Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 07 (24 page)

“Oh.” I looked at her. “You won’t?”

“No.”

“Would you rather go to police headquarters and entertain the homicide squad?”

“I won’t—I want to go away. I
must
go away. Mr. Driscoll said he would help me.”

“Yeah, well, he wasn’t quick enough on his feet. Even after all his fencing lessons. Anyway, you would have been nabbed downstairs. Do you realize at all the kind of spot you’re inhabiting right now?”

“I realize—” She stopped to make her voice work. “I’m in a terrible fix. Oh—terrible! You don’t know how terrible!”

“Wrong again. I do know. Would I be staging a damn fool stunt like this to get you to Nero Wolfe if I didn’t?”

“It won’t do any good to take me to Nero Wolfe. I won’t talk to him. I won’t talk to anybody.”

Driscoll went over and stood in front of her. “Look here, Miss Lovchen,” he said, “I don’t think that’s a sensible attitude. If you don’t want to talk to the police, I can understand that. You may have a reason that’s absolutely commendable. But sooner or later you’ll have to talk to somebody, and if you’re not
careful it will be a lawyer, and then you
are
up against it. From what I have heard of this Nero Wolfe …”

He was still jabbering away when the phone announced that the bellboy was in the anteroom.

I shooed Driscoll and Carla into Driscoll’s room and had the bellboy sent in to me. He looked about right, maybe an inch taller than her, but not too skinny or too husky. He was grinning because he could see it was a good joke. I opened the parcel for him while he took his uniform off, and handed him a couple of dollars and told him:

“Put your clothes on and sit here. It’s a nice view from the window. Maybe twenty minutes. A blue-eyed girl will come and tell you when to go. Return to the hotel and they’ll give you another uniform to work in. That two bucks was just for your trouble. Here’s a finif if its effect will be to keep your trap entirely closed regarding the fun we’re having. Okay?”

He said it was, and sounded believable. I gave him the five-spot, gathered up the uniform and cap and wrapping paper, and went to the other room, shutting him in.

Carla, on the edge of the chair, and the secretary, kneeling on the rug in front of her, were busy getting her shoes changed, while Driscoll, with his lips screwed up and his hands in his pockets, gazed down at the operation. Carla stood up and stamped, and said they were all right. I handed the uniform to her and said go ahead but she would have to take off her clothes or it would look bunchy, and told Driscoll:

“Turn your back.”

He blushed rosy. “I … I can go in there—”

“I forgot you’re modest. Suit yourself. Back-turning will do me.”

He went and looked through a window, and I,
facing the same way, regarded him suspiciously. It was getting dark outdoors and the lights were on in the room, and under those circumstances a windowpane is a fairly good mirror. I admit I may have been doing him an injustice. I spread the wrapping paper out on his desk and, when the secretary handed me Carla’s clothes, including coat and hat, made a bundle and got it tied up.

The secretary said, “Look, it’s tight around under the arms.”

I looked. “Naturally. What would you expect? I think it’ll do. Walk to the door and back.” Carla walked. I frowned. “The hips are bad. I mean they’re good, but you understand me. Put the cap on … No, you’ll have to stuff the hair under better than that. There by the left ear. That’s it. I believe we’ll make it. What do you think?”

The secretary said coldly, “I hope so. It’s your idea.”

Driscoll crabbed, “It’s no good. I’d know her across the street.”

“Oh,” I said sarcastically, “we wouldn’t try to fool
you
. There’s hundreds of people going and coming in that lobby and why should they be interested in a bellboy? Anyway, we’ll take a shot at it.” I got the parcel under my arm and confronted Carla. “Now. We have nothing to fear on this floor. We’ll go down in the same elevator. You’ll leave the elevator before me at the main floor. Walk straight to the Lexington Avenue entrance and on out, and don’t look behind or around. I’ll be following you all right. Turn right and keep going on across 43rd Street. Between 43rd and 42nd there’ll be taxis at the curb. Hop into one and tell the driver to take you to 37th Street and Tenth Avenue—”

The secretary put in an oar: “You’ll be with her—”

“I’ll be behind her in another taxi. There’s a chance that one of those birds in the lobby knows me and will be curious enough to follow me out, in which case I don’t want to be seen going for a ride with a bellboy, especially a bellboy with hips. 37th Street and Tenth Avenue. Got that?”

Carla nodded.

“Okay. Stay there in the taxi till I come. I’ll probably be right behind you, but you stay there. If you try a trick, you’re done. Every cop in New York is looking for you. Understand?”

“Yes, but I want—I must—”

“What you want is a different matter entirely, like the guy that fell out of the airplane. Will you go to that corner and stay there in the taxi?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Good-bye, folks. In ten minutes, not sooner, send the bellboy home. I’ll take you on with the epee some day, Driscoll.”

He looked as if he was about ready to cry as he shook hands with her. The secretary looked as arctic as ever, but I noticed her voice was a little husky as she wished Carla good luck.

We departed. As she went along the corridor ahead of me on the way to the elevator, she looked kind of preposterous, but of course I saw not only what I saw but also what I knew. The other passengers in the elevator gave her a glance or two, but nothing alarming. At the main floor she preceded me out and marched through the lobby, dodging as necessary in the crowd, and it began to look like everything was jake when a call came from my right:

“Hey, Goodwin! Archie!”

I
t was Sergeant Purley Stebbins coming at me. The danger was Carla, but for once she acted as if she had some brains. She certainly heard my name called, but she didn’t scream or stop and turn around or break into a run. She just kept on going to the entrance. I saw that out of the corner of my eye as I greeted Purley with a hearty grin.

“Well, well, well!”

“It may be,” he growled. “What are you doing here?”

I looked around stealthily to guard against eavesdroppers, put my mouth within two inches of his big red ear, and whispered into it, “None of your goddam business.”

He grunted, “It’s quite a coincidence.”

“What is?”

“Your being here in this building.”

I tapped him on the chest. “Now that’s funny.”

“What’s funny?”

“Your saying it’s quite a coincidence. It’s funny because that’s exactly what I was going to say. Mind if I say it? It’s quite a coincidence.”

“Go to hell.”

“Same to you and many of them. May I ask, what
are
you
doing in this building?” I glanced around. “You and all your playmates.”

“Go to hell.”

“How’s the roads?”

“Whatta you got in the bundle?”

“Revolvers, daggers, narcotics, smuggled jewels, and a bottle of blood. Want to look at it?”

“Go to hell.”

I shrugged politely, told him I’d meet him at the corner of Fire and Brimstone, and left him.

That was okay. But the danger was, with Carla having such a fixed idea about going away from America, that she might be keeping her promise and she might not. Even so, I didn’t jump into a taxi at the entrance. I hoofed it to the corner and popped into Bigger’s drugstore and stood there. Since it had another exit on 43rd, anyone Purley sent on my tail would either have to pop in after me or make it to the turn in a hurry where he could see both doors. No one did that. I left by 43rd, crossed the street and entered Grand Central the back way, did another maneuver in the smoking room to make doubly sure, went out to Madison Avenue, jumped into a taxi, and sat on the edge of the seat with my fingers crossed and sweat on my brow until we got to the rendezvous and I saw she was there.

I dismissed my taxi, went to hers and opened the door and beckoned her out, paid the driver and sent him off, and waited until he had rounded the corner out of sight before I steered her down the sidewalk to where I had parked the roadster. She wasn’t having anything to say. I told her to climb in and handed her the bundle.

It was only a matter of three minutes across to Ninth, down to 34th, and west to the middle of the block. The day was gone and I stopped at a distance from a street light, shut off the engine, and told her:

“There’s an assortment of cops in front of Wolfe’s house, so we’re going in the back way. Follow me and don’t say anything after we get inside the house. Just stay behind me.”

“I must know …” Her voice quavered and she stopped. In a moment she went on, “I must know one thing. Is Neya there?”

“I don’t know. She wasn’t when I left.”

“Where was she?”

“Police headquarters. Not under arrest, they were questioning her and she wasn’t answering. They may have brought her to Wolfe’s house or they may not. I don’t know. Inspector Cramer is there with Wolfe.”

“But you said I would only have to see Mr. Wolfe—”

“I said Wolfe wants to talk with you first. Come on.”

I got out and went around to her side and opened the door. She had her teeth sunk into her lip. She sat that way a minute, then climbed out and followed me. I led her down the sidewalk to the entrance to the passageway between a warehouse building and a garage, and along the dark passage until we came to the door in the board fence. It was the door Zorka had used after her trip down the fire escape, only from the inside she had only needed to turn the knob of the spring lock, whereas I had to use my key. I guided her across the court and up the steps to the little porch, and used another key, and entered the kitchen ahead of her. No one was in there but Fritz.

He stared at me. “Now, Archie, you ought to tap—”

“Okay. I forgot. No cause for alarm. Keep Miss Lovchen here on the quiet for about four minutes till I get back.”

He stared again, at her. “Miss Lovchen?”

“Right. You’d better hide her in the pantry.”

I put the parcel on a chair, went out the way I had
come, through the door in the fence and along the passage to 34th Street, got in the roadster and drove around two corners into 35th Street, and rolled to the curb in front of the house. The police car there had been joined by another one, and the taxi was still parked down a ways, and as I crossed the sidewalk to the stoop I saw the dick there with his foot on the running board, chinning with Cramer’s chauffeur. I was in too much of a hurry to toss them anything, because I had one more lap to go. I let myself in, shed my coat and hat, and went to the office.

“Oh,” I said, “hello.”

There was the explanation of the second police car. Over in a corner was a dick looking bored, and on one of the yellow leather chairs sat Neya Tormic, not looking bored. The way her eyes darted at me, I had to control an impulse to side-step to get out of the line of fire.

The dart was a question and I knew what it was, but I ignored it and spoke to Fred Durkin, who was seated at my desk:

“Get out of my chair, you big bum, and come out here and help me a minute.”

He arose and lumbered across, and I steered him into the hall and shut the office door.

“Are Wolfe and Cramer upstairs?”

“Yes.”

“Anyone in the front room?”

“No.”

“Stand here and hold this doorknob, in case that dick should get a sudden notion to stretch his legs.”

He got his paw on it, and I went to the kitchen. Fritz put down a pan he was stirring and came close to me and whispered, “In the pantry.” I pushed the swinging door and there she was, on a chair he had put there for her, with the parcel at her feet. I got the
parcel and told her to follow me and keep quiet. In the hall Fred was hanging onto the doorknob and I winked at him as we passed. Up one flight of stairs, down the hall six paces, through a door—and I closed it behind us, turned on the light, put the parcel on a table, and shut the window curtains.

“Hvala Bogu,”
I said. “This is Mr. Wolfe’s room. Don’t leave it. If you open a window bells ring all over the house. It’s 5:35 and he will be here shortly after six. You might as well put your own clothes on. That door there is a bathroom. Okay?”

She just looked at me, and I saw she was concentrating so hard on keeping a stiff jaw that she couldn’t even nod her head, so I went on out. At the head of the stairs I called down, “All right, Fred, go back in and try another chair,” and then proceeded to the next flight up. Two of them took me to the narrow door at the top which opened into the plant rooms. I had to go all the way through to the potting room to find Wolfe. He was at the bench with Theodore, inspecting some recent sprouts with a magnifying glass, and Cramer was on a stool with his back propped against the wall, chewing on a cigar.

I hoisted myself onto the free end of the bench and sat swinging my legs. In a few minutes Wolfe came to a coma, shook his head disapprovingly at something he saw through the glass, sighed, and muttered at me, “Did you get the goose?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He got busy with the glass again. I swung my legs. After a while the phone rang. Theodore went to his desk to answer it and told Cramer it was for him. The inspector went and grunted into it for three or four minutes, then hung up and returned to the stool. I knew he was glaring at me, but I was interested in the tips of my number nines swinging back and forth.

He said, and I knew what it must be costing him to restrain himself like that, “You, Goodwin.” There was even a suggestion of a tremble in his voice. “When did they move the Washington Market to the Maidstone Building?”

“Why,” I said in a friendly tone, “that must have been Sergeant Stebbins on the phone! How’s that for deduction?”

“Fine.” Cramer threw his cigar at the trash basket, missed, went and picked it up and dropped it in, and returned to the stool. “Don’t think I’m going to blow up, because I’m not. I’m beyond that. Ten minutes after you left I told Wolfe that Carla Lovchen was trailed to the Maidstone Building this morning and was holed up there, but that was
after
you left as I say. All I’m going to do is ask a simple question. Why did you go to the Maidstone Building?”