Rex Stout - And be a Villian
Herald-Tribune, nothing. News, nothing. But the Gazette girl said yes, they had one. The way I went for my hat and headed for Tenth Avenue to grab a taxi, you might have thought I was on my way to a murder.
The driver was a philosopher. “You don't see many eager happy faces like yours nowadays,3 he told me.
“I'm on my way to my wedding.”
He opened his mouth to speak again, then clamped it shut. He shook his head resolutely. “No. Why should I spoil it?”
I paid him off outside the Gazette building and went in and got my prize. It was a square pale-blue envelope, and the printed return on the flap said:
Mrs W. T. Michaels 890 East End Avenue
New York City 28 Inside was a single sheet matching the envelope, with small neat handwriting on it:
BOX P304:
Regarding your advertisement, I am not a former subscriber to either of the publications, but I may be able to tell you something. You may write me, or call Lincoln 3-4808, but do not phone before ten in the morning or after five-thirty in the afternoon. That is important.
Hilda Michaels.
It was still forty minutes this side of her deadline, so I went straight to a booth and dialled the number. A female voice answered. I asked to speak to Mrs Michaels.
“This is Mrs Michaels.”
“This is the Gazette advertiser you wrote to, BOX P304. I've just read- “What's your name?” She had a tendency to snap.
“My name is Goodwin, Archie Goodwin. I can be up there in fifteen minutes or less-”
“No, you can't. Anyway, you'd better not. Are you connected with the Police Department?”
“No. I work for Nero Wolfe. You may have heard of Nero Wolfe, the detective?”
“Of course. This isn't a convent. Was that his advertisement?”
“Yes.He-”
“Then why didn't he phone me?”
“Because I just got your note. I'm phoning from a booth in the Gazette building.
You said not-”
“Well, Mr Goodman, I doubt if I can tell Mr Wolfe anything he would be interested in. I really doubt it.”
“Maybe not,” I conceded. “But he would be the best judge of that. If you don't want me to come up there, how would it be if you called on Mr Wolfe at his office? West Thirty-fifth Street-it's in the phone book. Or I could run up now in a taxi and-”
“Oh, not now. Not today. I might be able to make it tomorrow-or Friday-”
I was annoyed. For one thing, I would just as soon be permitted to finish a sentence once in a while, and for another, apparently she had read the piece about Wolfe being hired to work on the Orchard case, and my name had been in it, and it had been spelled correctly. So I took on weight: “You don't seem to realize what you've done, Mrs Michaels. You-”
“Why, what have I done?”
“You have landed smack in the middle of a murder case. Mr Wolfe and the police are more or less collaborating on it. He would like to see you about the matter mentioned in his advertisement, not tomorrow or next week, but quick. I think you ought to see him. If you try to put it off because you've begun to regret sending this note he'll be compelled to consult the police, and then what? Then you'll-”
“I didn't say I regret sending the note.”
“No, but the way you-”
“I'll be at Mr Wolf e's office by six o'clock.”
“Good! Shall I come-”
I might have known better than to give her another chance to chop me off. She said that she was quite capable of getting herself transported, and I could well believe it.
Chapter Seventeen There was nothing snappy about her appearance. The mink coat, and the dark red woollen dress made visible when the coat had been spread over the back of the red leather chair, unquestionably meant well, but she was not built to co-operate with clothes. There was too much of her and the distribution was all wrong. Her face was so well padded that there was no telling whether there were any bones underneath, and the creases were considerably more than skin deep. I didn't like her. From Wolfe's expression it was plain, to me, that he didn't like her. As for her, it was a safe bet that she didn't like anybody.
Wolfe rustled the sheet of pale-blue paper, glanced at it again, and looked at her. “You say here, madam, that you may be able to tell me something. Your caution is understandable and even commendable. You wanted to find out who had placed the advertisement before committing yourself. Now you know. There is no need-”
“That man threatened me,” she snapped. That's not the way to get me to tell something-if I have something to tell.”
“I agree…Mr Goodwin is headstrong-Archie, withdraw the threat.”
I did my best to grin at her as man to woman. 1 take it back, Mrs Michaels. I was so anxious - “If I tell you anything,” she said to Wolfe, ignoring me, “it will be because I want to, and it will be completely confidential. Whatever you do about it, of course I have nothing to say about that, but you will give me your solemn word of honour that my name will not be mentioned to anyone. No one is to know I wrote you or came to see you or had anything to do with it.”
Wolfe shook his head. “Impossible. Manifestly impossible. You are not a fool, madam, and I won't try to treat you as if you were. It is even conceivable that you might have to take the witness stand in a murder trial. I know nothing about it, because I don't know what you have to tell. Then how could I-”
“All right,” she said, surrendering. “I see I made a mistake. I must be home by seven o'clock. Here's what I have to tell you: somebody I know was a subscriber to that What to Expect that was published by that woman, Beula Poole. I distinctly remember, one day two or three months ago, I saw a little stack of them somewhere-in some house or apartment or office. I've been trying to remember where it was, and I simply can't I wrote you because I thought you might tell me something that would make me remember, and I'm quite willing to try, but I doubt if it will do any good.”
“Indeed.” Wolfe's expression was fully as sour as hers. “I said you're not a fool. I suppose you're prepared to stick to that under any circum-”
“Yes, I am.”
“Even if Mr Goodwin gets headstrong again and renews his threat?”
“That!” She was contemptuous.
“It's very thin, Mrs Michaels. Even ridiculous. That you would go to the bother of answering that advertisement, and coming down here-”
“I don't mind being ridiculous.”
Then I have no alternative.” Wolfe's lips tightened. He released them. “I accept your conditions. I agree, for myself and for Mr Goodwin, who is my agent, that we will not disclose the source of our information, and that we will do our utmost to keep anyone from learning it. Should anyone ascertain it, it will be against our will and in spite of our precautions in good faith. We cannot guarantee, we can only promise, and we do so.”
Her eyes had narrowed. “On your solemn word of honour.”
“Good heavens. That ragged old patch? Very well. My solemn word of honour.
Archie?”
“My solemn word of honour,” I said gravely.
Her head made an odd ducking movement, reminding me of a fat-cheeked owl I had seen at the Zoo getting ready to swoop on a mouse.
“My husband,” she said, lias been a subscriber to that publication, What to Expect, for eight months.”
But the Owl had swooped because it was hungry, whereas she was swooping just to hurt. It was in her voice, which was still hers but quite different when she said the word husband.
“And that's ridiculous,” she went on, “if you want something ridiculous. He hasn't the slightest interest in politics or industry or the stock market or anything like that. He is a successful doctor and all he ever thinks about is his work and his patients, especially his women patients. What would he want with a thing like that What to Expect? Why should he pay that Beula Poole money every week, month after month? I have my own money, and for the first few years after we married we lived on my income, but then he began to be successful, and now he doesn't need my money any more. And he doesn't-”
Abruptly she stood up. Apparently the habit had got so strong that sometimes she even interrupted herself. She was turning to pick up her coat.
“If you please,” Wolfe said brusquely. “You have my word of honour and I want some details. What has your husband-”
“That's all,” she snapped. “I don't intend to answer any silly questions. If I did you'd be sure to give me away, you wouldn't be smart enough not to, and the details don't matter. I've told you the one thing you need to know, and I only hope-”
She was proceeding with the coat, and I had gone to her to help.
“Yes, madam, what do you hope?”
She looked straight at him. “I hope you've got some brains. You don't look it.”
She turned and made for the hall, and I followed. Over the years I have opened that front door to let many people out of that house, among them thieves, swindlers, murderers, and assorted crooks, but it has never been a greater pleasure than on that occasion. Added to everything else, I had noticed when helping her with her coat that her neck needed washing.
It had not been news to us that her husband was a successful doctor. Between my return to the office and her arrival there had been time for a look at the phone book, which had him as an MD with an office address in the Sixties just off Park Avenue, and for a call to Doc. Vollmer. Vollmer had never met him, but knew his standing and reputation, which were up around the top. He had a good high-bracketed practice, with the emphasis on gynaecology.
Back in the office I remarked to Wolfe: “There goes my pendulum again. Lately I've been swinging toward the notion of getting myself a little woman, but good Godalmighty. Brother!”
He nodded, and shivered a little. “Yes. However, we can't reject it merely because it's soiled. Unquestionably her fact is a fact; otherwise she would have contrived an elaborate support for it.” He glanced at the clock. “She said she had to be home by seven, so he may still be in his office. Try it.”
I found the number and dialled it. The woman who answered firmly intended to protect her employer from harassment by a stranger, but I finally sold her.
Wolfe took it. “Dr Michaels? This is Nero Wolfe, a detective. Yes, sir, so far as I know there is only one of that name. I'm in a little difficulty and would appreciate some help from you.”
“I'm just leaving for the day, Mr Wolfe. I'm afraid I couldn't undertake to give you medical advice on the phone.” His voice was low, pleasant, and tired.
“It isn't medical advice I need, doctor. I want to have a talk with you about a publication called What to Expect, to which you subscribed. The difficulty is that I find it impractical to leave my house. I could send my assistant or a policeman to see you, or both, but I would prefer to discuss it with you myself, confidentially. I wonder if you could call on me this evening after dinner?”
Evidently the interrupting mania in the Michaels family was confined to the wife. Not only did he not interrupt, he didn't even take a cue. Wolfe tried again: “Would that be convenient, sir?”
“If I could have another moment, Mr Wolfe. I've had a hard day and am trying to think.”
“By all means.”
He took ten seconds. His voice came, even tireder: “I suppose it would be useless to tell you to go to hell. I would prefer not to discuss it on the phone. I'll be at your office around nine o'clock.”
