We arrived in Titograd in style, in an old Ford truck that Zov requisitioned at the first farm we came to that had one, and pulled up in front of police headquarters at twenty minutes past three, just twenty-two hours after Jubé Bilic had delivered us there the day before. As we piled out, Wolfe told me to give the driver three thousand dinars, and I obeyed. I was stuck again with the knapsacks, which we had taken off when we boarded the truck, and with the sweaters. We followed Zov into the big old stone edifice, along the dingy corridor, up the stairs, and into the room where the two clerks sat on stools. Zov spoke to Wolfe, and Wolfe told me we were to wait there and went to a chair and sat. Zov didn’t go on in. He sent one of the clerks, who entered the inner room, returned in a moment, and motioned Zov to come. I put the luggage on a chair beside Wolfe and myself on another one.
It was a long wait, so long that I began to nurse the possibility that Gospo Stritar was going to relieve us of our problem. Evidently Zov had been completely confident that his loyalty would not be questioned, but Stritar might not see it that way. The idea had its attractions, but it led to another, that if a visit to the Albanians was enough to do for Zov, what about Toné Stara and his son Alex? That wasn’t so attractive. I would have liked to ask Wolfe a couple of pertinent questions, but his head had fallen forward until his chin touched, his eyes were closed, and he was breathing as if he were a week behind on oxygen, so I let him alone.
I became aware that someone was yelling at somebody named Alex, and wished Alex would answer. Also someone had hold of my shoulder. I opened my eyes, saw Wolfe, and jerked upright.
“You were sound asleep,” he said testily.
“So were you. First.”
“We’re wanted. Bring the knapsacks.”
I gathered them up and followed him between the counters and across to the inner room. Zov, holding the door for us, shut it and went to a chair at the end of Stritar’s desk and sat. Stritar waved us to chairs without getting up. He hadn’t got a haircut. His underhung jaw didn’t seem quite as impressive as it had the day before, but I had seen a lot of underhung rocks in the meantime. After giving Wolfe a sharp glance, he concentrated on me as I went to the chair, and after I sat he looked me up and down. Not knowing what our line was going to be, or his either, I neither grinned nor glowered at him but merely looked self-reliant.
He turned to Wolfe. “It’s too bad your son doesn’t speak our language. I’d like to talk with him.”
Wolfe nodded. “I was wrong not to teach him. I would be glad to interpret for you.”
“That’s not the same. Comrade Zov has told me what happened today. You and your son have acted boldly and bravely. It is appreciated by me and will be appreciated by my superiors. You can add to that appreciation by giving me a full account of your movements since you left here yesterday.”
Wolfe raised his brows. “I’m surprised that you ask. You said everything would get to you.”
“Perhaps it has. I would like to hear it from you.”
“You may. We went first to the house where I visited my friend Grudo Balar many years ago. A stranger was there who had never heard of him. We went next to an address that someone in Albania had given me. I had been told that a man named Danilo Vukcic could give me much information if he would, particularly about the Spirit of the Black Mountain.”
“Who in Albania told you about him?”
Wolfe shook his head. “I told you yesterday that I will not cause trouble for anyone who has helped us. We found Danilo Vukcic at that address, and he did indeed have information. It seemed to me that he was overready to impart it to strangers, but later, thinking it over, I realized that it was only such matters as were probably common knowledge — or merely current rumors. I was quite candid with him. You may remember I told you that we had cached a considerable sum in American dollars somewhere in the mountains, and I told him about it too. I now think that was a mistake. I now think it was my telling him about that cache that caused him to offer to take us to a place in the mountains where we could meet one of the leaders of the Spirit of the Black Mountain. Anyway, we accepted the offer, and he took us. After a difficult journey we arrived—”
“One moment. Did you see Jubé Bilic anywhere? The boy who brought you here yesterday?”
Wolfe was surprised and puzzled. “Him? Where? In the mountains?”
“Did you see him anywhere after you left here?”
“I did not. Why?”
Stritar waved it away. “Go on.”
“We arrived at a cave — near the Albanian border, I was told — in the middle of the night. There were five men there, and Vukcic said that one of them was a leader of the Spirit, but he didn’t impress me as a leader of men or of a movement. By that—”
“What was his name?”
“I was given no names. By that time I was suspicious of the whole business. They insisted on knowing where our dollars were cached, and at one time I thought they were going to try to force us to tell by methods that I consider barbarous. Also I distrusted Vukcic. I have had many dealings with men, mostly in America, and I concluded that Vukcic was not honest or sincere, and that I would have nothing to do with a movement in which he was prominent or influential. I didn’t tell him that, of course. If I had we might not have left the mountains alive, in spite of the fact that they would rather not lay a hand on American citizens. The question was, how to get away from them without serious trouble, and I think I managed it pretty well. In the morning I said we would like to have a look at the border, at Albania, and Vukcic went with us to show us where the border is, since it isn’t marked. When we got there we simply kept on going. Vukcic wanted to stop us, but we paid no attention to him. He stuck to us for a distance, protesting, but stopped when we emerged from a defile. We soon knew why, when we saw the fort. We went to it and were about to enter, when we heard a scream, and we went in to investigate. You have heard the rest from Comrade Zov.”
“I want to hear it from you. All of it — if you can, every word.”
When Wolfe reported to me later, I liked that. Up to that point the indications were that Stritar really trusted Zov, which would have been silly. The one rule everybody in Yugoslavia stuck to was: never trust anybody, anywhere, any time.
I don’t need to report the rest of it to you, as Wolfe didn’t to me. He gave it to Stritar just as it had happened, omitting only his conversations with me and Danilo’s visit to the fort. I will, however, include something that he tacked on at the end, after he had got us into the truck on our way to Titograd. “My son and I,” he said, “claim no special credit for what we did, but you expressed appreciation for it. If you would like us to have a token of your appreciation, one little favor would be welcome. For some time my son has wanted a Luger pistol, and he says that Comrade Zov’s is in excellent condition. He would like to trade his Colt for it if Comrade Zov is willing.”
Of course I didn’t know then what he had said, but I saw he had made a mistake. Zov’s reaction, which was prompt, was merely a loud and emphatic protest, but Stritar narrowed his eyes and tightened his lips. Later, when I learned what Wolfe had said, I thanked God Stritar hadn’t been quite keen enough. He had suspected there was something phony about it, but he hadn’t gone a step further and realized that Toné Stara was from America and that Zov’s gun had been used to commit a murder in America. If he had, good-by. I’m not blaming Wolfe for making the try. He wanted me to hang on to that Luger if I possibly could, and he took the chance. He saw at once that it wouldn’t work and he had nearly gummed it, and was quick to repair the damage.
He raised a hand to stop Zov’s protest. “No, Comrade Zov, not if you feel so strongly about it. It was just a suggestion, of no importance. I thought you might welcome it. Alex, give Comrade Zov his gun.”
I took it from my pocket, went over and handed it to him, and returned to my chair.
Stritar’s eyes were back to normal. “You will be glad to know that your account agrees in every respect with Peter Zov’s. Of course you could have arranged for that, there was plenty of time, but I have at present no reason to suppose that you did. You can tell your son that the man he killed was Dmitri Shuvalov, one of the three top Russians in Albania.”
Wolfe told me, and I said that was interesting.
“So,” Stritar said, “I’m glad I let you go yesterday, to see what you would get into. I certainly didn’t anticipate your performance at the fort. Zov, who speaks Russian, has been in contact with Shuvalov for some time, and was doing well, he thought; but evidently he was wrong. It was lucky for him you came along, and I tell you frankly, you have earned some consideration. What are you going to do now? Would you like to go to Belgrade? It is not out of the question for you to meet the marshal.”
“We have no papers, as you know.”
“That will be no difficulty, under the circumstances.”
“I don’t know.” Wolfe looked doubtful. “My son and I feel that we have accomplished what we came for. It doesn’t take us a year to tell an apple from a wart. We are satisfied that the true interests of the people of my native land will be best served by the present regime. We were particularly impressed by your treatment of us yesterday, because it could only have come from the confidence of a secure and just authority. We want to help as far as our modest resources will permit, but we can do more good in America than we could here. Our property is there, and our — oh, by the way, speaking of property, I told you of our cache in the mountains.”
“Yes.”
“It’s eight thousand dollars in American currency, and we wish to contribute it as a token of our belief in the regime and our desire to support it. I’ll tell my son what I have said so he may indicate his concurrence.” He turned to me. “Alex, I’m telling them that we donate our cache of eight thousand dollars to the regime. If you agree, please nod at them.”
I did so, first at Stritar and then at Zov. But if I know anything about men’s faces, having seen the look they exchanged as Wolfe spoke, all the regime would ever see of that eight grand wouldn’t get the windows washed in that one room. I took in their expressions as Wolfe proceeded to furnish in careful detail the location of the cache, and I’ll bet I had them right. Zov was thinking: It ought to be an even split. I brought them here. Stritar was thinking: Ten per cent is enough for Zov. He’s lucky to be in on it at all.
Wolfe went on, “Of course that amount is nothing, it’s merely a gesture, but we wish to make it. When we get back to America we’ll see what we can do. You suggested our going to Belgrade, but that doesn’t appeal to us. Our interest centers in the people of these mountains, and even under the present progressive regime they seem to be a little neglected. Also I like to deal with men I have met, men I know. From America I would rather be in touch with you than with names in Belgrade that mean nothing to me personally. I suppose you regard that as a bourgeois sentiment.”
“Well.” Stritar considered it. “It’s human.”
Wolfe looked apologetic. “I admit I have acquired some bourgeois habits of thought during my years in America, and that is regrettable. I am of peasant origin. The peasant is out of date, and the bourgeois is doomed. You and your kind represent the future, and my son wants to be a part of the future. I intend to teach him Serbo-Croat, and in time, when our affairs in America have been properly arranged, he hopes to return here for good. Meanwhile I shall communicate with you, and you can tell me now if you have any suggestions how we can be of use.”
“We need friends in America,” Stritar said.
“Naturally. You need friends everywhere. We will do what we can in that direction. Would you advise us to join the Communist Party of the United States and try to influence them in your favor?”
“Good God, no.” Stritar was contemptuous. “They belong to Moscow, body and soul, and they’re a nest of slimy vermin. Where do you live in America?”
“In Philadelphia.”
“Where is that?”
“It’s a city with two million people, ninety miles southwest of New York.”
“Two million! That’s incredible. Is your name there Toné Stara?”
“No.” Wolfe hesitated. “It is not a question of being frank with you, Comrade Stritar. It is merely that I would not want any inquiries made among my friends or associates until I return. As soon as I arrive I’ll let you know, and of course give you my American name and address. One thing you should tell me now; in case I have money to send, which is very probable, I would want to be sure it reaches you safely. How would I send dollars?”
Stritar pursed his lips. “I’ll think it over and let you know. You’re right, it should be properly arranged. When are you leaving, and how?”
“We have no papers.”
“I know.”
“Also, I’ll be frank, we want to get away as soon possible. You must forgive us if we feel that we are in danger. I know that the police here are under you and are therefore extremely efficient, but today weheard that Russian tell Comrade Zov that he had to come to the fort when he got his message, because he knew what to expect if he didn’t. So not only can they get messages to Titograd, but also if the messages are not heeded they can do something about it. They will certainly not let the death of that Dmitri Shuvalov go unavenged, not to mention the other two. We are not comfortable in Titograd.”
“No one saw you. No one knows you were there.”
“Danilo Vukcic knows, and his friends. My suspicions of Vukcic may be unfounded, but I have them. He may be in Albania now, to report about us. And that suggests another matter, though it is not our concern.”
“What other matter?”
Wolfe glanced at Zov and back at Stritar. “Regarding Comrade Zov. I presume his danger is greater than ours. If Shuvalov was confident that he could reach him in Titograd to punish him for ignoring a message, surely they can reach him when the motive is so much stronger. That is his concern, and yours, but, having rescued him from torture and perhaps death, naturally we feel an interest in him. I am willing to propose something if it is not impertinent.”
“You couldn’t be more impertinent than to march into my office and announce you had no papers. What do you propose?”
“That you send Zov to America for a while. He could either go with us or come to us after he arrives, and we would see to his needs and his safety. It offers several advantages: it would remove him temporarily from peril here, if there is any; it would give us someone in America who is familiar with conditions here, to advise us; it would give you an agent there whom you trust, to report on us and our associates; and it would give me a messenger I could rely on if I had something confidential or valuable to send to you.” Wolfe flipped a hand. “Of course, for some reason unknown to me, it may be quite impractical.”
Stritar and Zov had exchanged not one glance, but several. Stritar said, “It is worth considering. It may not be entirely impractical.”
“I thought it might not be,” Wolfe said, “since Zov returned only recently from a trip to America. That was what suggested it to me. I even thought it possible you might have another mission for him there. If so, he might need help, and what we did today, especially my son, may have demonstrated that we could be capable of supplying it.”
Stritar looked at Zov. Then he studied Wolfe. Then he transferred to me. I was aware, from tones and expressions and the atmosphere, that we were at a crisis, but I didn’t know what kind, so all I could do was meet his eyes and look loyal and confident and absolutely intrepid. After he had analyzed me clear through to my spine he returned to Wolfe.
“Did you ever,” he asked, “hear of a man named Nero Wolfe?”
I claim a medal for handling not only my face but all my nerves and muscles. His pronunciation was fuzzy, but not too fuzzy for me to get it. I knew they were at a crisis, and suddenly that bozo snaps out the name Nero Wolfe. How I kept my hand from starting for my holster I don’t know. Wolfe showed no sign of panic, but that was no help. He wouldn’t panic if you paid him.
“Of course,” he said. “If you mean the well-known detective in New York. Everyone in America has heard of him.”
“Do you know him?”
“I haven’t met him, no. I know a man who has. He says I look like him, but I’ve seen a picture of him, and the only resemblance is that we’re both big and fat.”
“Did you know a man named Marko Vukcic?”
“No, but I heard his name today, as I told you, when Shuvalov was speaking to Zov. Was he any relation to Danilo Vukcic?”
“His uncle. He owned a de luxe restaurant. This detective, Nero Wolfe, was his friend, and there is reason to believe that he intends to take Vukcic’s place and send money and other help to the Spirit of the Black Mountain. In large amounts.”
Wolfe grunted. “Then it did no good to kill Vukcic.”
“I don’t agree. We couldn’t know that a friend of his would take over so promptly and effectively. But he has. I got the news only today.”
“And now you propose to kill Nero Wolfe.”
Stritar snapped, “I didn’t say so.”
“No, but you might as well. I haven’t got a quick mind, but it didn’t have to be quick for that. I suggested that you might have another mission for Zov in America, and you asked me if I had ever heard of this Nero Wolfe. That’s just adding two and two, or rather one and one. So you propose to kill him.”
“What if I do?”
“It may be necessary. I don’t know.”
“You told Zov that you disapprove of torture but that violence is often unavoidable, as it was on his mission to New York.”
“That’s true. I meant that. But I don’t think a man should be killed merely on suspicion. Have you any evidence that this Nero Wolfe will really help your enemies as Vukcic did?”
“I have.” Stritar opened a drawer of his desk and took out a paper. “Day before yesterday a man in Bari received a telegram from Nero Wolfe which read as follows: ‘Inform proper persons across Adriatic I am handling Vukcic’s affairs and assuming obligations. Two hundred thousand dollars available soon. Will send agent conference Bari next month.’ ” Stritar put the paper back and shut the drawer. “Is that evidence?”
“It sounds like it. Who is the man in Bari that got the telegram?”
“That’s not important. You want to know too much.”
“I don’t think so, Comrade Stritar — if I am to call you Comrade. If I am to trust you on vital matters, as I am prepared to do, you will trust me to some extent. My son and I will have to go through Bari on our way back, to get our papers and effects, and we might possibly encounter him. His name?”
Stritar shrugged his bulging shoulders. “Paolo Telesio.”
Wolfe’s eyes widened. “What!”
Stritar stared. “What’s the matter?”
“Enough.” Wolfe was grim. “Paolo Telesio has our papers and belongings. We left them in his care. A man in Philadelphia gave me his name, as one trustworthy and capable, who would arrange for getting us across the Adriatic. And he serves the Spirit of the Black— No, wait! After all, you have that telegram.” He shook his head. “No, it is just as well we’re going back. Here it’s impossible to tell who you’re dealing with. My brain is not equipped for it.”
“Not many brains are,” Stritar declared. “Don’t make any assumptions about Telesio. I didn’t say he sent me the telegram. You are not to tell him I have seen it. You understand that?”
“Certainly. We’re not a pair of fools, though yesterday you called us that. Do you still think so?”
“I think it is possible I was wrong. I agree with you that you can do more good in America than you can here. It is in your favor that you are inclined to be skeptical, as for instance about Nero Wolfe. You asked for evidence that he intends to send major assistance to our subversive underground, and I furnished it. I regard it as conclusive. Do you?”
Wolfe hesitated. “Conclusive is a strong word. But I — yes. I will say yes.”
“Then he must be dealt with. Will you help?”
“That depends. If you mean will I or my son engage to kill him, no. Killing a man in America is not the same as killing a man here. Circumstances might develop that would lead us to undertake it, but I won’t commit myself, and neither will he.”
“I didn’t ask you to. I asked if you’ll help. Peter Zov will need it. The preparations and arrangements will have to be made for him, and provision for his safety afterward. You say Philadelphia is ninety miles from New York — that’s a hundred and fifty kilometers — and that is well, for New York would be dangerous for him. That’s the kind of help he’ll need. Will you give it?”
Wolfe considered. “There’s a difficulty. No matter how well it is arranged, it’s conceivable that Zov will be caught. If he is, under pressure he might betray us.”
“You saw him under pressure today. Will the American police use greater pressure than that?”
“No.” Wolfe looked at me. “Alex, it is suggested that Comrade Zov shall go to America, and we shall provide for his necessities and also help him with the preparations to kill a man named Nero Wolfe. I am willing to undertake it if you are.”
I looked serious. I would have given eight thousand cents to be able to reply that I had been wanting to kill a man named Nero Wolfe for years, but I wasn’t sure that Stritar and Zov understood no English. I had to skip it. I said earnestly, “I am willing, Father, to help with anything you approve of.”
He looked at Stritar. “My son says he is willing. We want to leave here as soon as possible. Can you get us to Bari tonight?”
“Yes. But Zov will have to go by another route.” Stritar looked at his watch. “There is much to arrange.” He raised his voice to call, “Jin!”
The door opened, and one of the clerks came in. Stritar spoke to him. “Find Trumbic and Levstik and get them here. I’ll be busy for an hour or more. No interruptions unless it’s urgent.”
Zov had his Luger out, rubbing it with his palm.