Rex Stout - Over My Dead Body

"I didn't know it. But her questioning you-"

"Sure. Your curiosity got aroused. Check that off. Do you mean to say that that girl is a Balkan princess?"

"I don't know. Stefan married only three years ago. I got that from this book. Don't badger me, Archie. I don't like this."

"What don't you like about it?"

"I like nothing about it. Of all the activities of man, international intrigue is the dirtiest. The Balkan mess, as it is today, I know only superficially, but even on the surface the maggots of corruption may be seen writhing. The regent who rules Yugoslavia deviously courts the friendship of certain nations. He is a Karageorgevitch. Prince Stefan, the head of the Donevitch clan, now that old Peter is dying, is being used by certain other nations, and he is using them for his own ambition. And now look at this!" He slapped the paper with his palm. "They bring this to America! If it could be used to destroy them all, I would use it!"

He puffed. "Bah!" He made a gesture of spitting, which I had seen him do only once before in the years I had lived under his roof. "Pfui! Bosnian forest concessions from a Donevitch! As soon as I saw that girl and heard her voice I knew the devil was around. Confound them for crossing the ocean and stepping on this shore-confound her for coming here, here to my office, and soiling one of my books with this-this nauseous-"

"Hold it," I cautioned him. "Breathe deep three times. How do you know she put it there? It's been months since you've had that book down, and maybe somebody-"

"Who? When?"

"Lord, I don't know. Vukcic is a Montenegrin-"

"Gibberish."

I waved a hand. "All right, then the immigrant girl did it, and she's either an obnoxious Balkan princess or she's not, and so what and why? Is she in cahoots with evil forces in America, and will Mr Stahl come back with a search warrant and find it and throw you in the coop? Is it a plant? Or did she swipe it from the princess and come here to cache it-?"

"Archie."

"Yes, sir."

"Address an envelope to Miss Carla Lovchen in care of the Nikola Miltan Studio-get the address from the phone book. Put this thing in it and mail it at once. I don't want it here. I'll have nothing to do with it. I don't want- I send money to those young people over there because I know it's hard for even a Montenegrin to be brave on an empty stomach, but it's their stable now, not mine, and they'll have to clean it out. This is the first time- Well, Fritz?"

Fritz Brenner, entering, advanced his three paces and announced:

"A young lady to see you, sir. Miss Carla Lovchen."

I made a noise. Wolfe blinked at him.

Fritz held to his formal stance, waiting. He had to wait a full two minutes, for Wolfe sat motionless, his lips puckered up, his forehead creased with a frown. Finally:

"Where is she?"

"In the front room, sir. I always think-"

"Shut that door and come here."

Fritz obeyed and was standing by the desk. Wolfe turned to me: "Address an envelope to Saul Panzer at his home and put a stamp on it."

I elevated the typewriter and followed instructions. As I put the stamp in the corner I inquired, "Registered or special?"

"No. Neither. That's another point for America, mail gets delivered intact and promptly. Let me have it." He inserted the folded paper in the envelope, licked the flap and pressed it down. "Here, Fritz, go to the box at the corner and drop it in-immediately."

"The young lady-"

"We'll attend to her."

Fritz departed. Wolfe cocked an ear and waited until the sound of the street door opening and closing reached us, and then told me, "Remember to phone Saul and tell him to expect that envelope and to take care of it." He slid United Yugoslavia across the desk. "Put this away before you bring her in."

I returned the book to its place on the shelf and then went to the front room for her. "This way, please. Sorry you had to wait." As I stood back to let her precede me into the office, I inspected her build and swing and the set of her head from the fresh viewpoint of the princess theory, but the first strong impression I had had of her was the way she said "pliz," and to me she was still an immigrant girl, and in my opinion always would be. Anyway, judging from various pictures of princesses I had seen, from brats on up, I was inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt and assume that she had swiped that paper from the rightful owner.

She thanked me for the chair and I returned to my own. I had a notion to warn her to lay off of the hvala Bogu stuff, but decided that Wolfe was in no mood for the light touch. He was upright in his chair with his eyes narrowed at her.

"I sent you a message this morning. Miss Lovchen," he said dryly, "by Mr Goodwill, that I would be unable to help you out in your trouble-your friend's trouble."

She nodded. "I got it. I was disappointed, very much, because we're from Yugoslavia and we know you have been there, and we're strangers and there was no one else to go to." She kept the lashes up, her dark eyes at him straight. "I told Neya-my friend-and she was disappointed too. It is a very extremely serious trouble. We talked it over, and there is only one thing to do, and that is you must get her out of it."

"No." Wolfe was still dry, and positive. "I can't engage to do that. But I would like to ask-"

"Pliz!" She snapped it out. "It must be done quick now, because they will all be there at five o'clock to settle it, and that man is not only an American fool, he is the kind of man who would simply make trouble anywhere. And somehow there is a terrible mistake. There is no one we can go to but you. So we talked it over and I saw the only thing to do is to tell you the very good reason why you must help her, and she agreed to it because she had to. The reason is that my friend. Neya Tormic, is your daughter."

Wolfe's eyes popped open to a new record. Not liking the sight of that, I transferred my astonished stare to the girl.

Wolfe exploded. "My daughter? What's this flummery?"

"She is your daughter."

"My daugh-" Wolfe was speechless. He found a piece of his voice:

"You said her name is Tormic."

"I told you her name in America is Neya Tormic, just as mine is Carla Lovchen."

Wolfe, erect, was glaring at her. She glared back. They stayed that way.

Wolfe blurted, "I don't believe it. It's flummery. My daughter disappeared. I have no daughter."

"You haven't seen her since she was three years old. Have you?"

"No."

"You should. Now you will. She's very good-looking." She opened her handbag and fished in it. "I suspected you wouldn't want to believe me, so I got this from Neya and brought it along. Here." She reached to hand him a paper. "There is your name where you signed it. "

She went on talking. Wolfe was scowling at the paper. He went over it slowly and carefully, holding it at an angle for better light from the window. His jaw was clamped. I watched him and listened to her. What with the paper hid in his book and now this, it began to look as if the Montenegrin female situation held great promise.

He finished inspecting the thing, folded it with deliberation, and stuck it in his pocket.

Miss Lovchen extended a hand. "No, you must give it back. I must return it to Neya. Unless you take it to her yourself?"

Wolfe regarded her. He grunted. "I don't know anything about this. The paper's all right. That is my signature. It belonged to that girl. It still does, if she lives. How do I know it wasn't stolen?"

"For what?" She shrugged. "You're suspicious beyond anything to be expected. Stolen to be brought across the ocean for what? To have an effect on you, here in America? No, you are famous, but not as famous as all that. It was not stolen from her. She sent me to show it to you and to tell you. She is in trouble!" Her eyes flashed at him. "What are you in your opinion-a rock on Durmitor for a goat to stand on? You will see your grown daughter for the first time perhaps in a jail?"