Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 41 (17 page)

Wolfe nodded. “A natural reaction. Let’s make an assumption. Let us assume, merely for discussion, that you are in fact agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Then you have a valid complaint, but not against me; against your colleagues who were gulled into thinking that this house was empty. You have nothing to apologize for.”

He cleared his throat. “Now. Still on the assumption. I am going to keep your credentials as hostages. You can recover them, or your bureau can, only by action at law which would disclose publicly how they got here, and I would of course have a counter action, since you entered my house illegally and were caught
flangrante delicto
, and I have four witnesses. I doubt if your superiors would want to pay the price. So the initiative is mine. You may go. All I wanted, still on the assumption, was incontestable evidence that members of the Federal Bureau of Investigation have committed a felony and can be prosecuted, and I have it here in my drawer. By the way, I haven’t mentioned the gloves you’re wearing. Of course we have all noticed them. That will be a corroborative detail if and when this gets to a courtroom. You may go, gentlemen.”

“Goddamn you.” Handsome. “It will be a federal courtroom. Those credentials are the property of federal officers.”

“They may be. Even if they are I have a defense. Abandoning the assumption, I find it difficult to believe that federal officers of the law would enter my house illegally, and obviously I am justified in keeping the credentials until and unless their genuineness is established.”

“How are you going to establish it?”

“I’ll see. I shall await events. If they’re genuine I might be paid a call by one of your superiors—even Mr. Wragg.”

“You fat sonofabitch,” Skinny said. He seemed limited when under stress.

“Actually,” Wolfe said, “I am being lenient. You forced entry into my house, and for all I know you are impersonating officers of the law. Two felonies. If you are armed we should take your weapons and also the tools you brought to open my door—and, not doubt, to open doors and drawers in this office. And the gloves you’re wearing. I advise you to leave without delay. These four men are not fond either of burglars or of the FBI, and they would enjoy humiliating you. Confound it, go!”

They stood and looked at him. Handsome’s line of vision was between Fred’s shoulder and mine, and Skinny’s was to the right of Fred. They exchanged glances, looked at Wolfe again, and moved. As they approached the door Orrie backed into the hall, his gun on them. He likes to point a gun. Saul went through the front room to the hall and turned the light on. Fred and I followed the G-men. When they neared the front door Saul opened it, and Orrie and Fred and I joined him to watch them descend to the sidewalk. Almost certainly there had been a third one, but he was nowhere in sight. They turned left, toward Tenth Avenue, but we didn’t go out to see them to their car. Before we closed the door we examined the lock and found it intact. As I slid the bolt in Fred said that they must have the finest key collection in the world.

When we filed back into the office Wolfe was standing in the center of the rug, inspecting an object in his hand—the pencil flash Handsome had dropped. He tossed it onto my desk and roared, “Talk! All of you! Talk!”

Everybody laughed.

“I’m offering a reward,” I said, loud. “A framed photograph of J. Edgar Hoover to anyone who will
prove that it
is
bugged and they have a tape of that to send him.”

“By God,” Fred said, “if only they had tried something.”

“I want champagne,” Saul said.

“Make mine bourbon,” Orrie said. “I’m hungry.”

It was twenty minutes to eight. We went to the kitchen, including Wolfe, everybody talking at once. Wolfe began getting things from the refrigerator—caviar,
pâté de foie gras
, sturgeon, a whole smoked pheasant. Saul opened the freezer to get ice for champagne. Orrie and I got bottles from the cupboard. Fred asked if he could use the phone to call his wife, and I said yes and give her my love, but Wolfe spoke.

“Tell her you will stay here tonight. You will all stay. In the morning Archie will take those things to the bank, and you’ll go with him. They will probably do nothing, but they might try anything. Fred, tell nothing of this to your wife, or to anyone else. It isn’t finished, it’s only well started. If you men want something hot I can have Yorkshire Buck in twenty minutes if Archie will poach the eggs.”

They all said no, which suited me fine. I hate to poach eggs.

An hour later we were having a pleasant evening. The three guests and I were in the front room, in a tight game of pinochle, and Wolfe was in his one and only chair in the office, reading a book. The book was
The FBI Nobody Knows
. He was either gloating or doing research, I didn’t know which.

At ten o’clock I had to excuse myself from the card table briefly; Wolfe had said he wanted to call Hewitt then, when the aristologists would presumably have finished their meal. I went to the office and made the call. Wolfe told Hewitt it had worked perfectly and
othanked him. Hewitt said they had found the stand-ins very entertaining; Jarvis had recited passages from Shakespeare and Kirby had mimicked President Johnson and Barry Goldwater and Alfred Lunt. Wolfe said to give them his regards, and I went back to pinochle and Wolfe to his book.

But there was another interruption a little after eleven o’clock. The phone rang, and Wolfe hates to answer it, so I went and got it at my desk.

“Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.”

“This is Richard Wragg, Goodwin.” The voice was a drawl, smooth and low-pitched. “I want to speak to Wolfe.”

We had known that might happen, and I had instructions.

“I’m afraid you can’t, Wragg. He’s engaged.”

“I want to see him.”

“Good idea. He thought you might. Say here, his office, at eleven in the morning?”

“I want to see him tonight. Now.”

“I’m sorry, Wragg, that isn’t possible. He’s very busy. The earliest would be eleven in the morning.”

“What’s he busy at?”

“He’s reading a book.
The FBI Nobody Knows
. In half an hour he’ll be in bed.”

“I’ll be there at eleven.”

It sounded as if he cradled it with a bang, but I could have imagined that. I turned to Wolfe. “I called him Wragg because that’s his name. Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. As expected.”

“And desired. We must confer. When your game is finished.”

I rose. “It won’t take long. I just melded three hundred and forty.”

I
need, and nearly always get, a good eight hours’ sleep, but that night I got six. At 1:10, with Wolfe gone up to bed, and also Fred and Orrie, and Saul on the sofa in the front room, I was about to crawl in on the couch when the doorbell rang. It was Fritz and Jarvis and Kirby, and when I saw Kirby stagger across the threshold I wondered what ditch the Heron was in. I asked him where the car was and he just goggled at me, his lips pressed tight. Thinking he was sticking to the instructions, I told him he could talk now, and Fritz said he could not talk now because he was too drunk, and added that the car was out in front, perfectly all right, but only the good God knew how it had got there. He took them up to their room in the elevator, and I put on shoes and my overcoat over pajamas, and went out and took the Heron to the garage. Not a scratch.

The first number on the program for Friday was scheduled for 8:30. At 7:45 I turned on the will power and rolled out, got my arms full of blankets and sheets and pillow, and made it up to my room. When I came out of the bathroom after showering and shaving, Fred and Orrie were sitting on the edge of the bed, yawning. I remarked that we would be leaving in an hour and
twenty minutes and they told me to go soak my head, but I already had. I was expecting to have to manage my own breakfast, but as I was going downstairs Fritz emerged from Wolfe’s room, having delivered the breakfast tray nearly on time. It was 8:28, and I went to the office and started the day by dialing Mrs. Bruner’s number and got her. I told her I was sorry to disturb her so early in the day, but I had an important message, and would she please go out to a booth and ring me at a certain number, which I gave her, at 9:45 or as soon after as possible. She said it would interfere with an appointment and how important was it, and I said extremely, and she said all right.

So we could take our time at breakfast, and it was just as well. Fritz knows that Saul and Fred and Orrie all like eggs
au beurre noir
, so that was the main item, with toast and bacon, and two rounds for each of us, two eggs to a round, added up to sixteen eggs. The expense account for that operation was going to be a lulu.

With the credentials in my pocket, I left the house with my bodyguard at 9:40, walked to the drugstore at the corner, and stationed myself near the booth. With my understanding of women, I was prepared to wait up to twenty minutes, but at 9:46 it rang, just as a man who had entered was heading for the booth. As I lifted the receiver I decided that he was not a G-man come to take the call; he didn’t look the part.

Mrs. Bruner said she hoped it was really important because she would be late for her appointment.

“You couldn’t possible have any appointment half as important,” I told her. “Forget appointments. You are to be at Mr. Wolfe’s office at a quarter to eleven, not one second later.”

“This morning? I can’t.”

“You can and must. You have told me twice that you
didn’t like my tone, but that was nothing compared to the tone you’ll hear unless you say you’ll be there. Mr. Wolfe might even return the hundred grand.”

“But why? What is it?”

“I’m just the messenger boy. You’ll find out when you come. It’s not just important, it’s vital.”

Short silence. “A quarter to eleven?”

“Or earlier.”

More silence. “Very well. I’ll be there.”

“Wonderful. You’re the perfect client. If you weren’t rich I’d marry you.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” I hung up.

I didn’t feel vital, with only six hours’ sleep, but I felt important as I walked crosstown to the Continental Bank and Trust Company on Lexington Avenue with the winter wind at my back. Not many men have had such a bodyguard—the best operative between the two oceans plus two damned good ones. If you think we were overdoing it, what if I stumbled and cracked my skull, or what if I ran into a siren who dazzled me and she turned out to be a G-woman? Anyway, they were there in the house and a walk would do them good. At the bank I went downstairs first, to the safe-deposit box, and stashed the credentials. Upstairs, as I cashed a check for five grand to replenish the cash reserve in the safe, I was thinking that it had been just nine days, to the hour, since I had been there to deposit the retainer. I had thought then that there was one chance in a million. Now …

We had to step on it to get back to the old brownstone by a quarter to eleven, and we barely made it. We were in the hall, shedding coats, when I saw Mrs. Bruner’s Rolls pull up out in front. When she reached the
stoop I had the door open. Fred and Orrie started off, but I called them back.

“Mrs. Bruner,” I said, “how would you like to meet three men who, working for you, rode sixty miles in a truck, curled up inside wooden boxes with the lids screwed on? And who stood for twenty minutes last evening with guns pointed at two FBI men while Mr. Wolfe told them things?”

“Why—I would like to.”

“I thought so. Mr. Saul Panzer. Mr. Fred Durkin. Mr. Orrie Cather. You will spend some time with Mr. Panzer. If you don’t mind, I’ll put your coat in the front room. Richard Wragg, the top G-man in New York, is coming, and shouldn’t see it.”

Her eyes were wide but her mouth was closed. I decided to marry her in spite of her pile. As I took her coat Fred and Orrie headed for the stairs, to hang around outside the South Room and not let Jarvis and Kirby come down and interrupt the conversation.

At the kitchen end of the hall there is an alcove on the left, and around the corner in the alcove there is a hole in the wall at eye level. On the alcove side of the hole there is a sliding panel, and on the office side the hole is covered by a trick picture of a waterfall. If you stand in the alcove and open the panel you have a view of most of the office through the waterfall, and of course you can hear.

Taking Mrs. Bruner to the alcove, followed by Saul, I slid the panel and showed her the hole. “As I said,” I told her, “Wragg is coming and will be in the office with Mr. Wolfe and me. Mr. Panzer will bring the stool from the kitchen, and you’ll sit here on it, and he’ll stand here. It will last anywhere from ten minutes to two hours, I don’t know. You won’t understand everything you hear, but you’ll understand enough. If you feel a
cough or sneeze coming, go to the kitchen fast on your toes. Saul will motion to you if—”

The doorbell rang. I stuck my head around the alcove corner, and there he was on the stoop, five minutes ahead of time. I told Saul to get the stool, and as he headed for the kitchen I started down the hall. At the door I looked back, got a nod from him at the alcove corner, and opened the door.

Richard Wragg was forty-four years old. He lived in an apartment in Brooklyn with a wife and two children and had been with the FBI fifteen years. Detectives know things. He was about my height, with a long face and a pointed chin, and would be bald on top in four years, or maybe three. He didn’t offer to shake, but he turned his back as I peeled his coat off, so he trusted me to a certain extent. When I ushered him to the office and to the red leather chair he stood and looked the room over, and I thought he was too interested in the picture of the waterfall, but perhaps not. He was still standing when the sound of the elevator came and Wolfe entered and stopped short of his desk to say, “Mr. Wragg? I’m Nero Wolfe. Be seated.” As he went to his chair Wragg sat down, found he was only on the edge, and slid back.

Their eyes met. From my angle I couldn’t see Wolfe’s, but Wragg’s were straight and steady.

“I know about you,” Wragg said, “but I’ve never met you.”