Death Times Three SSC (29 page)

"That's not fair," she said. "I'm not a double-dealer either."

"Good. I'm glad you're not double something. I suppose we ought to spend a few minutes looking, for the record, but first there's a little detail. The name of the certain person. Initials will do."

She shook her head. "No. I settled that with Mr. Wolfe. I won't."

"You will if you want the package. You will not be quoted. We just want to know. We'll take it from there."

"No."

"Then no package.

"That's silly." Her brows were up. "Really, Mr. Goodwin. As smart as you are? Knowing that I know it's here in this room? I never said I would tell you the name. What will you do, grab it and run? Besides, I

haven't seen the package yet. You wouldn't trick me, of course not, but seeing is believing. When I have it I might possibly
where is it?"

"When you have it you'll tell me the name."

"I didn't say that. I don't promise. Where is it?" "I'd like to wring your neck."

"That makes us even. Where is it?"

There was no point in prolonging it. I quit. "You'd better look around a little," I said. "Your story is going to be that after Leach drove off you went in the house with me, and Mr. Wolfe and I stuck to it that we knew nothing about any counterfeit money, and you thought it was just possible that Miss Annis had left it here or brought it back here. That I said I had an appointment and went, and you stayed and had lunch with Mr. Wolfe, trying to worm something out of him. That when you left you came here to search Miss Annis' room, and found that I was already here with the same idea, and you found the package. With a story it helps to have some of it based on fact so you should look around. Say two minutes."

She shrugged--the kind of shrug that means I might as well humor him, he means well--and went to the desk and opened a drawer. I went and opened the hall door and glanced out, saw no one, and left the door open. "From here on," I told her, "you might follow the script. It will develop your dramatic talents. You might purr with pleasure if and when you find it. I'm supposed to be looking too, so I will."

I went and climbed onto the piano stool and lifted the lid, and the stool turned and nearly dumped me. When she had finished with the desk drawers she looked at me, but I said, "Try the closet." There was some satisfaction, though not much, in making her work for it. And what do you suppose she did? She

went straight to the bed, to the head, grabbed a corner of the mattress, and yanked it up. I stood and watched. She moved to the foot and yanked again, saw the slit, stuck her hand in, and came out with the package.

"By gum," I said, "I'll bet that's it! Was it inside the mattress?"

She went to the sofa and sat and started untying the string. I said, "There might be something else," stepped to the bed, lifted the mattress, and inserted my hand in the slit. You never know what modern science will do next. They might have an electronic smeller that could prove I had handled it, and it was just as well to have an answer. So my hand was in the slit and my back to the hall door when a man's voice came, not loud but mean: "I want that. Hand it over."

I jerked my hand out and whirled, and the voice said, "Stay where you are, Goodwin." It was Paul Hannah. He was standing in front of her with a knife in his hand--a kitchen knife with a shiny blade a foot long. His chubby cheeks were flushed and his eyes were as mean as his voice.

"You damn fool," I said. "Drop it." I moved a foot, but the point of the knife went closer to Tammy's middle, and I stopped. "I thought you were downtown rehearsing," I said. "You'll never get anywhere in show business if you skip rehearsals."

He ignored it. I was a good twelve feet away. The knife went closer to her, nearly touching. "Hand it over," he said. "Quick."

"Give it to him," I said. "What the hell."

She has claimed, since, that she misunderstood me. She has conceded that I might have meant give him the package, but that at the time she thought I was telling her to charge. Nuts. The truth is just the opposite; she would have handed it over if I hadn't told her to. She was simply born contrary, and what she did was an automatic reaction to my telling her to give it to him. She brought her legs up and jerked her body sideways, and of course I jumped--or rather, dived. I went for the arm that held the knife, but missed because her feet had bumped him. By the time I braked and turned he was back on balance and she had tumbled off the sofa onto the floor, hanging on to the package, and damned if he didn't ignore me and go for her, holding the knife high. I sprang and got his wrist and brought it down and over, and heard it crack. He let out a squeal and the knife dropped, and in my enthusiasm I gave his arm another twist, and he crumpled to the floor just as Tammy got back on her feet. And as Raymond Dell appeared in the doorway and boomed: "Who is dog and who is bear?"

"No bear," I said. "Hyena." I picked up the knife. "He was waving this at Miss Baxter. I'll quit disturbing you if you'll go and call Watkins 9-8241, get Sergeant Stebbins, and tell him I have a murderer here for him. Not Goodman, Goodwin. I'll repeat the number: Watkins 9-8241."

"I'll go," Tammy said, and was moving, but I got her arm.

"You will not," I said firmly. "You wouldn't call that number, at least not first. --If you please, Mr. Dell?"

"Monstrous," he said, and turned and went.

I glanced at Paul Hannah, still on the floor, holding his right wrist with his left hand, and let go of Tammy's arm. "I know you didn't promise," I said, "but I may have saved you from a scratch. Just as a personal favor, may I have the name now?"

"Go climb a tree," she said.

One afternoon a couple of months later, the day after a jury of four women and eight men made it thumbs down for Paul Hannah, I got back to the office from doing an errand and found Wolfe at his desk working on one of those highbrow crossword puzzles in the London Observer. As I sat at my desk he looked up.

"A message for you," he said. "Call Byron 7-6232."

"Thanks. It's not urgent."

He grunted. "I recognized the voice."

"Sure."

"I am not inquisitive about your personal affairs, but I like to know when you pursue an acquaintance that began in this office. I didn't know you were cultivating her."

"I didn't either. I'll have to look up 'cultivate."

"To seek the society of. To court intimacy with."

I gave it a thought. "I don't like that 'court.' I suppose you could say that when two prizefighters sign up for a bout they are seeking each other's society. You might even say that when one of them aims a jab at the other one's nose he is courting intimacy with him. As you see, it's very complicated."

"It is indeed. You understand that my only concern is with any possible untoward effect on the operation of this office. I trust there will be none."

"So do I," I said,

Now, for the first time ever, enjoy a peek into the life of Nero Wolfe's creator, Rex Stout, courtesy of the Stout Estate. Pulled from Rex Stout's own archives, here are rarely seen, some never-before-published memorabilia. Each title in "The Rex Stout Library" will offer an exclusive look into the life of the man who gave Nero Wolfe life.

In July of 1972, Rex Stout received a letter from one of his most devoted readers: Marlene Dietrich. She shared with Stout her abhorrence of the German translations of his books and her ideas for casting the parts of Wolfe and Archie. One surprising suggestion for the part of Archie? Dietrich herself! The letter is reproduced here.

12, Avenue Montaigne

July 7 72

Dear, dear Mr. Stout,

I Just came back to Paris and I found your letter. My heart beat fast. Such joy.

Ever since my son in law introduced me to your books my life has been much brighter.

We hunt in every city for one we have not read and he brought me "two from America which I saved until I had a very lonely and sad evening or two.

Sometimes I force myself to read only half the book and wait for another time. But mostly I read the book right through. I love the stories, the style, the dialogue e.t.c. e.t.c. I took all the books I still had ( because I give them away to other aficionados) to Orson Mellen and begged him to do the series for television but naturally I could not tell him where the rights were.

Casting Nero Wolfe is easy but I cannot yet find Archie. I know how he looks. A bit like Burt Bacharach, but taller. As. I have given so many of your books away I cannot be quite certain which titles I have read. I have marked the ones about which I am dubious or certain . All the others unmarked ones I have read. Please send them to me, I cannot get any of those here or in London. I even have a German one called "Before Midnight" but the translation is terrible. They try to copy the jargon of Archie. Frightful.

Please don't let's lose touch, as "Pa" Hemingway used to say.

The dinner with Mr. Harold Stern and Mr. Kenneth Tynan was wonderful because I suddenly started to talk about you, as I very often do, and there was someone who knew you. If I were young and a man I could play Archie better than anyone. I even love him when he gets angry at Wolfe.

I know the house outside and inside, the orchid room and even the smell of the kitchen. I thank you very deeply for the wonderful rest you give me from all the troubles of today & life. May you be well and happy,

Devotedly