Rex Stout - The Black Mountain

Stritar and Zov had exchanged not one glance, but several. Stritar said, “It is worth considering. It may not be entirely impractical.”

“I thought it might not be,” Wolfe said, “since Zov returned only recently from a trip to America. That was what suggested it to me. I even thought it possible you might have another mission for him there. If so, he might need help, and what we did today, especially my son, may have demonstrated that we could be capable of supplying it.”

Stritar looked at Zov. Then he studied Wolfe. Then he transferred to me. I was aware, from tones and expressions and the atmosphere, that we were at a crisis, but I didn’t know what kind, so all I could do was meet his eyes and look loyal and confident and absolutely intrepid. After he had analyzed me clear through to my spine he returned to Wolfe.

“Did you ever,” he asked, “hear of a man named Nero Wolfe?”

I claim a medal for handling not only my face but all my nerves and muscles. His pronunciation was fuzzy, but not too fuzzy for me to get it. I knew they were at a crisis, and suddenly that bozo snaps out the name Nero Wolfe. How I kept my hand from starting for my holster I don’t know. Wolfe showed no sign of panic, but that was no help. He wouldn’t panic if you paid him.

“Of course,” he said. “If you mean the well-known detective in New York. Everyone in America has heard of him.”

“Do you know him?”

“I haven’t met him, no. I know a man who has. He says I look like him, but I’ve seen a picture of him, and the only resemblance is that we’re both big and fat.”

“Did you know a man named Marko Vukcic?”

“No, but I heard his name today, as I told you, when Shuvalov was speaking to Zov. Was he any relation to Danilo Vukcic?”

“His uncle. He owned a de luxe restaurant. This detective, Nero Wolfe, was his friend, and there is reason to believe that he intends to take Vukcic’s place and send money and other help to the Spirit of the Black Mountain. In large amounts.”

Wolfe grunted. “Then it did no good to kill Vukcic.”

“I don’t agree. We couldn’t know that a friend of his would take over so promptly and effectively. But he has. I got the news only today.”

“And now you propose to kill Nero Wolfe.”

Stritar snapped, “I didn’t say so.”

“No, but you might as well. I haven’t got a quick mind, but it didn’t have to be quick for that. I suggested that you might have another mission for Zov in America, and you asked me if I had ever heard of this Nero Wolfe. That’s just adding two and two, or rather one and one. So you propose to kill him.”

“What if I do?”

“It may be necessary. I don’t know.”

“You told Zov that you disapprove of torture but that violence is often unavoidable, as it was on his mission to New York.”

“That’s true. I meant that. But I don’t think a man should be killed merely on suspicion. Have you any evidence that this Nero Wolfe will really help your enemies as Vukcic did?”

“I have.” Stritar opened a drawer of his desk and took out a paper. “Day before yesterday a man in Bari received a telegram from Nero Wolfe which read as follows: ‘Inform proper persons across Adriatic I am handling Vukcic’s affairs and assuming obligations. Two hundred thousand dollars available soon. Will send agent conference Bari next month.’ ” Stritar put the paper back and shut the drawer. “Is that evidence?”

“It sounds like it. Who is the man in Bari that got the telegram?”

“That’s not important. You want to know too much.”

“I don’t think so, Comrade Stritar — if I am to call you Comrade. If I am to trust you on vital matters, as I am prepared to do, you will trust me to some extent. My son and I will have to go through Bari on our way back, to get our papers and effects, and we might possibly encounter him. His name?”

Stritar shrugged his bulging shoulders. “Paolo Telesio.”

Wolfe’s eyes widened. “What!”

Stritar stared. “What’s the matter?”

“Enough.” Wolfe was grim. “Paolo Telesio has our papers and belongings. We left them in his care. A man in Philadelphia gave me his name, as one trustworthy and capable, who would arrange for getting us across the Adriatic. And he serves the Spirit of the Black— No, wait! After all, you have that telegram.” He shook his head. “No, it is just as well we’re going back. Here it’s impossible to tell who you’re dealing with. My brain is not equipped for it.”

“Not many brains are,” Stritar declared. “Don’t make any assumptions about Telesio. I didn’t say he sent me the telegram. You are not to tell him I have seen it. You understand that?”

“Certainly. We’re not a pair of fools, though yesterday you called us that. Do you still think so?”

“I think it is possible I was wrong. I agree with you that you can do more good in America than you can here. It is in your favor that you are inclined to be skeptical, as for instance about Nero Wolfe. You asked for evidence that he intends to send major assistance to our subversive underground, and I furnished it. I regard it as conclusive. Do you?”

Wolfe hesitated. “Conclusive is a strong word. But I — yes. I will say yes.”

“Then he must be dealt with. Will you help?”

“That depends. If you mean will I or my son engage to kill him, no. Killing a man in America is not the same as killing a man here. Circumstances might develop that would lead us to undertake it, but I won’t commit myself, and neither will he.”

“I didn’t ask you to. I asked if you’ll help. Peter Zov will need it. The preparations and arrangements will have to be made for him, and provision for his safety afterward. You say Philadelphia is ninety miles from New York — that’s a hundred and fifty kilometers — and that is well, for New York would be dangerous for him. That’s the kind of help he’ll need. Will you give it?”

Wolfe considered. “There’s a difficulty. No matter how well it is arranged, it’s conceivable that Zov will be caught. If he is, under pressure he might betray us.”

“You saw him under pressure today. Will the American police use greater pressure than that?”

“No.” Wolfe looked at me. “Alex, it is suggested that Comrade Zov shall go to America, and we shall provide for his necessities and also help him with the preparations to kill a man named Nero Wolfe. I am willing to undertake it if you are.”

I looked serious. I would have given eight thousand cents to be able to reply that I had been wanting to kill a man named Nero Wolfe for years, but I wasn’t sure that Stritar and Zov understood no English. I had to skip it. I said earnestly, “I am willing, Father, to help with anything you approve of.”

He looked at Stritar. “My son says he is willing. We want to leave here as soon as possible. Can you get us to Bari tonight?”

“Yes. But Zov will have to go by another route.” Stritar looked at his watch. “There is much to arrange.” He raised his voice to call, “Jin!”

The door opened, and one of the clerks came in. Stritar spoke to him. “Find Trumbic and Levstik and get them here. I’ll be busy for an hour or more. No interruptions unless it’s urgent.”

Zov had his Luger out, rubbing it with his palm.

We got arrested for having no papers after all, and it damn near bollixed everything.

Not in Montenegro. Stritar took no chances on our changing our minds and deciding to go to Belgrade, where we would probably mention the eight thousand dollars and the promise of more to come. He fed us there in his office, on meat and cheese and bread and raisins that he had brought in, and a little after dark took us down to the street himself and put us in a 1953 Ford, a different color from Jubé Bilic’s. Our destination was Budva, a coast village which Wolfe said was five miles north of the spot where we had been landed by Guido Battista two nights before. During the hour and a half that it took to cover the thirty miles, the driver had no more than a dozen words for Wolfe, and none at all for me. As he delivered us at the edge of a slip and exchanged noises with a man waiting there, it started to rain.