Rex Stout - The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

You understand?

Yes, but Go.

Fritz went. Wolfe asked me, Pajamas and toothbrushes?

No time. If Stebbins is along he'll send him around to Thirty-fourth Street on the jump.

You have cash?

Not enough. I'll get some. I hopped. But Fritz was opening the front door to the crack the chain bolt allowed, so I tiptoed to the office, to the safe, got the lettuce from the cash drawer, shut the safe door and twirled the dial, and tiptoed back to the hall. Wolfe was there, starting down the stairs.At the bottom I took the lead, on out, up the four steps, and along the brick wall to the gate with its Hotchkiss lock. Then through the passage to the 34th Street sidewalk. There was no point in stopping for a look around; it wasn't likely that Cramer had put a man there in advance, but if he had we would soon know it. We turned left. You wouldn't suppose that a man who does as little walking as Wolfe could stretch his legs without straining, but he can.

He can even talk. Are we followed?

I doubt it. We've never done this before. Anyway we wouldn't be followed, we'd be stopped.

There was more sidewalk traffic than you would suppose on a July Saturday. We split to let a bee-line arm-swinger through and joined again. Wolfe asked, Must it be a hotel?

No. Your picture has been in the paper too often. We can slow down when we're around the corner. I have a suggestion. At the beach this morning I had an idea that we might need a dugout, and I asked Mrs. Valdon for a key to her house. It's in my pocket.

Isn't it under surveillance?

Why would it be? They went to the beach yesterday. There's no one there.

At the corner we waited for a green light, crossed 34th Street, and were headed downtown on Ninth Avenue. We let up a little. It's under two miles, I said. Exercise in the open air keeps the body fit and the mind alert. Hackies talk too much. For instance, one having a bowl of soup at a lunch counter says, Nero Wolfe is out. I just took him to that house on Eleventh Street where the woman's got that baby.' Within an hour it's all over town. We can stop at a bar for a beer break. Say when.

You talk too much. You have seen me tramp through valleys and mountains for days.

Yeah, and I'll never forget it.

We did stop on the way, at a delicatessen on Sixth Avenue and Twelfth Street, and when we entered the vestibule that had once lodged a baby in a blanket we were both loaded down. Ham, corned beef, sturgeon, anchovies, lettuce, radishes, scallions, cucumbers, oranges, lemons, peaches, plums, three kinds of crackers, coffee, butter, milk, cream, four kinds of choose, eggs, pickles, olives, and twelve bottles of beer. No bread. If Fritz dies Wolfe will probably never eat bread again. It was ten minutes past seven when I got my arm unloaded enough, in the kitchen, to look at my watch, and it was a quarter to eight by the time I had things put away and Wolfe had dinner laid out on the kitchen table.

His salad dressing, from ingredients in the cupboard, wasn't as good as Fritz's, but of course he didn't have the materials. I washed the dishes and he dried.

There was now no point in punching or even poking. He was an exile from his house, his plant rooms, his chair, and his dining table, and there was only one way he could get back with his tail up. Of course I couldn't be sent on errands since I was an exile too, but there were Saul and Fred and Orrie, and presumably they were on his mind, where to start them digging, as we left the kitchen. But he asked me where the nursery was. I told him I doubted if he would find any clues there.

The rug, he said. You said there's a fine Tekke.

He not only inspected the Tekke, he looked at every rug in the house. Perfectly natural. He likes good rugs and knows a lot about them, and he seldom has a chance to see any but his own. Then he spent half an hour examining the elevator and running it up and down while I looked into the bed problem. A very enjoyable evening, but there was no point in poking. We turned in, finally, in the two spare rooms on the fourth floor. His had a nice rug which he said was an eighteenth-century Feraghan.

Sunday morning a smell woke me at least it was the first thing I was aware of a smell I knew well. It was faint, but I recognized it. I got erect and went out to the head of the stain and sniffed; no doubt about it. I went down three flights to the kitchen and there he was, eating breakfast in his shirt sleeves. Eggs au beurre noir. He was playing house.

He said good morning. Tell me twenty minutes before you're ready.

Sure. Wine vinegar, I presume?

He nodded. Not very good, but it will do.

I went back up.

An hour and a half later, after eating breakfast and cleaning up, I found him in the big room on the second floor, in a big chair he had pulled over to a window, reading a book. I was still determined not to poke. I asked politely, Shall I go out and get papers?

As you please. If you think it safe.

He wasn't playing house, he was camping out. You don't care about newspapers when you're camping out.

Perhaps I should ring Mrs. Valdon and tell her where we are.

'That might be advisable, yes.

My valve popped open. Listen, sir. There are times when you can afford to be eccentric and times when you can't. Maybe you can afford it even now, but not me. I quit.

He lowered the book slowly. It's a summer Sunday, Archie. Where are people? Specifically, where is Mr. Upton? We are boxed up here. Will you undertake, using the telephone, to find Mr. Upton and persuade him to come here to talk with me? Supposing you could, would it be prudent?

No. But that's not the only line that's open. Who squawked to the cops? I might get that on the phone. That would make one less to work on.

There isn't time for that approach. We can't shave, we can't change our shirts or socks or underwear. When you go for papers get toothbrushes. I must see Mr. Upton. I have been considering Mrs. Valdon. When you phone her ask her to come this evening, after dark, alone. Will she come?

Yes.

Another detail I've considered. There's no hurry, but since you're fuming can you get Saul?

Yes. His answering service.

Here tomorrow morning. I am considering Ellen Tenzer's niece. Anne?

Yes.

If I properly understood her mйtier, she replaces office workers temporarily absent?

Right. My brows went up. I'll be damned. Of course. It's certainly possible. I should have thought of it myself.

You were too busy fuming. Speaking of fuming, the sturgeon is quite good, and I would like to try it fumй а la Muscovite. When you go for papers could you get some fennel, bay leaf, chives, parsley, shallots, and tomato paste?

At a delicatessen Sunday morning? No.

A pity. Get any herbs they have.

A licensed private detective, and he didn't even know what you can expect to find in a delicatessen.

So the Sunday passed pleasantly newspapers, books, television, all anyone could ask for. The sturgeon was fine, even with replacements for herbs temporarily absent. When I phoned Lucy and told her she had house guests and she was invited to come and spend the night with us, her first thought was sheets. Had there been any on the beds? Told that there had been, she was so relieved that our being fugitives from the law didn't really matter. Around nine o'clock Saul called, having got the message from the answering service, and I told him where to come in the morning. He had rung the office Saturday evening and again Sunday morning, having heard what had happened to Carol Mardus, and when Fritz had told him we weren't there and that was all he knew he had of course been a little fumй, knowing, as he did, that no limb was too long and narrow for Wolfe to crawl out on if he got peeved enough.