Rex Stout - Murder by the Book

order: griddle cakes, ham and eggs, a jar of honey, and coffee. He relayed it to room service, his own requirements being prunes and toast and coffee, which made me dart a glance at him, but he looked okay. When he was through I went to the phone and called the Glendale number and got an answer after four whirrs.

"Archie Goodwin, Mrs. Potter. Good morning. Did the man come?"

"Yes, he got here ten minutes ago. He'll hide in the kitchen. You know I'm all excited?"

"Sure, that's all right. It won't matter if it shows; Corrigan will think it's the prospect of fifty thousand bucks. Just take it easy. Do you want to ask anything?"

"No, not a thing."

"Good for you. I'm in Finch's room at the South Seas. Ring me if you need to, and of course when he leaves."

She said she would. I hung up and called the airport. The plane from New York, due at eight o'clock, had landed at 7:50, ten minutes early.

The cuisine at the South Seas wasn't as good as the Riviera, but I cleaned up my share. When we had finished we wheeled the breakfast table into the hall and then had a discussion whether to make the bed. Harris, Finch to you, wanted to make it, but my point was that it would be unrealistic because no literary agent would have got up early enough to leave the room free for the chambermaid at that hour, and he had to concede it. He raised the question of whether I would stand in the closet or sit, and I said I would stand because no chair can be trusted not to squeak with a shift of weight. We had just got that settled when the phone rang. I was seated by it, but told Finch to take it and moved. He went and got it.

"Hello…This is Walter Finch speaking… Yes, I talked with Mrs. Potter… That's right… No, I didn't know she had written you, Mr. Corrigan, I only knew she had written for advice… Yes, but may I speak to her, please?" Pause.

"Yes, this is Finch, Mrs. Potter. Mr. Corrigan says he wants to see me, representing you about that manuscript… Oh, I see… Yes, I understand… Certainly, I'll consult you before any agreement is made… Please put him on." Pause.

"Yes, I understand, Mr. Corrigan… No, that's all right, I'm perfectly willing to discuss it… Yes, if you come right

away. I have an appointment at eleven… Room Twelve-sixteen, the South Seas… All right, I'll be here."

He hung up and turned to me with a grin. "Got a landing net?"

"No, a gaff. What was the hitch?"

"Nothing serious. He seemed to think he had a client, but she didn't agree. He's coming on his own, to protect the lowly, without prejudice to her."

"If you want me to," I offered, "I'll tell you what's wrong with our civilization."

"I want you to. What?"

"We've quit drinking champagne from ladies' slippers. I would like to drink some from hers."

I sat, bent and untied my laces and took off my shoes, took them to the closet, and put them on the floor out of the way. In my socks I hopped around on the spot where I would be standing, and heard no squeaks.

As I rejoined Finch the phone rang. He got it, spoke, covered the transmitter, and told me, "Mrs. Potter. She wants to know what color slippers you prefer."

I went and took it. "Yes, Mrs. Potter? Archie Goodwin."

"Why, he wasn't here more than ten minutes! He hardly asked me anything! He asked about Mr. Finch, and the letter from my brother, and then he wanted me to say he could represent me as my attorney, and I said what you told me to, but when he spoke to Mr. Finch he tried to make it that he was representing me. I was hoping he would ask more things, the things you said he might ask, but he didn't. There's really nothing to tell you, but I'm calling because I said I would."

"He's gone?"

"Yes, he had his taxi wait for him."

"Well, your part is probably finished, and you can let your bodyguard go if you want to. I was just telling Mr. Finch that I would like to drink champagne from your slipper."

"You what? What did you say?"

"You heard me. Too late. I'll let you know what happens, and you let me know if you hear from him again-immediately."

"I will."

I hung up and turned to Finch. "We've got about twenty minutes. What do you want refreshed?"

"Nothing. I've got it."

"I hope to God you have." I sat. "I could fill you in on

Corrigan now, but I still think it's better not to. I'll say this, I am now offering three to one that he's a killer, and if so he's in a damn tight corner with his teeth showing. I don't see how he can possibly jump you under the circumstances, but if he does don't count on me. I won't leave that closet for anything short of murder. If he actually kills you, yell."

"Thanks." He grinned at me. But he slipped his hand inside his coat to his armpit, came out with a gun, and dropped it into his side pocket.

Finch had given Corrigan the room number, and he might phone up from the lobby and might not. Also there was no telling how fast his driver was, and it would be too bad if Corrigan arrived sooner than expected, came straight up to the room, paused at the door, and heard voices. So we stopped talking well ahead of time, I was leaning back, studying the ceiling, when the knock came, and it didn't sound like a chambermaid. I straightened up and left the chair in one motion, and Finch started for the door. Before he reached it I was in the closet, with the door pulled to enough to leave no crack, but unlatched.

The sound of the voice answered one question: it wasn't a ringer, it was the senior partner himself. I heard the door closing and the footsteps passing the closet door, and Finch inviting the visitor to take the armchair. Then Corrigan's voice.

"You understand why I'm here, Mr. Finch. My firm received a letter from Mrs. Potter requesting professional advice."

Finch: "Yes, I understand that."

Corrigan: "According to her, you state that you have in your possession a manuscript of a novel entitled 'Put Not Your Trust,' by Baird Archer, and that the author of it was her deceased brother, Leonard Dykes, who used 'Baird Archer' as a pen name."

I held my breath. Here, right off the bat, was one of the tricky little points I had briefed him on.

Finch: "That's not quite right. I didn't say that I know Dykes was the author. I said I have reason to think he was."

I breathed, not noisily.

Corrigan: "May I ask what reason?"

Finch: "A pretty good one. But frankly, Mr. Corrigan, I don't see why I should let you cross-examine me. You're not representing Mrs. Potter. You heard what she told me on

the phone. Naturally I'll tell her anything she wants to know, but why you?"

Corrigan: "Well." A pause. "Other interests than Mrs. Potter's may be involved. I suppose you know that Dykes was an employee of my law firm?"

Finch: "Yes, I know that."

That was a fumble. He did not know that. I bit my lip.

Corrigan: "Just as you have reason to think that Dykes was the author, I have reason to think that other interests are involved. Perhaps we can take a short cut and save time. Let me see the manuscript. Let me go over it now, in your presence. That will settle it."