Rex Stout - The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

“I’ve been appointed,” I told him, “ambassador to Texas. Adieu.”

He asked me to unbutton the shirt to show him my girdle.

It was 5:38 when I paid the taxi driver in front of the address on East Sixty-eighth Street. Across the street there was a little assembly of gawkers, but on this side a uniformed cop was keeping the citizens moving. The house was granite, set back a couple of yards, with iron railings higher than my head protecting the areaway on both sides of the entrance. As I headed for it the cop moved to meet me, but not actually to block me. Cops prefer not to block personages dressed as I was.

I stopped, looked at him mournfully, and said, “Arrangements.”

He might have made it more difficult by accompanying me to the door, but three female sightseers gave me an assist just then by converging on the iron railing, and by the time he had persuaded them on their way I had entered the vestibule, pushed the button, and was speaking to a specimen with an aristocratic nose who had opened the door. His color scheme was the same as mine, but I had it on him in style.

“There has developed,” I said sadly but firmly, “some confusion in the directions about the flowers, and it must be settled. I will have to see Miss Estey.”

Since it would have been out of character to slide a foot across the sill against the open door I had to keep that impulse down, but when he opened it enough to give me room I lost no time in slipping past him. As he closed the door I remarked, “The morbid curiosity of the public at such a time is distressing. Will you please tell Miss Estey that Mr. Goodwin would like to consult her about the flowers?”

“This way, please.”

He led me five paces along the hall to a door that was standing open, motioned me in, and told me to wait. The room was nothing like what I would have expected in the town residence of Mrs. Damon Fromm. It was smaller than my bedroom, and, in addition to two desks, two typewriter stands, and an assortment of chairs, it was crammed with filing cabinets and miscellaneous objects. The walls were covered with posters and photographs, some framed and some not. There were scores of them. After a general survey I focused on one item and then another, and was inspecting one inscribed, American Health Council, 1947 , when I heard footsteps and straightened and turned.

She came in, stopped, and leveled greenish-brown eyes at me. “What’s this about flowers?” she demanded.

The eyes didn’t look as if they had been irritated by any great flood of tears, but they certainly were not merry. I might possibly have classed her under thirty in happier circumstances, but not as she was then. Comely, yes. She was not wearing earrings. There was no sign of a scratch on her cheek, but four days had passed since Pete had seen it, and he had given no specifications as to depth or outline. So there wasn’t much hope of spotting any vestige of that scratch on Jean Estey or anyone else.

“Are you Miss Jean Estey?” I asked.

“Yes. What about flowers?”

“That’s what I came to tell you. You may have heard the name Nero Wolfe.”

“The detective?”

“Yes.”

“Certainly.”

“Good. He sent me. My name is Archie Goodwin, and I work for him. He wants to send flowers to Mrs. Fromm’s funeral, and would like to know if there would be any objection to orchids, provided they are sprays of Miltonia roezli alba, which are pure white and are very beautiful.”

She stared at me a second and then suddenly burst out laughing. It wasn’t musical. Her shoulders were shaking with it, and she half walked and half stumbled to a chair, sat, lowered her head, and pressed her palms against her temples. The butler came to the threshold of the open door for a look, and I went to him and told him sympathetically that I had had experience with such crises, which was no lie, and that it might be well to shut the door. He agreed and pulled it shut himself. Then for a little I thought I might have to shock her out of it, but before long she started to calm down, and I went to a chair and sat. Soon she came erect and dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.

“What started me,” she said, “was the way you’re dressed. It’s grotesque-dressed like that to come and ask if there’s any objection to orchids!” She had to stop a moment to get her breathing in order. “There are to be no flowers. Now you may go.”

“The costume was merely to get me in.”

“I understand. Under false pretenses. What for?”

“To see you. Look, Miss Estey. I’m sorry my disguise brought on that little attack, but now you should sit quietly for a few minutes while your nerves catch up, and meanwhile why not let me explain? I suppose you know that Mrs. Fromm came to see Mr. Wolfe yesterday and gave him a check for ten thousand dollars.”

“Yes. I handle her personal checking account.”

“Did she tell you what it was for?”

“No. All she put on the stub was the word ‘retainer.’”

“Well, I can’t tell you what it was for, but she was to see Mr. Wolfe again today. The check was certified yesterday and will be deposited Monday. Mr. Wolfe feels a responsibility to Mrs. Fromm and considers that he is obliged to investigate her death.”

She was breathing better. “The police are investigating it. Two of them left here just half an hour ago.”

“Sure. If they solve it, fine. But if they don’t, Mr. Wolfe will. Don’t you want him to?”

“It doesn’t matter what I want, does it?”

“It matters to Mr. Wolfe. The police can say to anybody involved, ‘Answer this one, or else,’ but he can’t. He wants to talk with you and sent me to bring you to his office, and I can persuade you to come only by one of three methods. I could threaten you if I had a good menace handy, but I haven’t. I could bribe you if I knew what to use for bait, but I don’t. All that’s left is to say that Mrs. Fromm came to see him and gave him that check, and he has reason to think that her death was connected with the matter she hired him to work on and therefore he feels obliged to investigate it, and he wants to start by talking with you. The question is whether you want to help. Naturally I should think you would, without any threats or bribes, even if I had some in stock. Our office is on Thirty-fifth Street. The cop out front will flag a taxi for us, and we can be there in fifteen minutes.”

“You mean go now?”

“Sure.”

She shook her head. “I couldn’t. I have to-I couldn’t.” She was back in control, with all signs of the attack gone. “You say the question is whether I want to help, but that’s not it, it’s how I can help.” She hesitated, studying me. “I think I’ll tell you something.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

“I told you two policemen, detectives, left here half an hour ago.”

“Yes.”

“Well, while they were here, not long before they left, there was a phone call for one of them, and after he hung up he said I might be contacted by Nero Wolfe, probably through his assistant, Archie Goodwin, and I might be asked to go to see Nero Wolfe, and if so he hoped I would cooperate by going and then tell the police exactly what Wolfe said.”