Rex Stout - The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

“Both. To Fred. They took his gun away, tied him in a chair, and were twisting his fingers around with pliers when I interrupted them.”

“Good. Then you have them on two counts, attempted extortion from Saul and assault with a firearm on Fred. Here are your instructions.”

He gave them to me. Some of it was too sketchy, and I asked him to elaborate. Finally I said I thought I had it. At the end he told me to hang on to Egan’s notebook, mention it to no one, and put it in the safe as soon as I got home. I hung up, went and opened the door, and called to Saul to bring Horan in.

Horan’s face was not so expressive. Apparently he had decided on a line, and it called for a deadpan. He took a chair like a lamb, showing no interest whatever in either Ervin or Egan beyond glances at the prostrate figures as he entered.

I addressed him. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Horan, I have to say something to these two men. You listening, Ervin?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself. You committed felonious assault on Fred Durkin with a loaded gun, and you committed battery on him with a pair of pliers. Are you listening, Egan?”

“I hear you.”

“You also committed assault-with the gun I shot out of your hand. In addition, you attempted extortion from Saul Panzer, another felony. My own inclination would be to phone the cops to come and get you two birds, but I work for Nero Wolfe, and it’s just possible he’ll feel differently about it. He wants to ask you some questions, and I’m taking you both down to his place. If you prefer going to the station, say so, but that’s your only alternative. If you try making a break you’ll be surprised, or maybe you won’t.”

I turned to the lawyer. “As for you, Mr. Horan, I tender our sincere apologies. We were under quite a strain, having this run-in with these two characters, and Orrie Cather was a little too eager, and so was I. I just talked to Mr. Wolfe on the phone, and he said to give you his regrets for the way his employees treated you. I guess I should apologize for another little thing too-when I introduced Saul Panzer to you out there I forgot he had called at your office today under the name of Leopold Heim. That must have been confusing. That’s all, unless you want to say something. Go on about your business, and I hope you won’t hold this against us-no, wait a minute, I just got an idea.”

I turned to Egan. “We want to be absolutely fair, Egan, and it just occurred to me that you might want a lawyer around while you’re down at Mr. Wolfe’s, and by coincidence this man is a lawyer. His name’s Dennis Horan. I don’t know whether he’d care to represent you, but you can ask him if you want to.”

I thought and still think, that that was one of Wolfe’s neatest little notions, and I wouldn’t have missed the look on their faces for a week’s pay. Egan twisted his head around to see Horan, obviously to get a steer. But Horan himself needed a steer. The suggestion had caught him by surprise, and it had too many aspects. To say yes would be risky, since it would tie him to Egan, and he didn’t know how much Egan had spilled. To say no would be just as risky, doubly risky, because Egan might think he was being ditched, and also because Egan was being taken for a session with Nero Wolfe and there was no telling how he would stand up. It was too damned complicated and important to answer right off the bat, and it was a treat to watch Horan blinking his long eyelashes and trying to preserve his deadpan while he worked on it.

Egan broke the silence. “I’ve got some cash on me for a retainer, Mr. Horan. I understand it’s kind of a lawyer’s duty to defend people in trouble.”

“So it is, Mr. Egan.” The tenor was squeezing through. “I’m very busy right now.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty busy too.”

“No doubt. Yes. Of course.” Horan straightened his shoulders. “Very well. I’ll see what I can do for you. We’ll have to have a talk.”

I grinned at him. “Any talking you do,” I stated, “will have listeners. Let’s go, boys. Untie ‘em. Fred, bring the pliers along for a souvenir.”

Chapter 13

I need eight and a half hours’ sleep and I prefer nine. Every morning when my bedside clock turns on the radio at seven-thirty I roll over to have it at the back of my ears. In a minute I roll over again, reach to turn it off, get comfortable, and try to figure that it’s Sunday. But I know damn well Fritz will have my breakfast ready at 8:10. For two or three minutes I wrestle with the idea of getting him on the house phone to say I’ll be a little late, then give up, kick the cover back, swing my legs around, get upright, and start to face realities.

That Tuesday morning was different. I had set the clock an hour earlier, for six-thirty, and when it clicked and the radio started one of those goddam cheerful morning jamborees I flipped the switch and got my feet to the floor in one desperate convulsion. I had been horizontal just two hours. I showered, shaved, combed and brushed, dressed, went downstairs, and entered the front room.

It was not a gay scene. Mortimer Ervin was stretched out on the carpet with his head resting on one of the cushions from the couch. Lips Egan was lying on the couch. Dennis Horan was in the upholstered armchair, rumpled but not relaxed. Saul Panzer was on a chair with its back to the window, his wards all in range without his having to overwork his eyes.

“Good morning,” I said gloomily. “Breakfast will soon be served.”

“This is insufferable,” Horan squeaked.

“Then don’t suffer it. I’ve told you at least five times you’re free to go. As for them, it’s deluxe. A couch and a soft carpet to rest on. Doc Vollmer, who left his bed at two in the morning to dress Mort’s hand, is as good as they come. We’re leaning over backwards. Mr. Wolfe thought you might feel he was taking an unfair advantage if he worked on them privately before notifying the law, so he didn’t even get up to have a look at them. He stayed isolated in his room, either in bed or pacing the floor, I can’t say which. In your presence and hearing I phoned Manhattan Homicide at one-forty-seven a.m. and said that Mr. Wolfe had something important to tell Inspector Cramer personally and would appreciate a call from Cramer at his earliest convenience. As for your desire to be alone with your client, we couldn’t possibly let a ruffian like Egan out of our sight. Cramer would give us hell. How are you, Saul?”

“Fine. I had three hours’ sleep before I relieved Fred at five-thirty.”

“You don’t look it. I’ll go see about breakfast.”

While I was in the kitchen with Fritz, Fred came in, fully dressed, with a staggering piece of news. He and Orrie had been pounding their ears in the twin beds in the south room, which is on the same floor as mine, and had been aroused by the sound of tapping on the ceiling of the room below, which was Wolfe’s. Fred had gone down to see, and had been told by Wolfe to send Orrie to him at once. I would have had to dig deep in my memory for a precedent of Wolfe doing any business whatever before he had his breakfast.

Fritz had his hands full with eight breakfasts to prepare and serve, not counting his own, but Fred and I cooperated by putting a table in the front room and conveying food and equipment. We ate in the kitchen, and were disposing of our share of corn muffins and broiled ham and honey when Orrie marched in and commanded Fritz, “Forget these bums and attend to me. I have to go on a mission, and I’m hungry. Archie, go get me five hundred bucks. While you’re gone I’ll swipe your chair. Also give me the name of that outfit with a bunch of guys that make phone calls for so much per thousand.”