More than four hours later, at nine o’clock in the evening, Wolfe yawned so wide I thought something was going to give.
We were in the room where I had slept Saturday night, if it can be called sleep when a dose of dope has knocked you out. Immediately after Gwenn had ended the session in the library by beating it, Wolfe had asked where he could go to take a nap, and Mrs. Sperling had suggested that room. When I steered him there he went straight to one of the three-quarter beds and tested it, pulled the coverlet off, removed his coat and vest and shoes, lay down, and in three minutes was breathing clear to China. I undressed the other bed to get a blanket to put over him, quit trying to fight temptation, and followed his example.
When we were called to dinner at seven o’clock I was conscripted for courier duty, to tell Mrs. Sperling that under the circumstances Mr. Wolfe and I would prefer either to have a sandwich upstairs or go without, and it was a pleasure to see how relieved she was. But even in the middle of that crisis she didn’t let her household suffer shame, and instead of a sandwich we got jellied consommé, olives and cucumber rings, hot roast beef, three vegetables, lettuce and tomato salad, cold pudding with nuts in it, and plenty of coffee. It was nothing to put in your scrapbook, but was more than adequate, and except for the jellied consommé, which he hates, and the salad dressing, which he made a face at, Wolfe handled his share without comment.
I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had had me take him home as soon as the library party was over, but neither was I surprised that he was staying. The show that he had put on for them hadn’t been a show at all. He had meant every word of it, and I had meant it along with him. That being so, it was no wonder that he wanted the answer as soon as it was available, and besides, he would be needed if Gwenn had questions to ask or conditions to offer. Not only that, if Gwenn said nothing doing I don’t think he would have gone home at all. There would have been a lot of arranging to do with Sperling, and when we finally got away from Stony Acres we wouldn’t have been headed for Thirty-fifth Street but for a foxhole.
At nine o’clock, after admiring Wolfe’s yawn, I looked around for an excuse to loosen up my muscles, saw the coffee tray, which had been left behind when the rest of the dinner remains had been called for, and decided that would do. I got it and took it downstairs. When I delivered it to the kitchen there was no one around and, feeling in need of a little social contact, I did a casual reconnoiter. I tried the library first. The door to it was open and Sperling was there, at his desk, looking over some papers. When I entered he honored me with a glance but no words.
After I had stood a moment I informed him, “We’re upstairs hanging on.”
“I know it,” he said without looking up.
He seemed to think that completed the conversation, so I retired. The living room was uninhabited, so when I stepped out to the west terrace no one was to be seen or heard. The game room, which was down a flight, was dark, and the lights I turned on disclosed no fellow beings. So I went back upstairs and reported to Wolfe.
“The joint is deserted, except for Sperling, and I think he’s going over his will. You scared ’em so that they all scrammed.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine twenty-two.”
“She said before bedtime. Call Fritz.”
We had talked with Fritz only an hour ago, but what the hell, it was on the house, so I went to the instrument on the table between the beds and got him. There was nothing new. Andy Krasicki was up on the roof with five men, still working, and had reported that enough glass and slats were in place for the morning’s weather, whatever it might be. Theodore was still far from cheerful, but had had a good appetite for dinner and so on.
I hung up and relayed the report to Wolfe, and added, “It strikes me that all that fixing up may be a waste of our client’s money. If Gwenn decides we’ve got to prove it and we make a dive for a foxhole, what do glass and slats matter? It’ll be years before you see the place again, if you ever do. Incidentally, I noticed you gave yourself a chance to call it off, and also Sperling, but not me. You merely said that your base of operations will be known only to Mr. Goodwin, taking Mr. Goodwin for granted. What if he decides he’s not as vain as you are?”
Wolfe, who had put down a book by Laura Hobson to listen to my end of the talk with Fritz, and had picked it up again, scowled at me.
“You’re twice as vain as I am,” he said gruffly.
“Yeah, but it may work different. I may be so vain I won’t want me to take such a risk. I may not want to deprive others of what I’ve got to be vain about.”
“Pfui. Do I know you?”
“Yes, sir. As well as I know you.”
“Then don’t try shaking a bogy at me. How the devil could I contemplate such a plan without you?” He returned to the book.
I knew he thought he was handing me a compliment which should make me beam with pleasure, so I went and flopped on the bed to beam. I didn’t like any part of it, and I knew Wolfe didn’t either. I had a silly damn feeling that my whole future depended on the verdict of a fine freckled girl, and while I had nothing against fine girls, freckled or unfreckled, that was going too far. But I wasn’t blaming Wolfe, for I didn’t see how he could have done any better. I had brought a couple of fresh magazines up from the living room, but I never got to look at them, because I was still on the bed trying to decide whether I should hunt up Madeline to see if she couldn’t do something that would help on the verdict, when the phone buzzed. I rolled over to reach for it.
It was one of the help saying there was a call for Mr. Goodwin. I thanked her and then heard a voice I knew.
“Hello, Archie?”
“Right. Me.”
“This is a friend.”
“So say you. Let me guess. The phones here are complicated. I’m in a bedroom with Mr. Wolfe. If I pick up the receiver I get an outside line, but on the other hand your incoming call was answered downstairs.”
“I see. Well, I’m sitting here looking at an Indian holding down papers. I went out for a walk, but there was too much of a crowd, so I decided to ride and here I am. I’m sorry you can’t keep that date.”
“So am I. But I might be able to make it if you’ll sit tight. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I hung up, got to my feet, and told Wolfe, “Saul started to go somewhere, found he had a tail on him, shook it off, and went to the office to report. He’s there now. Any suggestions?”
Wolfe closed the book on a finger to mark the place. “Who was following him?”
“I doubt if he knows, but he didn’t say. You heard what I told him about the phone.”
Wolfe nodded and considered a moment. “How far will you have to go?”
“Oh, I guess I can stand it, even in the dark. Chappaqua is seven minutes and Mount Kisco ten. Any special instructions?”
He had none, except that since Saul was in the office he might as well stick there until he heard from us again, so I shoved off.
I left the house by the west terrace because that was the shortest route to the place behind the shrubbery where I had parked the car, and found a sign of life. Paul and Connie Emerson were in the living room looking at television, and Webster Kane was on the terrace, apparently just walking back and forth. I exchanged greetings with them on the fly and proceeded.
It was a dark night, with no stars on account of the clouds, but the wind was down. As I drove to Chappaqua I let my mind drift into a useless habit, speculating on who Saul’s tail had been — state or city employees, or an A, B, C, or D. After I got to a booth in a drugstore and called Saul at the office and had a talk with him, it was still nothing but a guess. All Saul knew was that it had been a stranger and that it hadn’t been too easy to shake him. Since it was Saul Panzer, I knew I didn’t have to check any on the shaking part, and since he had no news to report except that he had acquired a tail, I told him to make himself comfortable in one of the spare rooms if he got sleepy, treated myself to a lemon coke, and went back to the car and drove back to Stony Acres.
Madeline had joined the pair in the living room, or maybe I should just put it that she was there when I entered. When she came to intercept me the big dark eyes were wide open, but not for any effect they might have on me. Her mind was obviously too occupied with something else for dallying.
“Where have you been?” she asked.
I told her to Chappaqua to make a phone call. She took my arm and eased me along through the door into the reception hall, and there faced me to ask, “Have you seen Gwenn?”
“No. Why, where is she?”
“I don’t know. But I think—”
She stopped. I filled in. “I supposed she was off in a corner making up her mind.”
“You didn’t go out to meet her?”
“Now I ask you,” I objected. “I’m not even a worm, I just work for one. Why should she be meeting me?”
“I suppose not.” Madeline hesitated. “After dinner she told Dad she would let him know as soon as she could, and went up to her room. I went in and wanted to talk to her, but she chased me out, and I went to Mother’s room. Later I went back to Gwenn’s room and she let me talk some, and then she said she was going outdoors. I went downstairs with her. She went out the back way. I went back up to Mother, and when I came down again and found you had gone out I thought maybe you had met her.”
“Nope.” I shrugged. “She may have had trouble finding the answer in the house and went outdoors for it. After all, she said before bedtime and it’s not eleven yet. Give her time. Meanwhile you ought to relax. How about a game of pool?”
She ignored the invitation. “You don’t know Gwenn,” she stated.
“Not very well, no.”
“She has a good level head, but she’s stubborn as a mule. She’s a little like Dad. If he had kept off she might have had enough of Louis long ago. But now — I’m scared. I suppose your Nero Wolfe did the best he could, but he left a hole. Dad hired him to find out something about Louis that would keep Gwenn from marrying him. Is that right?”
“Right.”
“And the way Nero Wolfe put it, one of four things had to happen. Either he had to quit the job, or Dad had to fire him, or Gwenn had to believe what he said about Louis and drop him, or he had to keep on and get proof. But he left out something else that could happen. What if Gwenn went away with Louis and married him? That would fix it too, wouldn’t it? Would Dad want Wolfe to go on, to keep after Louis if he was Gwenn’s husband? Gwenn wouldn’t think so.” Madeline’s fingers gripped my arm. “I’m scared! I think she went to meet him!”
“I’ll be damned. Did she take a bag?”
“She wouldn’t. She’d know I’d try to stop her, and Dad too — all of us. If your Nero Wolfe is so damn smart, why didn’t he think of this?”
“He has blind spots, and people running off to get married is one of them. But I should have — my God, am I thick. How long ago did she leave?”
“It must have been an hour — about an hour.”
“Did she take a car?”
Madeline shook her head. “I listened for it. No.”
“Then she must have—” I stopped to frown and think. “If that wasn’t it, if she just went out to have more air while she decided, or possibly to meet him here somewhere and have a talk, where would she go? Has she got a favorite spot?”
“She has several.” Madeline was frowning back at me. “An old apple tree in the back field, and a laurel thicket down by the brook, and a—”
“Do you know where there’s a flashlight?”
“Yes, we keep—”
“Get it.”
She went. In a moment she was back, and we left by the front door. She seemed to think the old apple tree was the best bet, so we circled the house halfway, crossed the lawn, found a path through a shrubbery border, and went through a gate into a pasture. Madeline called her sister’s name but no answer came, and when we got to the old apple tree there was no one there. We returned to the vicinity of the house the other way, around back of the barn and kennels and other buildings, with a halt at the barn to see if Gwenn had got romantic and saddled a horse to go to meet her man, but the horses were all there. The brook was in the other direction, in the landscape toward the public road, and we headed that way. Occasionally Madeline called Gwenn’s name, but not loud enough to carry to the house. We both had flashlights. I used mine only when I needed it, and by that time our eyes had got adjusted. We stuck to the drive until we reached the bridge over the brook and then Madeline turned sharp to the left. I admit she had me beat at cross-country going in the dark. The bushes and lower limbs had formed the habit of reaching out for me from the sides, and while Madeline hardly used her light at all, I shot mine right or left now and then, as well as to the front.
We were about twenty paces from the drive when I flashed my light to the left and caught a glimpse of an object on the ground by a bush that stopped me. The one glimpse was enough to show me what it was — there was no doubt about that — but not who it was. Madeline, ahead of me, was calling Gwenn’s name. I stood. Then she called to me, “You coming?” and I called back that I was and started forward. I was opening my mouth to tell her that I was taking time out and would be with her in a minute, when she called Gwenn’s name again, and an answer came faintly through the trees in the night. It was Gwenn’s voice.
“Yes, Mad, I’m here!”
So I had to postpone a closer inspection of the object behind the bush. Madeline had let out a little cry of relief and was tearing ahead, and I followed. I got tangled in a thicket before I knew it and had to fight my way out, and nearly slid into the brook; then I was in the clear again, headed toward voices, and soon my light picked them up at the far side of an open space. I crossed to them.
“What’s all the furor?” Gwenn was asking her sister. “Good Lord, I came outdoors on a summer night, so what? That’s been known to happen before, hasn’t it? You even brought a detective along!”
“This isn’t just a summer night,” Madeline said shortly, “and you know darned well it isn’t. How did I know — anyway, you haven’t even got a jacket on.”
“I know I haven’t. What time is it?”
I aimed the light at my wrist and told her. “Five past eleven.”
“Then he didn’t come on that train, either.”
“Who didn’t?” Madeline asked.
“Who do you suppose?” Gwenn was pent up. “That dangerous criminal! Oh, I suppose he is. All right, he is. But I wasn’t going to cross him off without telling him first, and not on the phone or in a letter, either. I phoned him to come here.”
“Sure,” Madeline said, not like a loving sister. “So you could make him tell you who X is and make him reform.”
“Not me,” Gwenn declared. “Reforming is your department. I was simply going to tell him we’re through — and good-by. I merely preferred to do it that way, before telling Dad and the rest of you. He was coming up on the nine-twenty-three and taxi from the station and meet me here. I thought he had missed it — and now I guess he didn’t get the next one either — but there’s a — what time is it?”
I told her. “Nine minutes after eleven.”
“There’s a train at eleven-thirty-two, and I’ll wait for that and then quit. I don’t usually wait around for a man for two hours, but this is different. You admit that, don’t you, Mad?”
“If you could use a suggestion from a detective,” I offered, “I think you ought to phone him again and find out what happened. Why don’t you girls go and do that, and I’ll wait here in case he shows up. I promise not to say a word to him except that you’ll soon be back. Get a jacket, too.”
That appealed to them. The only part that didn’t appeal to me was that they might wave flashlights around on their way to the drive, but they went in another direction, a shortcut by way of the rose garden. I waited until they were well started and then headed toward the drive, used the light to spot the object on the ground by the bush, and went to it.
First, was he dead? He was. Second, what killed him? The answer to that wasn’t as conclusive, but there weren’t many alternatives. Third, how long ago had he died? I had a guess for that one, with some experience to go by. Fourth, what was in his pockets? That took more care and time on account of complications. For instance, when I had frisked him at the roadside Sunday night, after Ruth Brady had prepared him for me, I had used a fair amount of caution, but now fair wasn’t good enough. I gave his leather wallet a good rub with my handkerchief, inside and out, put prints from both of his hands all over it but kept them haphazard, and returned it to his pocket. It contained a good assortment of bills, so he must have cashed a check since I had cleaned him. I wanted very much to repeat the performance on the Communist party membership card and its cellophane holder, but couldn’t because it wasn’t there. Naturally that irritated me, and I felt all the seams and linings to make sure. It wasn’t on him.
My mind was completely on getting the job done right and in time, before the girls returned, but when I finally gave up on the membership card I felt my stomach suddenly go tight, and I stood up and backed off. It will happen that way sometimes, no matter how thick and hard you think your shell is, when you least expect it. I turned to face the other way, made my chest big, and took some deep breaths. If that doesn’t work the only thing to do is lie down. But I didn’t have to, and anyhow I would have had to pop right up again, for in between two breaths I heard voices. Then I saw that I had left the flashlight turned on, there on the ground. I got it and turned it off, and made my way back to the clearing beyond the thicket in the dark, trying not to sound like a charging moose.
I was at my post, a patient sentinel, when the girls appeared and crossed the open space to me, with Madeline asking as they approached, “Did he come?”
“Not a sound of him,” I told them, preferring the truth when it will serve the purpose. “Then you didn’t get him?”
“I got a phone-answering service.” That was Gwenn. “They said he would be back after midnight and wanted me to leave a message. I’m going to stay here a little while, in case he came on the eleven-thirty-two, and then quit. Do you think something happened to him?”
“Certainly something happened to him, if he stood you up, but God knows what. Time will tell.” The three of us were making a little triangle. “You won’t need me, and if he comes you won’t want me. I’m going in to Mr. Wolfe. His nerves are on edge with the suspense, and I want to ease his mind. I won’t go around the house shouting it, but I want to tell him he’ll be going home soon.”
They didn’t care for that much but had to admit it was reasonable, and I got away. I took the shortcut as they directed, got lost in the woods twice but finally made it to the open, skirted the rose garden and crossed the lawn, and entered the house by the front door. In the room upstairs Wolfe was still reading the book. As I closed the door behind me he started to scorch me with an indignant look for being gone so long, but when he saw my face, which he knows better than I do, he abandoned it.
“Well?” he asked mildly.
“Not well at all,” I declared. “Somebody has killed Louis Rony, I think by driving a car over him, but that will take more looking. It’s behind a bush about twenty yards from the driveway, at a point about two-thirds of the distance from the house to the public road. It’s a rotten break in every way, because Gwenn had decided to toss him out.”
Wolfe was growling. “Who found it?”
“I did.”
“Who knows about it?”
“No one. Now you.”
Wolfe got up, fast. “Where’s my hat?” He looked around. “Oh, downstairs. Where are Mr. and Mrs. Sperling? We’ll tell them there is nothing more for us to do here and we’re going home — but not in a flurry — merely that it’s late and we can go now — come on!”
“Flurry hell. You know damn well we’re stuck.”
He stood and glared at me. When that didn’t seem to be improving the situation any he let himself go back onto the chair, felt the book under his fanny, got up and grabbed it — and for a second I thought he was going to throw it at something, maybe even me. For him to throw a book, loving them as he did, would have been a real novelty. He controlled himself in time, tossed the book onto a handy table, got seated again, and rasped at me, “Confound it, sit down! Must I stretch my neck off?”
I didn’t blame him a particle. I would have been having a tantrum myself if I hadn’t been too busy.