Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 07 (14 page)

“Is she in Zagreb now?”

“She was when I left. It was said she was going to Paris to see old Prince Peter and then to America.”

“You’re lying.”

She looked straight at him. “Sometimes it is necessary to lie. There are some things I can’t tell.”

“Ha, over your dead body. The curlicues of some old bandit’s trademark engraved on your heart, and what do you get out of it? When do you expect to finish this political errand you’re working on?”

She looked at him, at Carla, back at him, and said nothing.

“Come, come,” he insisted impatiently. “I merely ask when. Is the end in sight?”

“I think so,” she admitted. “I think it will be … Tomorrow.”

“It’s past midnight. Do you mean this day?”

“Yes. But I must have that paper. You have no right to keep it. When that imbecile, that Driscoll, made the trouble about his diamonds being stolen, I thought the police might come and search everything, even my room where I live. I thought of you, the American who had adopted me when I was a baby; I had brought the record of adoption with me when I left Zagreb; Mrs. Campbell had given it to me before she died. So Carla and I decided the paper would be safer with you than anywhere else, and we decided how to do it so she could easily get it again. Then you refused to help me and she had to return and let you know who I am.” She stopped and smiled at him, but she was so anxious that the effort was a little cockeyed. “I must have that paper now! I must!”

“We’ll see. You admit you stole it. So you expect to accomplish your mission this day.”

“Yes.”

“You realize, of course, that the police won’t let you leave New York until they’re satisfied their murder case is solved.”

“But I … you said yourself my alibi—”

“That doesn’t solve the case. Don’t you do anything silly. If you do complete your errand, don’t try sneaking aboard a ship disguised as a Nereid. Who is Madame Zorka?”

They both stared at him in surprise.

“Well?” Wolfe demanded. “You know her, don’t you?”

Carla laughed. It sounded quite natural, as though something really had struck her as funny. Neya said:

“Why … she’s nobody. She’s a dressmaker.”

“So I understand. Where did she get that name? The name of the daughter of King Nikita of Montenegro.”

“But Queen Zorka has been dead—”

“I know that. Where did this dressmaker get the name?”

Carla laughed again. “She must have found it in a book.”

“Who is she?”

Neya shrugged and upturned her palms. “We know nothing about her.”

Wolfe eyed them a moment and then sighed. “All right. It’s late and you ought to be in bed, since you have to get up early to visit Mr. Rowcliff. That smile ought to help with him. When you are through there, come here, and I’ll see you at eleven o’clock and give you that paper.”

“I want it now!”

“You can’t have it now. It isn’t here. I will—”

Neya jumped up. “What did you—where is it?”

“Stop screaming at me. It’s safe. I’ll give it to you at eleven o’clock. Sit down—no, don’t bother to sit down; you’re going. Remember now, don’t do anything silly. As for you, Miss Lovchen, I would advise you to do nothing whatever except eat and sleep. I say that on account of your performance yesterday when you hid that paper in my book—asking Mr. Goodwin if I had read it and did I study it and was he reading it. Unbelievable!”

Carla flushed. “I thought … I was casual—”

“Good heavens! Casual? I still suspect you meant us to find it, though I can’t imagine what for. Well, good night—By the way, Miss Tormic, about your being my client. I’ll return that adoption paper to you in the morning along with the other; it seems likely
that it belongs to you; but I am cautious and skeptical and I don’t like misunderstandings. You are my client only so long as it remains established that you are the girl whose ribs I saw in 1921. I am your protector, but if it turns out that you have duped me on that, I shall be your enemy. I don’t like to be fooled.”

“I doubt if I could fool you if I wanted to.” She met his eye and suddenly smiled at him. “You can feel my ribs if you want to, but as for looking at them—”

“Oh, no. No, thank you. Good night. Good night, Miss Lovchen.”

I went with them and extended the courtesies of the hall, and when they were out I shot the night bolt on the door. Then I went back to the office and stood and looked down at Wolfe’s colossal countenance, immobile with closed eyes, and treated myself to an unrestricted stretch and yawn.

“Hvala Bogu,”
I declared. “I like Montenegrin girls, but it’s time to go to bed. They’re all right. I offered to take them home and they refused to let me. In spite of which, I have to run up to 48th Street before I turn in, to get the damn roadster I left there. This is a very peculiar case. I’ve got a feeling in my bones that there is going to be a strange romantic twist to it by the time we get through. I have an inner conviction that when the full moon comes I’ll be standing right here in this office asking you formally for the hand of your daughter in marriage. You’ve got something there, gospodar. Only you’ll have to help me break her of lying.”

“Shut up.”

“Shall I go up for the roadster?”

“I suppose you’ll have to.” Wolfe shuddered. Out into the night like that. “What time will Saul be here in the morning?”

“Nine o’clock.”

“Phone him and tell him to bring that envelope.”

“Yes, sir. Are you really going to hand it over to her?”

“I am. I want to see what she is going to do with it. Will Fred and Orrie also be here at nine?”

“Yes, sir. Who do you want to tail whom?”

“Tailing may not be necessary. On the other hand it may be, for her protection. Mr. Faber wanted that paper.”

“Not only did he want it, he knew where to look for it.” I yawned. “And since Carla put it there, did she tell him about it? Or did he learn it from a member of your family?”

“I have no family.”

“A daughter is commonly considered to be a member of one’s family. In this case it would hardly be too much to say that a daughter
is
a family.” I made my voice grave and respectful. “When I marry her I guess it will be unavoidable for me to call you Dad.”

“Archie, I swear by all—”

“And I would be your heir in case you die. I would be the beneficiary on your life insurance. We could play in father and son golf tournaments. Later on you could hold the baby. Babies. When the time comes for the divorce—now what the hell!”

The doorbell was ringing.

A
t half past one in the morning, with me yawning my head off and an outside errand still to do, the doorbell should ring.

I went to the front and unlocked, leaving the chain bolt on so that the door only opened to a five-inch crack, and peered through at the male figure standing there.

“Well?”

“I want to see Nero Wolfe.”

“Name, please?”

“Open the door!” He was a bit peremptory.

“Tut tut,” I said. “It’s after office hours. If you don’t like your own name, make up one. But it had better be a good one, at this time of night.”

“My name is Donald Barrett.”

“Oh. Okay. Hold that pose. I’ll be back.”

I went to the office and told Wolfe. He opened his eyes, frowned, muttered something, and nodded. I returned to the front and let the nightwalker in, flunkeyed for him, and escorted him to the office. In the bright light he looked handsome and harassed, with his white tie somewhat crooked and his hair
disarranged. He blinked at Wolfe and said he was

Donald Barrett.

“So I understand. Sit down.”

“Thanks.” He lodged his sitter on the edge of a chair in a temporary manner. “This is a frightful stink, this thing.”

Wolfe’s brows went slightly up. “This thing?”

“This—up at Miltan’s. Ludlow. It’s murder, you know.”

“I believe it is. You were among those present.”

“Yes, I was, damn it. Of course you got that from this fellow you sent up there.”

“Excuse me,” Wolfe murmured. “I thought you two had met. Mr. Barrett, this is Mr. Goodwin, my assistant.”

“Oh, we met. We spoke a few words. He was guarding the door and I asked him to let a young lady through to keep an important appointment and he wouldn’t do it.”

Wolfe nodded. “That was Miss Reade.”

“Oh? He told you that too?”

“Mr. Goodwin tells me everything.”

“I suppose he would. Naturally. He was damn bullheaded about letting Miss Reade out. He said the worst thing she could do was to leave the place and start the cops looking for her, and then, by God, he gets out himself somehow and starts them looking for him!”

“I know. He goes by whim.” Wolfe was sympathetic. “Is that what you came to see me for? To reproach me for Mr. Goodwin’s behavior?”

Barrett looked at him suspiciously, but Wolfe’s expression was bland. “No,” he said, “I just mentioned it. He was damn bullheaded. There was no reason in the world why Miss Reade should have been kept
there. As far as I myself was concerned, I was perfectly willing to stand the inconvenience. But I came to see you regarding another … well, another angle. This fellow that you sent up there—you sent him to represent Miss Tormic, didn’t you?”

“What fellow?”

“Your assistant, damn it!” His head went sidewise in my direction. “Goodwin.”

“Yes. I’m not really obtuse, Mr. Barrett, only I like the custom of designating people by their names; it’s so handy. Yes, Mr. Goodwin was there in the interest of Miss Tormic.”

“That’s what he said.”

“She agreed, didn’t she?”

“Sure. That was all right. But that was about that business of Driscoll’s diamonds—the damn fool. What I want to know is, are you still representing her? I mean, in connection with the murder.”

“Do you ask that question as a curious friend?”

“Why, I—a friend, yes. It’s not just curiosity.”

“Well, I am representing Miss Tormic. What moved you besides curiosity?”

“Oh, just …” He hesitated. He put his hand up to smooth his straggled hair, shifted in his chair, and cleared his throat. “Frankly, just that I’m a little interested in Miss Tormic and I should hate it … you know? Such a frightful stink? I only met her a couple of months ago, and I got her and Miss Lovchen their jobs at Miltan’s—and I feel some responsibility about that too. She’s a stranger in New York, and I wanted to be sure she has proper and competent advice. Of course, if you’re representing her …”

“I am.”

“That ought to settle it.”

“Thank you.”

“Provided you …” He smoothed his hair, and cleared his throat again. It was plain that he was having trouble getting the cork out. “Provided you appreciate that it’s important that she shouldn’t be tangled up in the thing at all. For instance, take that rumor that she was seen putting something in that fellow—in Goodwin’s overcoat pocket. If that got to the police it would start a hell of a row. Although I don’t believe she did any such thing. I doubt if anybody did.” He turned to me. “You ought to know. Did you find anything in your overcoat pocket?”

“Sure.” I grinned at him. “Driscoll’s diamonds.”

“No, damn it—”

“Permit me,” Wolfe said brusquely. “If we are in possession of any secrets which we think should remain secret in the interest of Miss Tormic, we certainly aren’t going to disclose them. Neither to the police nor to anyone else. Including you, sir. If you came here for information of that kind you may expect a famine.”

“I am a friend of Miss Tormic.”

“Then you should be glad that she has discreet advisers.”

“That’s all right. Certainly. But sometimes you fellows like to stand in with the police. You know? And it would be bad if they got hold of that talk about her putting something in Goodwin’s pocket. They’d go after her plenty and they’d turn her inside out. It was bad enough that she had been in there fencing with Ludlow, and this would make it ten times worse. I wanted to be sure you appreciate—”

“We do, Mr. Barrett. We haven’t much native subtlety, but a long experience has taught us things—for instance, never to toss ammunition to the enemy except under compulsion or in exchange for something
better.” Wolfe’s tone was a soothing purr, which made me wonder when and why he was getting ready to pounce. He went on with it: “By the way, I don’t suppose you happened to meet Miss Tormic on your way down here just now?”

“No, I didn’t. Why? Where was she?”

“She was here for a little talk. She and her friend, Miss Lovchen. They left shortly before you arrived and I wondered if by any chance you had seen them.”

“No.”

“Have you had an opportunity to talk this thing over with her in much detail?”

“Not much of one. You might say none, really. They questioned the men first up there, and they let me go around eight o’clock. She was still there. I don’t know how long they kept her.”

“Indeed. Since you are a sufficiently good friend of hers to bother to come down here, it might be thought that you wouldn’t have gone off and left her there.”

“I couldn’t get at her. The place was full of cops and there was one for everybody. Anyway, that’s my business. Meaning it’s none of yours. You know?”

“Yes, excuse me. You’re quite right.” Then Wolfe pounced. As usual, there was no change whatever in his tone as his forefinger traced a tiny circle on the polished mahogany of his chair arm. “But I think you’ll have to concede that this is my business: where have you hid Madame Zorka?”

D
onald Barrett wasn’t especially good; not much above the average man when he is suddenly and abruptly faced with a question which he isn’t supposed to know the answer to but does. His jaw loosened, his eyes widened, and his breathing stopped. The first two may be the result of innocent surprise, but not the third. But he was fairly quick on the recovery. He stared at Wolfe and made folds in his smooth handsome brow and demanded:

“Where have I hid who?”

“Madame Zorka.”

He shook his head. “If it’s a joke you’ll have to explain it to me. I don’t get it.”

Wolfe said patiently, “I’ll explain it. Madame Zorka phoned here this evening and said she saw Miss Tormic put something in Mr. Goodwin’s pocket and she was going to report it to the police immediately.”