The package arrived a little before noon on Wednesday.
We hadn’t got back to normal, since there was still a small army busy up in the plant rooms, but in many respects things had settled down. Wolfe had on a clean shirt and socks, meals were regular and up to standard, the street was cleared of broken glass, and we had caught up on sleep. Nothing much had yet been done toward making good on Wolfe’s promise to finish the Rony job, but we had only been home fourteen hours and nine of them had been spent in bed.
Then the package came. Wolfe, having been up in the plant room since breakfast, was in the office with me, checking invoices and shipping memos of everything from osmundine fiber to steel sash putty. When I went to the front door to answer the bell, and a boy handed me a package about the size of a small suitcase and a receipt to sign, I left the package in the hall because I supposed it was just another item for the operations upstairs, and I was busy. But after I returned to the office it struck me as queer that there was no shipper’s name on it, so I went back to the hall for another look. There was no mark of any kind on the heavy wrapping paper but Wolfe’s name and address. It was tied securely with thick cord. I lifted it and guessed six pounds. I pressed it against my ear and held my breath for thirty seconds, and heard nothing.
Nuts, I thought, and cut the cord with my knife and slashed the paper. Inside was a fiber carton with the flaps taped down. I got cautious again and severed the flaps from the sides by cutting all the way around, and lifted one corner for a peek. All I saw was newspaper. I inserted the knife point and tore a piece of it off, and what I saw then made me raise my brows. Removing the flaps and the newspaper, and seeing more of the same, I got the carton up under my arm, marched into the office with it, and asked Wolfe, “Do you mind if I unpack this on your desk? I don’t want to make a mess in the hall?”
Ignoring his protest, I put the package down on his desk and started taking out stacks of twenty-dollar bills. They were used bills, not a new one among them as well as I could tell from the edges, and they were banded in bundles of fifty, which meant a thousand bucks to a bundle.
“What the devil is this?” Wolfe demanded.
“Money,” I told him. “Don’t touch it, it may be a trap. It may be covered with germs.” I was arranging the bundles ten to a pile, and there were five piles. “That’s a coincidence,” I remarked. “Of course we’ll have to check the bundles, but if they’re labeled right it’s exactly fifty grand. That’s interesting.”
“Archie.” Wolfe was glowering. “What fatuous flummery is this? I told you to deposit that check, not cash it.” He pointed. “Wrap that up and take it to the bank.”
“Yes, sir. But before I do—” I went to the safe and got the bank book, opened it to the current page, and displayed it to him. “As you see, the check was deposited. This isn’t flummery, it’s merely a coincidence. You heard the doorbell and saw me go to answer it. A boy handed me this package and gave me a receipt to sign — General Messenger Service, Twenty-eight West Forty-seventh Street. I thought it might be a clock bomb and opened it in the hall, away from you. There is nothing on the package or in it to show who sent it. The only clue is the newspaper the carton was lined with — from the second edition of the New York Times. Who do we know that reads the Times and has fifty thousand bucks for a practical joke?” I gestured. “Answer that and we’ve got him.”
Wolfe was still glowering, but at the pile of dough, not at me. He reached for one of the bundles, flipped through it, and put it back. “Put it in the safe. The package too.”
“Shouldn’t we count it first? What if one of the bundles is short a twenty?”
There was no reply. He was leaning back in his chair, pushing his lips out and in, and out and in again. I followed instructions, first returning the stuff to the carton to save space, and then went to the hall for the wrapping paper and cord and put them in the safe also.
I sat at my desk, waited until Wolfe’s lips were quiet again, and asked coldly, “How about a raise? I could use twenty bucks a week more. So far this case has brought us one hundred and five thousand, three hundred and twelve dollars. Deduct expenses and the damage—”
“Where did the three hundred and twelve come from?”
“From Rony’s wallet. Saul’s holding it. I told you.”
“You know, of course, who sent that package.”
“Not exactly. D, C, B, or A, but which? It wouldn’t come straight from X, would it?”
“Straight? No.” Wolfe shook his head. “I like money, but I don’t like that. I only wish you could answer a question.”
“I’ve answered millions. Try me.”
“I’ve already tried you on this one. Who drugged that drink Saturday evening — the one intended for Mr. Rony which you drank?”
“Yeah. That’s the question. I myself asked it all day yesterday, off and on, and again this morning, and I don’t know.”
Wolfe sighed. “That, of course, is what constrains us. That’s what forces us to assume that it was not an accident, but murder. But for that I might be able to persuade myself to call it closed, in spite of my deception of Mr. Archer.” He sighed again. “As it is, we must either validate the assumption or refute it, and heaven knows how I’m going to manage it. The telephone upstairs has been restored. I wanted to test it, and thought I might as well do so with a call to Mr. Lowenfeld of the police laboratory. He was obliging but didn’t help much. He said that if a car is going slightly downhill at twenty-five miles an hour, and its left front hits a man who is standing erect, and its wheels pass over him, it is probable that the impact will leave dents or other visible marks on the front of the car, but not certain. I told him that the problem was to determine whether the man was upright or recumbent when the car hit him, and he said the absence of marks on the front of the car would be suggestive but not conclusive. He also asked why I was still interested in Louis Rony’s death. If policemen were women they couldn’t be more gossipy. By evening the story will be around that I’m about ready to expose that reptile Paul Emerson as a murderer. I only wish it were true.” Wolfe glanced up at the clock. “By the way, I also phoned Doctor Vollmer, and he should be here soon.”
So I was wrong in supposing that nothing had been done toward making good on his promise. “Your trip to the country did you good,” I declared. “You’re full of energy. Did you notice that the Gazette printed Kane’s statement in full?”
“Yes. And I noticed a defect that escaped me when Mr. Sperling read it. His taking my car, the car of a fellow guest whom he had barely met, was handled too casually. Reading it, it’s a false note. I told Mr. Sperling it was well drafted, but that part wasn’t. A better explanation could have been devised and put in a brief sentence. I could have—”
The phone ringing stopped him. I reached for my instrument and told the transmitter, “Nero Wolfe’s office.”
“May I speak to Mr. Wolfe, please?”
There was a faint tingle toward the bottom of my spine. The voice hadn’t changed a particle in thirteen months.
“Your name, please?” I asked, hoping my voice was the same too.
“Tell him a personal matter.”
I covered the transmitter with a palm and told Wolfe, “X.”
He frowned. “What?”
“You heard me. X.”
He reached for his phone. Getting no sign to do otherwise, I stayed on.
“Nero Wolfe speaking.”
“How do you do, Mr. Wolfe. Goodwin told you who I am? Or my voice does?”
“I know the voice.”
“Yes, it’s easily recognized, isn’t it? You ignored the advice I gave you Saturday. You also ignored the demonstration you received Sunday night. May I say that that didn’t surprise me?”
“You may say anything.”
“It didn’t. I hope there will never be occasion for a more pointed demonstration. It’s a more interesting world with you in it. Have you opened the package you received a little while ago?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t need to explain why I decided to reimburse you for the damage to your property. Do I?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, come. Surely not. Not you. If the amount you received exceeds the damage, no matter. I intended that it should. The District Attorney has decided that Rony’s death is fully and satisfactorily explained by Kane’s statement, and no charge will be made. You have already indicated that you do not concur in that decision by your inquiry to the New York police laboratory, and anyway of course you wouldn’t. Not you. Rony was an able young man with a future, and he deserves to have his death investigated by the best brain in New York. Yours. I don’t live in New York, as you know. Good-by and good luck.”
The connection went. Wolfe cradled his receiver. I did likewise.
“Jesus,” I said softly. I whistled. “Now there’s a client for you. Money by messenger, snappy phone calls, hopes he’ll never have to demonstrate by croaking you, keep the change, best brain in New York, go to it, click. As I think I said once before, he’s an abrupt bastard.”
Wolfe was sitting with his eyes closed to slits. I asked him, “How do I enter it? Under X, or Z for Zeck?”
“Archie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I told you once to forget that you know that man’s name, and I meant it. The reason is simply that I don’t want to hear his name because he is the only man on earth that I’m afraid of. I’m not afraid he’ll hurt me; I’m afraid of what he may someday force me to do to keep him from hurting me. You heard what I told Mr. Sperling.”
“Okay. But I’m the bookkeeper. What do I put it under, X?”
“Don’t put it. First, go through it. As you do so you might as well count it, but the point is to see if there is anything there besides money. Leave ten thousand dollars in the safe. I’ll need it soon, tomorrow probably, for something that can’t appear in our records. For your information only, it will be for Mr. Jones. Take the remainder to a suburban bank, say somewhere in New Jersey, and put it in a safe deposit box which you will rent under an assumed name. If you need a reference, Mr. Parker will do. After what happened Saturday night — we’ll be prepared for contingencies. If we ever meet him head on and have to cut off from here and from everyone we know, we’ll need supplies. I hope I never touch it. I hope it’s still there when I die, and if so it’s yours.”
“Thank you very much. I’ll be around eighty then and I’ll need it.”
“You’re welcome. Now for this afternoon. First, what about the pictures you took up there?”
“Six o’clock. That was the best they could do.”
“And the keys?”
“You said after lunch. They’ll be ready at one-thirty.”
“Good. Saul will be here at two?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have Fred and Orrie here this evening after dinner. I don’t think you’ll need them this afternoon; you and Saul can manage. This is what we want. There must—”
But that was postponed by the arrival of Doc Vollmer. Doc’s home and office were on our street, toward Tenth Avenue, and over the years we had used his services for everything from stitching up Dora Chapin’s head to signing a certificate that Wolfe was batty. When he called he always went to one of the smaller yellow chairs because of his short legs, sat, took off his spectacles and looked at them, put them on again, and asked, “Want some pills?”
Today he added, “I’m afraid I’m in a hurry.”
“You always are,” Wolfe said, in the tone he uses only to the few people he really likes. “Have you read about the Rony case?”
“Of course. Since you’re involved in it — or were.”
“I still am. The body is at the morgue in White Plains. Will you go there? You’ll have to go to the District Attorney’s office first to get yourself accredited. Tell them I sent you, and that I have been engaged by one of Mr. Rony’s associates. If they want more than that they can phone me, and I’ll try to satisfy them. You want to examine the body — not an autopsy, merely superficially, to determine whether he died instantly or was left to suffer a prolonged agony. What I really want you to inspect is his head, to see if there is any indication that he was knocked out by a blow before the car ran over him. I know the chance of finding anything conclusive is remote, but I wish you’d try, and there’ll be no grumbling about your charge for the trip.”
Vollmer blinked. “It would have to be done this afternoon?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you any idea what weapon might have been used?”
“No, sir.”
“According to the papers he had no family, no relatives at all. Perhaps I should know whom I’m representing — one of his professional associates?”
“I’ll answer that if they ask it. You’re representing me.”
“I see. Anything to be mysterious.” Vollmer stood up. “If one of my patients dies while I’m gone—” He left it hanging and trotted out, making me move fast to get to the front door in time to open it for him. His habit of leaving like that, as soon as he had all he really needed, was one of the reasons Wolfe liked him.
I returned to the office.
Wolfe leaned back. “We have only ten minutes until lunch. Now this afternoon, for you and Saul...”