel about him. Here I am. Here at my side is Marko.” Felix tapped his elbow with a finger. “A man appears and points a gun at him and is going to shoot. I jump to put myself in front of Marko. Because I am a big hero? No. I am no hero at all. Only because that’s how I feel about Marko. Ask Mr. Wolfe.”

Cramer grunted. “He was just asking you where you’ve been since seven o’clock. What about Leo and Joe? How do they feel about Marko?”

Felix straightened up. “They will tell you.”

“How do you think they feel?”

“Not like me because they are not of my temperament. But to suppose it possible they would try to hurt him — never. Joe would not jump in front of Marko to stop the bullet. He would jump for the man with the gun. Leo — I don’t know, but it is my opinion he would yell for help, for the police. I don’t sneer at that; it would take more than a coward to yell for help.”

“It’s too bad one of you wasn’t there when it happened,” Cramer observed. It seemed to me uncalled-for. Obviously he didn’t like Felix. “And you say you have no knowledge whatever of anyone who might have wanted Vukcic dead?”

“No, sir, I haven’t.” Felix hesitated. “Of course there is one thing — or I should say, more than one. There is women. Marko was a gallant man. Only one thing could ever take him away from his work here: a woman. I will not say that to him a woman was more important than a sauce — he could not be accused of ever neglecting a sauce — but he had a warm eye for women. After all, it was not essential for him to be in the kitchen when everything was planned and ready, and Joe and Leo and I are competent for the tables and service, so if Marko chose to enjoy dinner at his own table with a guest there was no feeling about it among us. But it might have caused feeling among others. I have no personal knowledge. Myself, I am married with four children and have no time, but everybody knows that women can arouse strong feelings.”

“So he was a chaser,” Sergeant Stebbins growled.

“Pfui!” Wolfe growled back at him. “Gallantry is not always a lackey for lust.”

Which was a fine sentiment with company present, but the fact remained that Wolfe had himself asked me about Marko’s relations with women. For the next three hours, there in Marko’s office, that subject came close to monopolizing the conversation. Felix was dismissed and told to send Joe up. Other Homicide dicks arrived, and an assistant district attorney, and waiters and cooks were brought up for sessions in the private dining rooms; and with each one, after a few personal questions, the emphasis was on the female guests who had eaten at Marko’s own table in the past year or so. By the time Wolfe was willing to call it a day and got himself erect and stretched, it was well after midnight and a respectable bulk of data had been collected, including the names of seven women, none of them notorious.