Authors: Rex Stout
“He’s pushing at it,” Fritz told me.
I walked to him and called through the crack, “You’ll never make it, son. I’m Goodwin. What do you want?”
“I can’t see you plain.” His voice was even gruffer and deeper than when he had been on the inside talking out. “I want in.”
“So did I, and what did I get? What do you want? That’s twice, so I have one coming. You asked me three times.”
“I could break your neck, Goodwin!”
“Then you’ll never get in. I use my neck. What do you want? Now we’re even.”
A voice came at me from behind. “What is all this uproar?”
Wolfe had emerged from the office and was advancing, which wasn’t as impetuous as it might have seemed. It was close to dinnertime, and he would soon have had to mobilize himself anyhow. Fritz trotted off toward the kitchen, where something was probably reaching its climax.
I told Wolfe, “It’s Andy Fomos, who ruined a shoe
for me yesterday.” I told the crack, “In ten seconds we close the door the rest of the way, and don’t think we can’t.”
“What you told me yesterday!” he bellowed.
“What? Do you mean about Priscilla Eads going to make your wife a director of Softdown?”
“Yes! I was thinking about it, and a little while ago I phoned that Mrs. Jaffee. She wouldn’t say much, but she told me who you are and said I should see you. If that woman was going to make my wife an important thing like a director there must have been some good reason, and I want you to tell me what it was. She must have owed my wife something big, and I want to know what it was, because if it belongs to me I want it. My wife would have wanted me to have it. And you must know about it, or why did you come to see me?”
I turned to Wolfe. “When you send me out for objects you get ‘em, huh? This one completes the order. Do you want it?”
He was standing with his gaze focused through the one-way glass at the visitor. Fomos was not quite as impressive draped as he had been in shorts, but he was quite a figure. Wolfe grunted. “If he came this evening would he be uncontrollable?”
“Not if I have tools handy, and I will.”
“Invite him.”
I turned to the crack. “Listen, Junior. Some people are coming at nine o’clock this evening to talk the whole thing over, and we might get around to what’s biting you, why your wife was to be made a director, or we might not. You may come if you’ll behave yourself. If you don’t behave you won’t stay.”
“I won’t wait! I want in now! I want—”
“Oh, can it! You heard me. We’re now going to eat dinner, and the thought of you camped on the stoop
would annoy us. If you’re down on the sidewalk by the time I count ten I’ll let you in at nine o’clock. If not, not. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight …”
He had made it. Wolfe was headed for the dining room. I went to the kitchen and told Fritz, “One more. There will be ten. Counting Mr. Wolfe and me, an even dozen. Counting you, thirteen.”
“Then we will not count me,” he said firmly.
I
was mildly peeved at Nathaniel Parker. It had been agreed that he and Mrs. Jaffee would come fifteen or twenty minutes early for a policy caucus, and instead of that they were the last to arrive, ten minutes late. Presumably, judging from their manner, they had dined together, and there was no law against that; and also presumably Parker thought a caucus not essential since Wolfe would take charge anyway; but their tardiness made it harder for me. I had no help from Wolfe, since it was his custom, when a gathering was expected, to stay in the kitchen until everyone had assembled.
By the time Parker and Sarah Jaffee showed up the air had got a little thick. The Softdown quintet had not come in a body, but had immediately formed one, collecting over in the corner by the couch and conversing in undertones. When I introduced Eric Hagh and his attorney, Irby, to them, there was no handshaking—for one thing the Softdown group was too surprised. I offered no explanation of Irby’s and Hagh’s presence, and wasn’t asked for one. I did offer drinks, but nobody wanted any. Then Andy Fomos came, and after I had introduced and identified him he mixed himself a long
one of white wine and soda and stood apart, sipping his drink and glowering around as if deciding which neck to break first. None but mine, and maybe Hagh’s, would have been any problem for him. As for me, I had told Wolfe I would have tools handy, and I had—a snub-nosed Farger on my hip and a rubber silencer in my jacket pocket. It didn’t seem likely that Wolfe could bring it to a boil at that meeting, but if he did there was no telling who would start what, and I had already had a shoe scuffed.
When Fritz ushered Parker and Sarah Jaffee into the office she stopped just inside the door and looked around. It was the first time I had seen her in artificial light, and she was an attractive sight, with her face a little flushed, in a white summer dress and white slippers, and with a little white bag dangling from her hand. Perry Helmar called her name and started for her, but I intercepted him and got to her and Parker, and claimed attention to pronounce names. Of course none of them had ever seen Parker before, and Irby and Hagh had never seen Sarah Jaffee. Hagh kissed her hand. He had not kissed Viola Duday’s hand. Apparently she thought it wasn’t a bad idea, from the way she took it, and I admit he was more presentable than he had been that afternoon, now that he was combed and shaved and in a clean white suit and shoes. I maneuvered Perry Helmar into the red leather chair, got the others disposed according to plan, and went to Wolfe’s desk and pushed the button, one long and two short.
Wolfe marched in. On account of the crowd, he had to bear right to the wall and follow it to his chair. He stood.
“Archie?” he said.
I identified the four he had never seen. “Miss Viola Duday, formerly assistant to the president of Softdown,
Incorporated, and now assistant secretary. Jay L. Brucker, president. Bernard Quest, been with the business sixty-two years, sales manager for thirty-four and vice-president for twenty-nine. Oliver Pitkin, secretary and treasurer of the corporation.”
Wolfe inclined his head a full half an inch, for him an elaborate bow, and sat. Before he got satisfactorily adjusted in his chair, which with him took some engineering, Perry Helmar spoke.
“I have prepared a statement,” he announced, “which I would like to read.” His square jaw was jutting beyond the call of duty. He held a paper in his hand.
“How long is it?” Wolfe asked him.
“Three or four minutes.”
“Go ahead.”
Helmar adjusted his metal-rimmed glasses, lifted the paper to range, and read:
“Statement by Perry Helmar, June twenty-sixth, nineteen fifty-two. Speaking for myself and of my knowledge, I challenge the propriety of participation by the private detective named Nero Wolfe in any discussion of the affairs of Priscilla Eads, deceased, or of any matters relating to her, including her death. I base this challenge on the fact that the said Nero Wolfe, by his concealment from the undersigned of the presence in his house, on June twenty-third, nineteen fifty-two, of the said Priscilla Eads, and by his gross and premeditated deception of the undersigned, contributed to her peril and thereby became to a considerable degree responsible for her death by violence. The full details of his deception have been supplied to the District Attorney by me in a signed statement, and a copy of that statement is attached hereto in support of this
challenge. I contend that Nero Wolfe is unfit and unworthy to share in any examination of any matters connected with Priscilla Eads.
“Speaking for myself and my four associates, Bernard Quest, Jay L. Brucker, Oliver Pitkin, and Viola Duday, after discussion among us and full agreement, we denounced the said Nero Wolfe for his instigation of an unwarranted attack upon us by Mrs. Sarah Jaffee. We declare that said instigation was prompted by malice, and that the threat of legal action on behalf of Mrs. Jaffee is an unjustified, unprovoked, and reprehensible attempt at coercion. We note that Counselor Nathaniel Parker, who has in the past been associated with Nero Wolfe in many matters, is acting for Mrs. Jaffee, and regard that fact as significant and indicative of the nature of this attempt at coercion, and we demand the right to interview Mrs. Jaffee privately before entering into any discussion with Counselor Parker, and particularly any discussion to which Nero Wolfe is a party.”
Helmar lowered the paper. “That is a joint demand,” he declared aggressively.
“May I say—” Nat Parker began, but Wolfe showed him a palm.
“If you please, Mr. Helmar. There is no question of your right to interview Mrs. Jaffee privately, nor is there any question of Mr. Parker’s right, and mine, to advise her not to talk with you people except in our presence. The only question is how she feels about it herself. Mrs. Jaffee, do—no. You ask her.”
Helmar turned left. He was in the red leather chair, and the other four of the Softdown contingent were on chairs forming an arc running from him in the general direction of my desk. Sarah Jaffee was on the couch.
Nearby was Eric Hagh, and beyond him were the two lawyers, Irby and Parker. Andy Fomos was off by himself, over by the bookshelves.
Helmar addressed Mrs. Jaffee. “You wouldn’t talk to me on the telephone, Sarah. You have known me all your life. I held you in my arms when you were a baby. Have you ever known me to do anything unfair or dishonest or wicked?”
“Yes,” Sarah said. She used more breath than she intended and it caused a sort of explosion, but it was certainly audible.
It rocked Helmar. His eyes popped. “What? Did you say yes?”
“Yes, I did. You did all of those things to Pris. You didn’t love her or understand her, and you were bad for her.” She lifted her chin a little. “I want to say one thing. I haven’t been coerced to do this by Mr. Wolfe or Mr. Parker. I am doing it because I want to, and it was Mr. Archie Goodwin who made me want to. It wouldn’t do the slightest good for you to talk with me, Mr. Helmar, or any of the others, so forget it.”
“But, Sarah, you don’t understand!”
“I think I do. And what if I don’t?”
“Skip it, Perry,” Viola Duday snapped. “She’s hopeless.”
“Does anyone else,” Wolfe inquired, “have a statement to read?”
Parker put in, “I advise Mr. Helmar not to leave copies of his lying around. It is clearly libelous, as he must know.”
Wolfe nodded. “He’s upset and not strictly accountable.” His eyes moved left to right and back again. “I could reply to Mr. Helmar’s indictment of me, but it would take time, and we should get on. First I’ll make one thing clear—my status in this business. I have been
engaged to investigate the murder of Priscilla Eads, and that is my sole interest.”
“By Sarah Jaffee?” Helmar demanded.
“No. My client’s identity is not your concern. In my opinion it is entirely proper for Mrs. Jaffee, as a stockholder in the corporation, to bring the action contemplated, but that will be determined not by my opinion or yours, but by a court. It is certainly proper to submit the matter to a court for decision, and that is what will be done tomorrow morning unless developments here this evening make it unnecessary.”
“What developments would make it unnecessary?” That was Oliver Pitkin. Evidently his cold was no better, since he was still sniffling.
“Any of several. For instance, my discovery of the identity of the murderer.”
Wolfe’s eyes moved deliberately, and other eyes met them. He prolonged it, and no one moved or spoke. “Though I confess,” he said, “that I expect no such happy expedition. Another possible development would be for me to conclude, after inquiry, that none of you five people was involved in the murder. Since Mrs. Jaffee’s action is grounded on the possibility that one or more of you was involved, and is intended solely to prevent a culprit from profiting from a crime, such a conclusion would make the action needless. The purpose of this meeting is that inquiry by me.”
“The purpose of this meeting,” Helmar contradicted, “is an explanation by you and Counselor Parker of this whole outrageous proceeding!”
Wolfe’s gaze pinned him. “Do you really mean that?”
“I certainly do!”
“Then get out.” He waved a hand. “Out! I’ve had enough of you!”
They didn’t move, except their heads, to exchange looks.
“Before you go,” Wolfe said, “here’s a piece of information for you. I am told that you are now claiming—specifically you, Mr. Helmar—that the document signed by Priscilla Eads, then Priscilla Hagh, giving her husband a half-interest in her property, is spurious. That is why Mr. Irby is here, and why his client, Mr. Hagh, has come to New York.” He focused on Helmar. “If you accuse me of deception, sir, I accuse you of an impudent he in an attempt to defraud. In this room Monday evening Miss Eads told Mr. Goodwin and me categorically that she had signed that document, and of course you knew—”
“Bravo!” Eric Hagh was out of his chair and moving, pulling an envelope from his pocket. “There is honesty for you, gentlemen!” He waved the envelope. “Here it is! Here it is!”
He may not, judging from his looks, have inherited the South American tendency to exuberance, but he sure had caught it, and there and then someone caught it from him. Andy Fomos bounced up, dashed across, confronted the Softdown team, and boomed, “And before you go you will listen to me! She was going to make my wife a director! And now they are both dead! What can you do, what can you do to make it fair and honest? What you can do is make me a director and pay me what she was going to pay my wife!” He shook a fist, and I got to my feet, but he gave up the fist to point a finger at Viola Duday. “And what were you doing, coming last week to have a secret talk with my wife!” He swung the finger to aim it at Brucker. “And what were you doing, the same thing, coming to talk with her? To ask her to be a director? Huh? Now you can ask me to be a director! There is no—”
“Archie!” Wolfe called sharply. I was already advancing. Others besides Hagh and Fomos were out of their chairs, making a jumble but no tumult.
I got Fomos back to his corner without serious resistance, and, returning, addressed the Softdown group. “Are you folks leaving or not? If you are, this way out. If not, you must be thirsty, and what will it be?”