Rex Stout - The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

“We’ll get the bastard!” Fred Durkin blurted.

“I doubt it, Fred. You understand now why I called you to this conference and told you all about it instead of simply assigning you to errands as usual. I wanted you to know how hopeless it is, and also I wanted to consult you. There are dozens of possible approaches to the problem, and there are only three of you. Saul, where do you think you might start?”

Saul hesitated. He scratched his nose. “I’d like to start two places at once. Assadip and earrings.”

“Why Assadip?”

“Because they’re interested in displaced persons, and Birch was with the Immigration and Naturalization Service. That’s the one chance I see for any connection between Birch and Mrs. Fromm. Of course the cops are on it, but on that kind of prying around anyone might get a lucky break.”

“Since Angela Wright, the Executive Secretary of Assadip, was present at the dinner last evening, she is probably unapproachable.”

“Not by a displaced person.”

“Oh.” Wolfe considered. “Yes, you might try that.”

“And anyhow, if she’s too busy with cops and so on, they must have a couple of stenographers and someone to answer the phone. I’ll need a lot of sympathy.”

Wolfe nodded. “Very well. In the morning. Take two hundred dollars, but a displaced person would not be lavish. What about earrings?”

“I couldn’t do both.”

“No, but what about them?”

“Well, I get around some, and I keep my eyes open, but I have never seen spider earrings, either on a woman or in a window. You said that Pete said big gold spiders with their legs stretched out. People would notice that. If she wore them before Tuesday, or after, the cops have already got her spotted or soon will have, and you’re probably right, for us it’s hopeless. But there’s a chance she didn’t, and was it the same ones Mrs. Fromm was wearing yesterday? It might pay to try to find some shop that ever sold any spider earrings. The cops are so busy on it from the other angle maybe they haven’t started on that. Am I wrong?”

“No. You’re seldom wrong. If we find that woman first-”

“I’ll take it,” Orrie said. “I’ve never seen any spider earrings either. How big were they?”

“The ones Mrs. Fromm wore yesterday were about the size of your thumbnail-that is, the circumference described by the tips of the extended legs. Archie?”

I responded. “I’d say a little larger.”

“Were they gold?”

“I don’t know. Archie?”

“My guess is yes, but don’t quote me.”

“Well made?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. I’ll take it.”

Wolfe was frowning at him. “A month might do it.”

“Not the way I’ll work it, Mr. Wolfe. I did a favor once for a guy that’s a salesman at Boudet’s, and I’ll start with him. That way I can get going tomorrow even if it is Sunday-I know where he lives. One thing I may have missed-is there any line at all on whether the ones Mrs. Fromm had on yesterday were the same as those the woman in the car was wearing Tuesday?”

“No.”

“Then there may be two different pairs?”

“Yes.”

“Right. I’ve got it. Last one across is a rotten egg.”

“Will you need to pay your friend, the salesman at Boudet’s?”

“Hell, no. He owes me a favor.”

“Then take a hundred dollars. If you find anything that offers promise, avoid any hint that the police might be grateful for news of it. We might ourselves find it desirable to bid for official gratitude. At the slightest sign of a trail, phone me.” Wolfe transferred to Durkin. “Fred, where do you start?”

Fred’s big broad face showed pink. He had done jobs for Wolfe, off and on, for nearly twenty years, and being consulted on high-level strategy was something new to him. He clamped his jaw, swallowed, and said in a much louder voice than was called for, “Them earrings.”

“Orrie has the earrings.”

“I know he has, but look. Hundreds of people must’ve seen ‘em on her. Elevator men, maids, waiters-”

“No.” Wolfe was curt. “In all that area the police are so far ahead that we could never catch up. I have explained that. With our meager forces we must try to find a trail not already explored. Has anyone a suggestion for Fred?”

They exchanged glances. No one volunteered.

Wolfe nodded. “It is certainly difficult. One way to avoid panting along at the heels of the police, with the air polluted by their dust, is to make an assumption that they may not have made, and explore it. Let’s try one. I assume that Tuesday afternoon, when the car stopped at the corner and the woman driver told the boy to get a cop, the man in the car with her was Matthew Birch.”

Saul frowned. “I don’t get it, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Good. Then it probably hasn’t occurred to the police. I admit it is extremely tenuous. But later that day, that night, that same car ran over Birch and killed him, in a place and manner indicating that it had carried him to the spot. Therefore, since he was in the car late in the evening, why not assume that he was in it early in the evening? I choose so to assume.”

Saul maintained his frown. “But the way it stands, wouldn’t the assumption be that the man who ran the car over the boy Wednesday was the one who had been with the woman Tuesday? Because he knew the boy could identify him? And on Wednesday Birch was dead.”

“That’s probably the police assumption,” Wolfe conceded. “Its worth is obvious, so I don’t reject it; I merely ignore it and substitute one of my own. Even a false assumption may serve a purpose. Columbus assumed that there was nothing but water between him and the treasures of the Orient, and he bumped into a continent.” His eyes moved. “I don’t expect you to bump into a continent, Fred, but you will proceed on my assumption that Birch was in the car with the woman. Try either to validate it or to disprove it. Take a hundred dollars-no, take three hundred, you never waste money. Archie will supply you with a photograph of Birch.” He turned to me. “They should all have photographs of everyone involved. Can you get them from Mr. Cohen?”

“Not tonight. In the morning.”

“Do so.”

He surveyed his meager forces, left to right and back again. “Gentlemen, I trust I have not dulled your ardor by dwelling on the hopelessness of this enterprise. I wanted you to understand that the situation is such that any tidbit will be a feast. I have on occasion expected much of you; this time I expect nothing. It is likely that-”

The doorbell rang.

As I got up and crossed the room I glanced at my wrist. It was 9:55. In the hall, switching on the stoop light and approaching the door, I saw it was two men, both strangers. I opened up and told them good evening.

The one in front spoke. “We want to see Mr. Nero Wolfe.”

“Your names, please?”

“Mine is Horan, Dennis Horan. I phoned him this morning. This is Mr. Maddox.”