Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 27 (19 page)

I left the vestibule and was confronted by two couples standing on the sidewalk staring at me, or at the entrance. They exchanged words, decided they didn’t care for my returning stare, and passed on. I considered pushing the button of Victor Talento, the lawyer who lived on the ground floor, where light was showing, voted to wait a while for Meegan, with whom I had an in, moved down ten paces to a fire hydrant, and propped myself against it.

I hadn’t been there long enough to shift position more than a couple of times when the light disappeared on the ground floor of number 29, and a little later the vestibule door opened and a man came out. He turned toward me, gave me a glance as he passed, and kept going. Thinking it unlikely that any occupant of that house was being extended the freedom of the city that night, I cast my eyes around, and sure enough, when the subject had gone some thirty paces a figure emerged from an areaway across the street and
started strolling. I shook my head in disapproval. I would have waited until the guy was ten paces farther. Saul Panzer would have made it ten more than that, but Saul is the best tailer alive.

As I stood deploring that faulty performance, an idea hit me. They might keep Meegan downtown another two hours, or all night, or he might even be up in his bed asleep. This was at least a chance to take a stab at something. I shoved off, in the direction taken by the subject, who was now a block away. Stepping along, I gained on him. A little beyond the corner I was abreast of the city employee, who was keeping to the other side of the street; but I wasn’t interested in him. It seemed to me that the subject was upping the stroke a little, so I did too, really marching, and as he reached the next intersection I was beside him. He had looked over his shoulder when he heard me coming up behind, but hadn’t slowed. As I reached him I spoke.

“Victor Talento?”

“No comment,” he said and kept going. So did I.

“Thanks for the compliment,” I said, “but I’m not a reporter. My name’s Archie Goodwin, and I work for Nero Wolfe. If you’ll stop a second I’ll show you my credentials.”

“I’m not interested in your credentials.”

“Okay. If you just came out for a breath of air you won’t be interested in this either. Otherwise you may be. Please don’t scream or look around, but you’ve got a Homicide dick on your tail. Don’t look or he’ll know I’m telling you. He’s across the street, ninety feet back.”

“Yes,” he conceded, without changing pace, “that’s interesting. Is this your good deed for the day?”

“No. I’m out dowsing for Mr. Wolfe. He’s investigating a murder just for practice, and I’m looking for a
seam. I thought if I gave you a break you might feel like reciprocating. If you’re just out for a walk, forget it, and sorry I interrupted. If you’re headed for something you’d like to keep private maybe you could use some expert advice. In this part of town at this time of night there are only two approved methods for shaking a tail, and I’d be glad to oblige.”

He looked it over for half a block, with me keeping step, and then spoke. “You mentioned credentials.”

“Right. We might as well stop under that light. The dick will keep his distance.”

We stopped. I got out my wallet and let him have a look at my licenses, detective and driver’s. He didn’t skimp it, being a lawyer. I put my wallet back.

“Of course,” he said, “I was aware that I might be followed.”

“Sure.”

“I intended to take precautions. But it may not be —I suppose it’s not as simple as it seems. I have had no experience at this kind of maneuver. Who hired Wolfe to investigate?”

“I don’t know. He says he needs practice.”

“All right, if it’s qualified.” He stood sizing me up by the street light. He was an inch shorter than me, and some older, with his weight starting to collect around the middle. He was dark-skinned, with eyes to match, and his nose hooked to point down. I didn’t prod him. My lucky stab had snagged him, and it was his problem. He was working on it.

“I have an appointment,” he said.

I waited.

He went on. “A woman phoned me, and I arranged to meet her. My wire could have been tapped.”

“I doubt it. They’re not that fast.”

“I suppose not. The woman had nothing to do with
the murder, and neither had I, but of course anything I do and anyone I see is suspect. I have no right to expose her to possible embarrassment, and I can’t be sure of shaking that man off.”

I grinned at him. “And me too.”

“You mean you would follow me?”

“Certainly, for practice. And I’d like to see how you handle it.”

He wasn’t returning my grin. “I see you’ve earned your reputation, Goodwin. You’d be wasting your time, because this woman has no connection with this business, but I should have known better than to make this appointment. I won’t keep it. It’s only three blocks from here. You might be willing to go and tell her I’m not coming, and I’ll get in touch with her tomorrow. Yes?”

“Sure, if it’s only three blocks. If you’ll return the favor by calling on Nero Wolfe for a little talk. That’s what I meant by reciprocating.”

He considered it. “Not tonight.”

“Tonight would be best.”

“No. I’m all in.”

“Tomorrow morning at eleven?”

“Yes, I can make it then.”

“Okay.” I gave him the address. “If you forget it, it’s in the book. Now brief me.”

He took a respectable roll of bills from his pocket and peeled off a twenty. “Since you’re acting as my agent, you have a right to a fee.”

I grinned again. “That’s a neat idea, you being a lawyer, but I’m not acting as your agent. I’m doing you a favor on request and expecting one in return. Where’s the appointment?”

He put the roll back. “Have it your way. The woman’s name is Jewel Jones, and she’s at the south-east
corner of Christopher and Grove Streets, or will be.” He looked at his wrist. “We were to meet there at midnight. She’s medium height, slender, dark hair and eyes, very goodlooking. Tell her why I’m not coming, and say she’ll hear from me tomorrow.”

“Right. You’d better take a walk in the other direction to keep the dick occupied, and don’t look back.”

He wanted to shake hands to show his appreciation, but that would have been just as bad as taking the twenty, since before another midnight Wolfe might be tagging him for murder, so I pretended not to notice. He headed east, and I headed west, moving right along without turning my head for a glimpse of the dick. I had to make sure that he didn’t see a vision and switch subjects, but I let that wait until I got to Christopher Street. Reaching it, I turned the corner, went twenty feet to a stoop, slid behind it with only my head out, and counted a slow hundred. There were passers-by, a couple and a guy in a hurry, but no dick. I went on a block to Grove Street, passed the intersection, saw no loitering female, continued for a distance, and turned and backtracked. I was on the fifth lap, and it was eight minutes past twelve, when a taxi stopped at the corner, a woman got out, and the taxi rolled off.

I approached. The light could have been better, but she seemed to meet the specifications. I stopped and asked, “Jones?” She drew herself up. I said, “From Victor.”

She tilted her head back to get my face. “Who are you?” She seemed a little out of breath.

“Victor sent me with a message, but naturally I have to be sure it reaches the right party. I’ve ante’d half of your name and half of his, so it’s your turn.”

“Who are you?”

I shook my head. “You go first, or no message from Victor.”

“Where is he?”

“No. I’ll count ten and go. One, two, three, four—”

“My name is Jewel Jones. His is Victor Talento.”

“That’s the girl. I’ll tell you.” I did so. Since it was desirable for her to grasp the situation fully, I started with my propping myself on the fire hydrant in front of 29 Arbor Street and went on from there, as it happened, including, of course, my name and status. By the time I finished she had developed a healthy frown.

“Damn it,” she said with feeling. She moved and put a hand on my arm. “Come and put me in a taxi.”

I stayed planted. “I’ll be glad to, and it will be on me. We’re going to Nero Wolfe’s place.”

“We?” She removed the hand. “You’re crazy.”

“One will get you ten I’m not. Look at it. You and Talento made an appointment at a street corner, so you had some good reason for not wanting to be seen together tonight. It must have been something fairly urgent. I admit the urgency didn’t have to be connected with the murder of Philip Kampf, but it could be, and it certainly has to be discussed. I don’t want to be arbitrary. I can take you to a Homicide sergeant named Stebbins, and you can discuss it with him; or I’ll take you to Mr. Wolfe. I should think you’d prefer Mr. Wolfe, but suit yourself.”

She had well-oiled gears. For a second, as I spoke, her eyes flashed like daggers, but then they went soft and appealing. She took my arm again, this time with both hands. “I’ll discuss it with you,” she said, in a voice she could have used to defrost her refrigerator. “I wouldn’t mind that. We’ll go somewhere.”

I said come on, and we moved, with her maintaining contact with a hand hooked cozily on my arm. We
hadn’t gone far, toward Seventh Avenue, when a taxi came along and I flagged it and we got in. I told the driver, “Nine-eighteen West Thirty-fifth,” and he started.

“What’s that?” Miss Jones demanded.

I told her, Nero Wolfe’s house. The poor girl didn’t know what to do. If she called me a rat that wouldn’t help her any. If she kicked and screamed I would merely give the hackie another address. Her best bet was to try to thaw me, and if she had had time for a real campaign, say four or five hours, she might conceivably have made some progress, because she had a knack for it. She didn’t coax or argue; she just told me how she knew I was the kind of man she could tell anything to and I would believe her and understand her, and after she had done that she would be willing to go anywhere or do anything I advised, but she was sure I wouldn’t want to take advantage …

There just wasn’t time enough. The taxi rolled to the curb, and I had a bill ready for the driver. I got out, gave her a hand, and escorted her up the seven steps of the stoop, applauding her economy in not wasting breath on protests. My key wouldn’t let us in, since the chain bolt would be on, so I pushed the button, and in a moment the stoop light shone on us, and in another the door opened. I motioned her in and followed. Fritz was there.

“Mr. Wolfe up?” I asked.

“In the office.” He was giving Miss Jones a look, the look he gives any strange female who enters that house. There is always in his mind the possibility, however remote, that she will bewitch Wolfe into a mania for a mate. After asking him to conduct her to the front room, and putting my hat and the raincoat on the rack, I went on down the hall and entered the office.

Wolfe was at his desk, reading, and curled up in the middle of the room, on the best rug in the house, which was given to Wolfe years ago as a token of gratitude by an Armenian merchant who had got himself in a bad hole, was the dog. The dog greeted me by lifting his head and tapping the rug with his tail. Wolfe greeted me by raising his eyes from the book and grunting.

“I brought company,” I told him. “Before I introduce her I should—”

“Her? The tenants of that house are all men! I might have known you’d dig up a woman!”

“I can chase her if you don’t want her. This is how I got her.” I proceeded, not dragging it out, but including all the essentials. I ended up, “I could have taken her to a spot I know of and grilled her myself, but it would have been risky. Just in a six-minute taxi ride she had me feeling—uh, brotherly. Do you want her or not?”

“Confound it.” His eyes went to his book and stayed there long enough to finish a paragraph. He dog-eared it and put it down. “Very well, bring her.”

I crossed to the connecting door to the front room, opened it, and requested, “Please come in, Miss Jones.” She came, and as she passed through gave me a wistful smile that might have gone straight to my heart if there hadn’t been a diversion. As she entered, the dog suddenly sprang to his feet, whirling, and made for her with sounds of unmistakable pleasure. He stopped in front of her, raising his head so she wouldn’t have to reach far to pat it, and wagged his tail so fast it was only a blur.

“Indeed,” Wolfe said. “How do you do, Miss Jones. I am Nero Wolfe. What’s the dog’s name?”

I claim she was good. The presence of the dog was a complete surprise to her. But without the slightest
sign of fluster she put out a hand to give it a gentle pat, looked around, spotted the red leather chair, went to it, and sat.

“That’s a funny question right off,” she said, not complaining. “Asking me your dog’s name.”

“Pfui.” Wolfe was disgusted. “I don’t know what position you were going to take, but from what Mr. Goodwin tells me I would guess you were going to say that the purpose of your appointment with Mr. Talento was a personal matter that had nothing to do with Mr. Kampf or his death, and that you knew Mr. Kampf either slightly and casually or not at all. Now the dog has made that untenable. Obviously he knows you well, and he belonged to Mr. Kampf. So you knew Mr. Kampf well. If you try to deny that you’ll have Mr. Goodwin and other trained men digging all around you, your past and your present, and that will be extremely disagreeable, no matter how innocent you may be of murder or any other wrongdoing. You won’t like that. What’s the dog’s name?”

She looked at me, and I met it. In good light I would have qualified Talento’s specification of “very good-looking.” Not that she was unsightly, but she caught the eye more by what she looked than how she looked. It wasn’t just something she turned on as needed; it was there even now, when she must have been pretty busy deciding how to handle it.

It took her only a few seconds to decide. “His name is Bootsy,” she said. The dog, at her feet, lifted his head and wagged his tail.

“Good heavens,” Wolfe muttered. “No other name?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Your name is Jewel Jones?”

“Yes. I sing in a night club, the Flamingo, but I’m
not working right now.” She made a little gesture, very appealing, but it was Wolfe who had to resist it, not me. “Believe me, Mr. Wolfe, I don’t know anything about that murder. If I knew anything that could help I’d be perfectly willing to tell you, because I’m sure you’re the kind of man that understands and you wouldn’t want to hurt me if you didn’t have to.”