Rex Stout - The Black Mountain

Of course I didn’t know then what he had said, but I saw he had made a mistake. Zov’s reaction, which was prompt, was merely a loud and emphatic protest, but Stritar narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips. Later, when I learned what Wolfe had said, I thanked God Stritar hadn’t been quite keen enough. He had suspected there was something phony about it, but he hadn’t gone a step further and realized that Toné Stara was from America and that Zov’s gun had been used to commit a murder in America. If he had, good-by. I’m not blaming Wolfe for making the try. He wanted me to hang on to that Luger if I possibly could, and he took the chance. He saw at once that it wouldn’t work and he had nearly gummed it, and was quick to repair the damage.

He raised a hand to stop Zov’s protest. “No, Comrade Zov, not if you feel so strongly about it. It was just a suggestion, of no importance. I thought you might welcome it. Alex, give Comrade Zov his gun.”

I took it from my pocket, went over and handed it to him, and returned to my chair.

Stritar’s eyes were back to normal. “You will be glad to know that your account agrees in every respect with Peter Zov’s. Of course you could have arranged for that, there was plenty of time, but I have at present no reason to suppose that you did. You can tell your son that the man he killed was Dmitri Shuvalov, one of the three top Russians in Albania.”

Wolfe told me, and I said that was interesting.

“So,” Stritar said, “I’m glad I let you go yesterday, to see what you would get into. I certainly didn’t anticipate your performance at the fort. Zov, who speaks Russian, has been in contact with Shuvalov for some time, and was doing well, he thought; but evidently he was wrong. It was lucky for him you came along, and I tell you frankly, you have earned some consideration. What are you going to do now? Would you like to go to Belgrade? It is not out of the question for you to meet the marshal.”

“We have no papers, as you know.”

“That will be no difficulty, under the circumstances.”

“I don’t know.” Wolfe looked doubtful. “My son and I feel that we have accomplished what we came for. It doesn’t take us a year to tell an apple from a wart. We are satisfied that the true interests of the people of my native land will be best served by the present regime. We were particularly impressed by your treatment of us yesterday, because it could only have come from the confidence of a secure and just authority. We want to help as far as our modest resources will permit, but we can do more good in America than we could here. Our property is there, and our — oh, by the way, speaking of property, I told you of our cache in the mountains.”

“Yes.”

“It’s eight thousand dollars in American currency, and we wish to contribute it as a token of our belief in the regime and our desire to support it. I’ll tell my son what I have said so he may indicate his concurrence.” He turned to me. “Alex, I’m telling them that we donate our cache of eight thousand dollars to the regime. If you agree, please nod at them.”

I did so, first at Stritar and then at Zov. But if I know anything about men’s faces, having seen the look they exchanged as Wolfe spoke, all the regime would ever see of that eight grand wouldn’t get the windows washed in that one room. I took in their expressions as Wolfe proceeded to furnish in careful detail the location of the cache, and I’ll bet I had them right. Zov was thinking: It ought to be an even split. I brought them here. Stritar was thinking: Ten per cent is enough for Zov. He’s lucky to be in on it at all.

Wolfe went on, “Of course that amount is nothing, it’s merely a gesture, but we wish to make it. When we get back to America we’ll see what we can do. You suggested our going to Belgrade, but that doesn’t appeal to us. Our interest centers in the people of these mountains, and even under the present progressive regime they seem to be a little neglected. Also I like to deal with men I have met, men I know. From America I would rather be in touch with you than with names in Belgrade that mean nothing to me personally. I suppose you regard that as a bourgeois sentiment.”

“Well.” Stritar considered it. “It’s human.”

Wolfe looked apologetic. “I admit I have acquired some bourgeois habits of thought during my years in America, and that is regrettable. I am of peasant origin. The peasant is out of date, and the bourgeois is doomed. You and your kind represent the future, and my son wants to be a part of the future. I intend to teach him Serbo-Croat, and in time, when our affairs in America have been properly arranged, he hopes to return here for good. Meanwhile I shall communicate with you, and you can tell me now if you have any suggestions how we can be of use.”

“We need friends in America,” Stritar said.

“Naturally. You need friends everywhere. We will do what we can in that direction. Would you advise us to join the Communist Party of the United States and try to influence them in your favor?”

“Good God, no.” Stritar was contemptuous. “They belong to Moscow, body and soul, and they’re a nest of slimy vermin. Where do you live in America?”

“In Philadelphia.”

“Where is that?”

“It’s a city with two million people, ninety miles southwest of New York.”

“Two million! That’s incredible. Is your name there Toné Stara?”

“No.” Wolfe hesitated. “It is not a question of being frank with you, Comrade Stritar. It is merely that I would not want any inquiries made among my friends or associates until I return. As soon as I arrive I’ll let you know, and of course give you my American name and address. One thing you should tell me now; in case I have money to send, which is very probable, I would want to be sure it reaches you safely. How would I send dollars?”

Stritar pursed his lips. “I’ll think it over and let you know. You’re right, it should be properly arranged. When are you leaving, and how?”

“We have no papers.”

“I know.”

“Also, I’ll be frank, we want to get away as soon possible. You must forgive us if we feel that we are in danger. I know that the police here are under you and are therefore extremely efficient, but today weheard that Russian tell Comrade Zov that he had to come to the fort when he got his message, because he knew what to expect if he didn’t. So not only can they get messages to Titograd, but also if the messages are not heeded they can do something about it. They will certainly not let the death of that Dmitri Shuvalov go unavenged, not to mention the other two. We are not comfortable in Titograd.”

“No one saw you. No one knows you were there.”

“Danilo Vukcic knows, and his friends. My suspicions of Vukcic may be unfounded, but I have them. He may be in Albania now, to report about us. And that suggests another matter, though it is not our concern.”

“What other matter?”

Wolfe glanced at Zov and back at Stritar. “Regarding Comrade Zov. I presume his danger is greater than ours. If Shuvalov was confident that he could reach him in Titograd to punish him for ignoring a message, surely they can reach him when the motive is so much stronger. That is his concern, and yours, but, having rescued him from torture and perhaps death, naturally we feel an interest in him. I am willing to propose something if it is not impertinent.”

“You couldn’t be more impertinent than to march into my office and announce you had no papers. What do you propose?”

“That you send Zov to America for a while. He could either go with us or come to us after he arrives, and we would see to his needs and his safety. It offers several advantages: it would remove him temporarily from peril here, if there is any; it would give us someone in America who is familiar with conditions here, to advise us; it would give you an agent there whom you trust, to report on us and our associates; and it would give me a messenger I could rely on if I had something confidential or valuable to send to you.” Wolfe flipped a hand. “Of course, for some reason unknown to me, it may be quite impractical.”