Rex Stout - The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

I did. I told you oysters flirt and you walked out.

She smiled. I'm going to admit something.

Good. We'll take turns.

When I said that, I honestly thought I wasn't trying to flirt with you. How can you stand a woman as stupid as that?

I can't. I couldn't.

What? She frowned. Oh. Thank you very much, but I am. When you were talking about phoning Nero Wolfe, of course I should have been thinking about what was going to happen, whether I should ask you not to, what I was going to do all that but I was thinking he'll never kiss me again. I've always known I'm not very smart. For instance, when you asked me just now if that man gave me any hint how he found out I had hired Nero Wolfe if I had been smart I would have got a hint out of him. Wouldn't I?

No. Not out of Purley Stebbins. Sometimes he has trouble deciding what to say next, but he always knows what not to say. I took a sip. Since we're back on business, let's get it clear. I may be under a false impression. Are you still a client?

Yes.

You're absolutely sure you want to stick it out?

Here. She put a hand out and I took it. That was how our cordial relations had started, three weeks back, when I had spent a long evening with her, making up her list and picking the four men to be asked to help. When a handshake goes beyond routine even one second, it's a test. If you both decide it's enough at the same instant, fine. But if she's through before you are, or vice versa, look out. You don't fit. Lucy and I had been simultaneous the first time. We were this time too.

Okay, I said. It's quite a limb we're out on. I don't have to describe it, you know it as well as I do. Your part may be tough, but it's simple. You simply say nothing and answer no questions whatever, no matter who asks them. Right?

Right.

If you are invited to call at the District Attorney's office, decline the invitation. If Stebbins or someone else calls here, see him or not as you please, but tell him nothing, and do not try to drag hints out of him. As for how they got onto your hiring Nero Wolfe, and the baby, it doesn't matter how. My guess would be Manuel Upton, but I wouldn't give a nickel to know: If it was Upton, some of the questions you won't answer may be about the anonymous letters. They could turn out to by the toughest item for Mr. Wolfe and me, but we knew that. He told four men they were in his safe. If a court orders him to produce them and he says they never existed, we could be charged with destroying evidence, which is worse than withholding evidence. That would be very funny and I must remember to laugh.

Archie.

Yes?

Just six weeks ago I was just going along. There was no baby upstairs, I had never seen you, I wouldn't have dreamed it would ever be… like this. When I say I hate it you understand, don't you?

Sure I do. I glanced at my watch, finished the martini, put the glass down, and rose. I'd better mosey.

Must you? Why not stay for dinner?

I don't dare. It's half past five. It's even money that either Stebbins or Inspector Cramer will turn up at six or soon after, and I should be there.

She pulled her shoulders in, released them, and left the couch. And all I have to do is say nothing. She stood, her head tilted up. Then come back later and tell me. Business relations.

I don't know what it was, what she said or the way she said it or something in her eyes. Whatever it was, I smiled and then I laughed, and then she was laughing too. Half an hour earlier it wouldn't have been reasonable to suppose that we would so soon be having a good laugh together. Obviously it was a good way to end a conversation, so I turned and went.

It was two minutes short of six o'clock when I used my key on the door of the old brownstone, went to the kitchen to tell Fritz I was back, and then to the office. Even people who know better ask a lot of unnecessary questions for instance, my asking Fritz if there had been any phone calls. In the first place, he would have told me without being asked, and in the second place, Cramer or Stebbins hardly ever phoned. They just came, and nearly always at eleven a.m. or around half past two, after lunch, or at six p.m., since they knew Wolfe's schedule. As I entered the office the elevator was whining down the shaft.

Wolfe walked in. Usually he goes to his desk before asking or looking a question, but that time he stopped short of it, glowered at me, and growled, Well?

Well enough, I said. What you would expect. Being set for a jolt is one thing and actually getting it is another. She was shying a little. She needed some assurance that you can stay in the saddle and I supplied it. She understands why she makes no exceptions when she's not answering questions. Purley asked her if she knew Ellen Tenzer. I assume we're standing pat.

Yes. He crossed to the bookshelves and looked at titles. I had stopped long ago being nervous when his eyes went up to the two top shelves. If he decided to have another go at one of the books up out of reach he would get the ladder, mount it as high as necessary, and step down, and he wouldn't even wobble, let alone tumble. This time no title, high or low, appealed to him, and he moved to the big globe and started twirling it, slow motion. Presumably looking for a spot where the mother of a discarded baby might be hiding out, or perhaps for one where he could light when he had to blow town.

At dinnertime no company had come. There had been two phone calls, but not on official business. One was from Saul, reporting that two more names had been crossed off, and the other was Orrie. He had eliminated one more and had only two left. Fred was in Arizona. We were about to the end of the string.

At the table, when Wolfe finished his strawberries Romanoff, used his napkin, and pushed his chair back, I got to my feet and said, I won't join you for coffee. They never come after dinner unless it's urgent, and I have a sort of a date.

He grunted. Can I reach you?

Sure. At Mrs. Valdon's number. It's on the card.

He looked at me. Is this flummery? You said she shied but you reassured her. Is she in fact in a pucker?

No, sir. She's set. But she may be afraid that you might pull out. She asked me to come and report after I spoke with you.

Pfui.

Yes, but she doesn't know you as well as I do. You don't know her as well as I do, either. I dropped my napkin on the table and departed.

Cramer came at a quarter past eleven in the morning, Tuesday, July 3. When the doorbell rang I was on the phone, a purely personal matter. Back in May I had accepted an invitation to spend a five-day weekend, ending on the Fourth of July, at a friend's place up in Westchester. The marathon mother hunt had forced me to cancel, and the phone call was from the friend, to say that if I would drive up for the Fourth I would find a box of firecrackers and a toy cannon waiting for me. When the doorbell rang I said, You know I would love to, but a police inspector is on the stoop right now, or maybe a sergeant, wanting in. I may spend the night in the jug. See you in court.

As I hung up the doorbell rang again. I went to the hall for a look through the one-way glass, and when I told Wolfe it was Cramer he merely tightened his lips. I went to the front, opened the door wide, and said, Greetings. Mr. Wolfe is a little grumpy. He was expecting you yesterday. Most of that was wasted, at his back as he marched down the hall and into the office. I followed. Cramer removed the old felt hat he wears winter and summer, rain or shine, sat in the red leather chair, no hurry, put the hat on the stand, and focused on Wolfe. Wolfe focused back. They held it for a good five seconds, just focusing. It wasn't a staring match; neither one had any idea he could out-eye the other one; they were just getting their dukes up.