Rex Stout - Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

She shook her head, frowning at him. “You don’t understand, Mr. Wolfe. The principals, as you call them, are above any risk of betrayal. As I said, this goes high. But even so, we have to use discretion, because we don’t want-”

The phone ringing interrupted her. I got it at my desk, and was informed that Washington was calling Nero Wolfe. I asked who was calling, and after a wait was told General Carpenter. I said to hold the wire, scribbled Gen. Carp. on my pad, and got up to hand it to Wolfe.

After a glance he turned it face down on his desk, and said politely to Bruce, “Mr. Goodwin will take you up and show you the orchids.”

“If it’s Lieutenant Lawson-” she began.

“Come on,” I told her, “maybe you can worm it out of me.”

It was hot in the plant rooms. I was sweating and she was a little flushed from the climb. Horstmann came trotting out, and I explained I was showing a guest around. I told her it was a little cooler in the potting-room, but she said no, she wanted to look at the plants, so I decided the best way to keep my mind off of the pleasing possibility of wringing her neck was to tell her the Latin names of the orchids. I did state that I would personally prefer to go to the potting-room, but couldn’t, because if I left her alone she would swipe some of the plants to bribe people with. She flashed an appreciative glance at me and made her little noise, half gurgle and half chuckle, as if she did so enjoy my amusing remarks.

We were in the third room, where the germinating flasks were, when I heard the phone ringing in the potting-room, and went there to get it. I told it, “Goodwin speaking.”

Wolfe’s voice said, “Send Miss Bruce down here.”

“You mean bring her down?”

“No. You are under the handicap of having sworn your oath as an officer in the Army. I am not. This may turn out to be a little delicate. I’d better talk with her privately.”

Something more for me not to know. I sure was on the inside. I went and passed the word to Bruce and opened the doors for her through to the stairs. She descended. Going down one flight to my room, I couldn’t see anything to interfere with rinsing the figure, so I stripped and stepped into the shower. Ordinarily I find that a good environment for sorting out my mind and fitting pieces together, but since in this case I was being stiff-armed clear off the field into the bleachers, I left the brain at ease and had a good time admiring my muscles and the hair on my chest. I was tying my good shoe laces when Fritz called up to say dinner was ready.

When I got downstairs, Wolfe was standing in the hall just outside the dining-room door. He waited till I approached, then turned and entered. We sat at the table.

“No company?” I inquired courteously. “Our new employer?”

“Miss Bruce went,” he said.

Fritz came in with an earthenware pot on a serving platter, deposited it on the table in front of Wolfe, and lifted the lid. Steam and smell emerged and floated with the currents of air. Wolfe sniffed, leaned forward and sniffed again.

“Creole tripe,” he said, “without the salt pork and pigs’ feet. I’m anxious to see what you think.” He inserted a serving spoon, releasing a fresh spurt of steam.

We had got started late, so it was along toward ten o’clock when we finished with coffee and went to the office. The stuff from the carton that I had piled on my desk was gone, and so was the carton. The map of Russia had been put away. The suitcase was still there on the chair. Instructed by Wolfe to put it in a safe place, I locked it in the closet, since it was too big for the safe. Wolfe was in his chair behind his desk, leaning back with his finger tips meeting at the spot where the ends of no one-yard tape measure would ever meet again. A book he was reading, Under Cover , by John Roy Carlson, was there on his desk, but he hadn’t picked it up. I took a seat at my own desk and spoke.

“I’d hate to spoil anybody’s fun,” I said, “and I don’t like to intrude a personal note, but it occurred to me some time ago that if Lawson is on the square and reports to his superiors that I called on Sergeant Bruce and kidnapped that carton, there’ll be hell to pay.”

Wolfe sighed. “You caught him hiding in a closet.”

“Even so,” I persisted.

“And surely he wouldn’t do anything that might get Miss Bruce into trouble.”

“No? What if he’s on the square, and onto her, and playing her? Under orders from Ryder, or from Fife himself? Or Tinkham? You know how that outfit works. No matter who’s behind you, always keep an eye over your shoulder.”

Wolfe shook his head. “You know better than that, Archie. You have met Miss Bruce. Lieutenant Lawson lead that woman by the nose? Nonsense.”

“I suppose,” I said pointedly, “she must have explained to you where Lawson fits in. Naturally you wouldn’t overlook a detail like that. Lawson Senior is one of the principals maybe?”

Wolfe frowned and sighed again. “Archie. Don’t badger me. Confound it, I’m going to have to sit here and work, and I don’t like to work after dinner. You’re an Army officer, with the allegiances that involves, and this affair is too hot for you. I tell you, for instance, that Colonel Ryder was murdered, and I’m going to get the murderer. See where that puts you? What if one of your superior officers asks you a leading question? What if he orders you to make a report? As for Miss Bruce, I’m going to use her. I’m going to use Lawson. I’m going to use you. But right now, let me alone. Read a book. Look at pictures. Go to a movie.”

His saying he was going to work meant he was going to sit with his eyes shut and heave a sigh three times an hour, and since if he got any bright ideas he was going to keep them to himself anyhow, I decided to make myself scarce. Also I had an outdoor errand, putting the car in the garage. I departed, performed the errand, and went for a walk. In the dim-out a late evening walk wasn’t what it used to be, but since I was in no mood for pleasure, that was unimportant. Somewhere in the Fifties I resolved to make another stab at getting an overseas assignment. At home here, working in a uniform for Army G2 would have been okay, and working in my own clothes for Nero Wolfe would have been tolerable, but it seemed likely that trying to combine the two would sooner or later deprive me of the right to vote and then I could never run for President.

When I got back to the house on 35th Street, some time after eleven, because I was preoccupied with the future instead of the immediate present I wasn’t aware of the presence of a taxicab discharging a passenger until the passenger crossed the sidewalk and mounted the stoop that was my own destination. By the time I had mounted the eight steps to his level he had his finger on the bell button. He heard me, and his head pivoted, and I recognized John Bell Shattuck.

“Allow me,” I said, getting between him and the door. I inserted the key and turned it.

“Oh.” He was peering at me in the dim light. “Major Goodwin. I’m seeing Mr. Wolfe.”

“Does he know it?”

“Yes-I phoned him-”

“Okay.” I let him in and closed the door. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”