Rex Stout - In the Best Families

But he opened his eyes, and their expression was enough. I put the sprayer on a table and went to a chair.

He looked at his wrist-watch. “I read the report of your talk with Rackham. How did it go?

“Fine. You might have thought he had rehearsed it with us.

Tell me about it.

I obeyed. It felt good, giving him a communiquй again, and since it needed no apologies I enjoyed it. What I always tried for was to present it so that few or no questions were required, and though I was a little out of practice I did well enough.

When I was through he muttered, “Satisfactory. Confound this smell.

“It'll go away in time. Sixty dollars an ounce.

“Speaking of dollars, you didn't deposit what you took from Rackham?

“No. It's in the safe.

“Leave it there for the present. It's Mrs Rackham's money, and we may decide we've earned it. Heaven knows no imaginable sum could repay me for these months.

I was thinking-

He cut it off, tilted his head a little, and regarded me with eyes narrowed to slits.

“Well? I said aggressively. “More bright ideas?

“I was thinking, Archie. August is gone. The risk would be negligible. Get Mr

Haskins on the phone to-morrow and tell him to start a dozen chicks on blueberries. Uh-two dozen. You can tell him they are for gifts to your friends.

“No, sir.

“Yes. To-morrow.

“I say no. He would know damn' well who they were for. My God, is your stomach more important than your neck? Not to mention mine. You can't help it if you were born greedy, but you can try to control-

“Archie. His voice was thin and cold with fury. “Nearly five months now. Look at me.

“Yes, sir. He had me. “You're right. I beg your pardon. But I am not going to phone Haskins. You just had a moment of weakness. Let's change the subject. Does

Rackham's biting on the first try change the schedule any?

“You could tell Mr Haskins-

“No.

He gave up. After sitting a while with his eyes closed, he sighed so deep it made him shudder, and then came back to black reality. Only a quarter of his hour was left, and we used it to review the situation and programme. The strategy was unchanged. At midnight he arose.

“Please thank Miss Rowan for me?

“Sure. She thinks you ought to call her Lily.

“You shouldn't leave on my heels.

“I won't. She's sore and wants to have a scene.

I went ahead to open the door for him. As I did so he asked, “What is this stuff called?

“Houri de Perse.

“Great heavens, he muttered, and went.

Chapter Sixteen

Having my own office was giving me a new slant on some of the advantages of the set-up I had long enjoyed at Wolfe's place. With a tailing job on, Sunday was like any other day, and I had to be at 1019 at the usual hour, both to type the report and to take calls from the man on the job in case he needed advice or help. It was no longer just burlesque, at least not for me. Even though Rackham knew we were on him, those were three good men, particularly Saul, and I stood a fair chance of being informed if he strayed anywhere out of bounds to keep an appointment. To some extent the tail now served a purpose: to warn me if the subject and the client made a contact, which was somewhat bassackwards but convenient for me.

After a leisurely Sunday dinner at Rusterman's Restaurant, where I couldn't make up my mind whether Marko Vukcic knew that I had my old job back, I returned to

1019 to find Max Christy waiting at the door. He seemed a little upset. I glanced at my wrist and told him he was early.

This one-man business is no good, he complained. “You ought to have someone here. I tried to get you on the phone nearly two hours ago.

Unlocking the door and entering, I explained that I had dawdled over tournedos а la Bйarnaise, which I thought would impress him. He didn't seem" to hear me.

When I unlocked a desk drawer to get the report, and handed it to him, he stuffed it in his pocket without glancing at it.

I raised the brows. “Don't you want to read it?

Til read it in the car. You're coming along.

“Yeah? Where to?

“Pete Roeder wants to see you.

“Well, here I am. As you say, this is a one-man business. I've got to stick here, damn it.

Christy was glaring at me under his brow thickets. “Listen, Goodwin, I'm supposed to have you somewhere at four o'clock, and it's five to three now. I waited for you nearly half an hour. Let's go. You can argue on the way.

I had done my arguing, double-quick, while he was speaking. To balk was out of the question. To stall and try to get an idea what the programme really was would have been sappy. I got my keys out again, unlocked the bottom drawer, took off my jacket, got out the shoulder holster, slipped it on, and twisted my torso to reach for the buckle.

“What's that for, woodchucks? Christy asked.

“Just force of habit. Once I forgot to wear it and a guy in an elevator stepped on my toe. I had to cut his throat. If we're in a hurry, come on.

We went. Down at the curb, as I had noticed on my way in, force of habit again, was a dark blue Olds sedan, a fifty, with a cheerful-looking young man with a wide mouth, no hat, behind the wheel. He gave me an interested look as Christy and I got in the back seat, but no words passed. The second the door slammed the engine started and the car went forward.

The Olds fifty is the only stock car that will top a hundred and ten, but we never reached half of that-up the West Side Highway, Sawmill River, and Taconic

State. The young man was a careful, competent, and considerate driver. There was not much conversation. When Christy took the report from his pocket and started reading it my first reaction was mild relief, on the ground that if I were about to die they wouldn't give a damn what my last words were, but on second thought it seemed reasonable that he might be looking for more evidence for the prosecution, and I left the matter open.

It was a fine sunny day, not too hot, everything looked very attractive. I hoped

I would see many more days like it, in either town or country, I didn't care which, though ordinarily I much prefer the city. But that day the country looked swell, and therefore I resented it when, as we were rolling along the Taconic

State Parkway a few miles north of Hawthorne Circle, Christy suddenly commanded me, “Get down on the floor, face down.

“Have a heart, I protested. “I'm enjoying the scenery.

Til describe it to you. Shall we park for a talk?

“How much time have we?

“None to waste.

“Okay, pull your feet back.

The truth was, I was glad to oblige. Logic had stepped in. If that was intended for my last ride I wouldn't ever be travelling that road again, and in that case what difference did it make if I saw where we turned off and which direction we went? There must have been some chance that I would ride another day, and without a chaperon, or this stunt was pointless. So as I got myself into position, wriggling and adjusting to keep my face downward without an elbow or knee taking my weight, the worst I felt was undignified. I heard the driver say something, in a soft quiet voice, and Christy answering him, but I didn't catch the words.