"I am not rich myself, Mr. Wolfe. I have some savings. But my brother--if you get her away, if you release him from her--he is truly
genereux
--pardon--he is a generous man. He is not stingy."
"But he isn't hiring me, and your assumption that she is coercing him may be groundless." Wolfe shook his head. "No. Not a reasonable venture. Unless, of course, your brother himself consults me. If you care to bring him? Or send him?"
"Oh, I couldn't!" She waved it away. "You must see that isn't possible! When I asked him about her, I told you, he wouldn't tell me anything. He was annoyed. He is never abrupt with me, but he was then. I assure you, Mr. Wolfe, she is a villain. You are
sagace--
pardon you are an acute man. You would know it if you saw her, spoke with her."
"Perhaps," Wolfe was losing patience. "Even so, my perception of her villainy wouldn't avail. No, madam."
"But you would know I am right." She opened her bag, fingered in it with both hands, came out with something, left her chair to step to Wolfe's desk, and put the something on the desk pad in front of him. "There," she said, "that is three hundred dollars. For you that is nothing, but it shows how I am in earnest." She returned to the chair. "I know you never leave your home on business, you wouldn't go there, and I can't ask her to come here so you can speak with her, she would merely laugh at me, but you can. You can tell her you have been asked in confidence to discuss a matter with her and ask her to come to see you. You will not tell her what it is. She will come--she will be afraid not to--and that alone will show you she has a secret, perhaps many secrets. Then, when she comes, you will ask her whatever occurs to you. For that you do not need my suggestions. You are
sagace
."
"Pfui," Wolfe shook his head. "Everybody has secrets; not necessarily guilty ones."
"Yes," she agreed, "but not secrets that would make them afraid not to come to see Nero Wolfe. When she comes and you have spoken with her, we shall see. That may be all or it may not. We shall see."
I do not say that the three hundred bucks there on his desk was no factor. Even though income tax would take two-thirds of it, there would be enough left for three weeks' supply of beer or for two days' salary for me. Another factor was plain curiosity: would Bianca Voss come or wouldn't she? Another was the chance that it might develop into a decent fee. Still another was her saying "We shall see" instead of "We'll see" or "We will see." He will always stretch a point, within reason, for people who use words as he thinks they should be used. But all of those together might not have swung him if he hadn't known that if he turned her down, and she went, I was pigheaded enough to go with her on leave of absence.
So he muttered at her, "Where is she?"
"At my brother's place. She always is."
"Give Mr. Goodwin the phone number."
"I'll get it. She may be downstairs." She got up and started for the phone on Wolfe's desk, but I told her to use mine and left my chair, and she came and sat, lifted the receiver, and dialed. In a moment she spoke. "Doris? Flora. Is Miss Voss around? . . . Oh. I thought she might have come down. 0 . No, don't bother; I'll ring her private line."
She pushed the button down, told us, "She's up in her office," waited a moment, released the button, and dialed again. When she spoke, it was with another voice, as she barely moved her lips and brought it out through her nose, "Miss Bianca Voss? Hold the line, please. Mr. Nero Wolfe wishes to speak with you...
"Nero Wolfe, the private detective?"
She looked at Wolfe and he got at his phone. Having my own share of curiosity, I extended a hand for my receiver, and she let me take it and left my chair. As I got it to my ear Wolfe was speaking.
"This is Nero Wolfe. Is this Miss Bianca Voss?" "Yes." It was more like "Yiss." "What do you want?" The "wh" and the "w" were way off.
"If my name is unknown to you, I should explain--" "I know your name. What do you want?"
"I wish to invite you to call on me at my office. I have been asked to discuss certain matters with you, and--"
"Who asked you?"
"I am not at liberty to say. I shall--"
"What kind of matters?" The "wh" was more off.
"If you will let me finish. The matters are personal and confidential and concern you closely. That's all I can say on the telephone. I assure you that you would be ill-advised
A snort stopped him--a snort that might be spelled "Tzchaahh!" Followed by: "I know your name, yes! You are scum, I know, in your stinking sewer! Your slimy little ego in your big gob of fat! And you dare toowulgghh!"
That's the best I can do at reporting it. It was part scream, part groan, and part just noise. It was followed immediately by another noise, a mixture of crash and clatter, then others, faint rustlings, and then nothing.
I spoke to my transmitter: "Hello, hello, hello. Hello! Hello?"
I cradled it, and so did Wolfe. Flora Gallant was asking. "What is it? She hung up?" We ignored her. Wolfe said, "Archie? You heard."
"Yes, sir. So did you. If you want a guess, something hit her and she dragged the phone along as she went down and it struck the floor. The other noises, not even a guess, except that at the end she put the receiver back on and cut the connection or someone else did. It could be--"
Flora had grabbed my sleeve with both hands and was demanding. "What is it? What happened?" I put a hand on her shoulder and made it emphatic:
"I don't know what happened. There was a collection of sounds. You heard what I told Mr. Wolfe. Apparently something fell on her and then hung up the phone."
"But it couldn't! It is not possible!"
"That's what it sounded like. What's the number? The one downstairs."
She just gawked at me. I looked at Wolfe and he gave me a nod, and I jerked my arm loose, sat at my desk, got the Manhattan book, flipped to the G's and got the number, PL2-0330, and dialed it.
A refined female voice came, "Alec Gallant, Incorporated."
"This is a friend of Miss Voss," I told her. "I was just speaking to her on the phone, on her private line, and from the sounds I got, I think something may have happened to her. Will you send someone up to see? Right away. I'll hold the wire."
"Who is this speaking, please?"
"Never mind that. Step on it. She may be hurt."
I heard her calling to someone: then apparently she covered the transmitter. I sat and waited. Wolfe sat and scowled at me. Flora stood for some minutes at my elbow, staring down at me, then turned and went to the red leather chair and lowered herself onto its edge. I looked at my wristwatch: 11:40. It had said 11:31 when the connection with Bianca Voss had been cut.
More waiting, and then a male voice came: "Hello?"
"This is Carl Drew. What is your name please?"
"My name is Watson--John H. Watson. Is Miss Voss all right?"
"May I have your address, Mr. Watson?"
"Miss Voss knows my address. Is she all right?"
"I must have your address, Mr. Watson. I must insist. You will understand the necessity when I tell you that Miss Voss is dead. She was assaulted in her office
and is dead. Apparently, from what you said, the assault came while she was on the phone with you, and I want your address. I must insist."
"Who assaulted her?"
"I don't know. Damn it, how do I know? I must 99 I hung up, gently not to be rude, swiveled and asked Flora, "Who is Carl Drew?"
"My brother's business manager. What happened?"
I looked at Wolfe. "My guess was close. Miss Voss is dead. In her office. He said she was assaulted, but he didn't say with what or by whom."
He glowered at me, then turned to let her have it. She was coming up from the chair, slow and stiff. When she was erect, she said, "No. No! It isn't possible!"
"I'm only quoting Carl Drew," I told her.
"But it's crazy! He said she is dead? Bianca Voss?" "Distinctly." She looked as if she might be needing a prop, and I stood up.
"But how--" She let it hang. She repeated, "But how--" stopped again, turned, and was going.
When Wolfe called to her, "Here, Miss Gallant, your money!" she paid no attention, but kept on, and he poked it at me, and I took it and headed for the hall.
I caught up with her halfway to the front door, but when I offered it, she just kept going so I blocked her off, took her bag, opened it, dropped the bills in, closed it and handed it back.
I spoke. "Easy does it, Finger. Take a breath. Going without your stole?"
"Oh." She swallowed. "Where is it?" I got it for her. "In my opinion," I said, "you need a little chivalry. I'll come and get you in a taxi."
She shook her head. "I'm all right."
"You are not. You'll get run over."
"No, I won't. Don't come. Just let me
please."
She meant it, so I stepped to the door and pulled it open, and she crossed the sill. I stood there and watched, thinking she might stumble going down the steps of the stoop, but she made it to the sidewalk and turned west toward Tenth Avenue. Evidently she wasn't completely paralyzed, since Tenth was one-way uptown.
There are alternative explanations for the fact that I did not choose to return immediately to the office. One would be that I was afraid to face the music--not the way to put it, since the sounds that come from Wolfe when he is good and sore are not musical. The other would be that purely out of consideration for him I decided he would rather be alone for a while. I prefer the latter. Anyway, I made for the stairs, but I was only halfway up the first flight when his bellow came, "Archie! Come here!"
I about-faced, descended, crossed the hall and stood on the threshold. "Yes, sir? I was going up to my room to see if I left the faucet dripping."
"Let it drip. Sit down."
I went to my chair and sat down. "Too bad," I said regretfully. "Three hundred dollars may be hay, but "Shut up."
I lifted my shoulders half an inch and dropped them. He leaned back comfortably and eyed me.
"I must compliment you," he said, "on the ingenuity of your stratagem. Getting me with you on the phone, so that I could corroborate your claim that both you and Miss Gallant were here in my office at the moment the murder was committed was well conceived and admirably executed. But I fear it was more impetuous than prudent. You are probably in mortal jeopardy, and
I confess I shall be seriously inconvenienced if I lose your services, even though you get only a long term in prison. So I would like to help, if I can. It will be obvious, even to a slower wit than Mr. Cramer's, that you and Miss Gallant arranged for the attack to occur on schedule, precisely at the moment that Miss Voss was speaking to me on the phone; and therefore, patently, that you were in collusion with the attacker. So our problem is not how to fend suspicion from you, but whether you can wriggle out of it, and if so how. No doubt you have considered it?"
"Yeah. Sure."
"And?"
"I think it's hopeless. I'm in for it. Not a prison term; I'll get six thousand volts. I know it will inconvenience you, but it will inconvenience me too. I regret it very much because it has been a rare experience working for you." I uncrossed my legs. "Look. Naturally, you are boiling. I let her come here, yes. I--uh--persuaded you to see her, yes. If you're in a tantrum, O.K., go ahead and tantrum and get it over with."
"I am not in a tantrum and 'tantrum' is not a verb."
"Then I take it back. Apparently it's worse than a tantrum, since instead of ragging me, you burlesque it. Can't you just tell me what you think of me?"
"No. It's not in my vocabulary. You realize what we are in for?"
"Certainly. If it was murder, and evidently it was, Flora Gallant will tell them where she was and what happened. Then we will have visitors, and not only that, but if and when someone is nominated for it and put on trial, we will be star witnesses because we heard it happen. Not eyewitnesses, earwitnesses. We can time it right to the minute. You will sit for hours on a hard wooden bench in a courtroom, with no client and
no fee in sight. I know how you feel and I don't blame you. Go ahead and tell me what you think of me." "You admit you are answerable?"
"No. I was unlucky."
"That doesn't absolve you. A man is as responsible for his luck as for his judgment. How long have you known that woman?"
"Nineteen hours. She picked me up on Thirty-eighth Street at five o'clock yesterday afternoon." "Picked you up?"
"Yes. I thought she was tailing Putz, but she said she was after me. That gave me a sense of well-being and stimulated my manhood. I took her to a bar and bought her a drink--she took vermouth--and it came out that it was you she was really after. Thinking there might be a fee in it, I took her to a place and fed her and danced with her. If it had led to a fee, that would have gone on my expense account, but now I don't suppose--"
"No."
"Very well. She didn't tell me the whole story, but enough so it seemed possible it was worth half an hour of your time, and I told her to come at eleven this morning."
"How long were you out?"