Read Online Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 07 by Over My Dead Body - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Over My Dead Body
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Mystery Fiction, Political, New York (N.Y.), Private Investigators - New York (State) - New York, Wolfe; Nero (Fictitious character)
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empty—”
A sound came from behind the cartons that was something between a moan and a squeal. I let my right hand fall and stepped forward with a grunt of disgust and put the light on him, where he was flattened against the pile of cartons.
“For the love of Mike,” I said, absolutely exasperated. “What the hell are you scared of?”
He moaned. “I seen him.” His eyes were still rolling. “I tell you I done seen him.”
“So did I see him. Look here, Arthur, I have no time to waste arguing with you about primitive superstitions. What are you going to do, stay here and moan?”
“I ain’t going back up there—don’t you try it—don’t you touch me, I’m telling you—”
“Okay.” I laid the light on a carton, returned the pistol to my holster, and put on my coat and hat. Then I retrieved the light. “I’m going out the back way to see that no one escapes. The best thing you can do is stay right where you are.”
“I mean don’t I know it,” he groaned.
“Fine. Have you got the key for that door?”
“They’s a bolt, that’s all.”
“What’s outside, a court with a high fence around it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any door in the fence?”
“No, sir.”
Overhead, namely on the floor of the office directly above, I heard the tread of dozens of heavy shoes on heavy feet. The company had come. I even thought I detected the sound of Inspector Cramer’s number twelves. As I moved, I had a piece of luck; the beam of my light passed over a boy’s-size stepladder standing by the shelves. I went for it, arranged for a diversion by warning Arthur to yell for help if he heard anyone else coming down, found the rear door and unbolted it, and skipped through with the stepladder.
The court was fairly large, maybe 30 × 40, and paved with concrete, and the solid board fence was two feet over my head. There was plenty of light from the windows of the buildings. I trotted across to the rear, leaned the ladder against the fence, mounted, andlooked over into the adjoining court. It was the same size as the one I was in, with a miscellaneous clutter of vague objects scattered around and one object not so vague: a bulky person dressed in white, including an apron and a chef’s cap, apparently doing breathing exercises from the way he stood there and puffed. Ten feet back of him a blaze of light came from a door standing open.
I grabbed the top of the fence and pulled myself up and perched there, teetering. At the noise he looked up, startled, but before he could start screeching I demanded:
“Did you see that cat?”
“What cat?”
“My wife’s cat. A yellow, long-haired fiend. It got loose and jumped out a window and climbed this fence. If you—” I lost my balance and toppled over and landed flat on the concrete on his side. As I picked myself up I cussed appropriately. “If I find the little darling I’ll strangle the damn thing. If you’ve been standing here you must have seen it.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“You must have. Okay, then you didn’t, but it came here. It must have smelled the grub in the restaurant—”
I was on my way and kept going. He started after me, but with slow acceleration, so I went through the open door unimpeded. It was a large room, full of noise, cookery smells, and activity. Without coming to a stop I inquired above the noise, “Did a cat come in here?” They stared at me and a couple shook their heads. There was one with a loaded tray, in waiter’s uniform, headed for a swinging door, and I got on his heels and followed him through. At the other end of a pantry corridor another swinging door let us into the restaurant proper—purple and yellow leather, gleaming chromium, gleaming white tables—with waiters fussing around waiting for the evening’s customers. One of them blocked me and I snapped at him, “Catching a cat,” and went on around. In the foyer the sucker usher gave me an astonished look and the hat-check girl started for me
A sound came from behind the cartons that was something between a moan and a squeal. I let my right hand fall and stepped forward with a grunt of disgust and put the light on him, where he was flattened against the pile of cartons.
“For the love of Mike,” I said, absolutely exasperated. “What the hell are you scared of?”
He moaned. “I seen him.” His eyes were still rolling. “I tell you I done seen him.”
“So did I see him. Look here, Arthur, I have no time to waste arguing with you about primitive superstitions. What are you going to do, stay here and moan?”
“I ain’t going back up there—don’t you try it—don’t you touch me, I’m telling you—”
“Okay.” I laid the light on a carton, returned the pistol to my holster, and put on my coat and hat. Then I retrieved the light. “I’m going out the back way to see that no one escapes. The best thing you can do is stay right where you are.”
“I mean don’t I know it,” he groaned.
“Fine. Have you got the key for that door?”
“They’s a bolt, that’s all.”
“What’s outside, a court with a high fence around it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Any door in the fence?”
“No, sir.”
Overhead, namely on the floor of the office directly above, I heard the tread of dozens of heavy shoes on heavy feet. The company had come. I even thought I detected the sound of Inspector Cramer’s number twelves. As I moved, I had a piece of luck; the beam of my light passed over a boy’s-size stepladder standing by the shelves. I went for it, arranged for a diversion by warning Arthur to yell for help if he heard anyone else coming down, found the rear door and unbolted it, and skipped through with the stepladder.
The court was fairly large, maybe 30 × 40, and paved with concrete, and the solid board fence was two feet over my head. There was plenty of light from the windows of the buildings. I trotted across to the rear, leaned the ladder against the fence, mounted, andlooked over into the adjoining court. It was the same size as the one I was in, with a miscellaneous clutter of vague objects scattered around and one object not so vague: a bulky person dressed in white, including an apron and a chef’s cap, apparently doing breathing exercises from the way he stood there and puffed. Ten feet back of him a blaze of light came from a door standing open.
I grabbed the top of the fence and pulled myself up and perched there, teetering. At the noise he looked up, startled, but before he could start screeching I demanded:
“Did you see that cat?”
“What cat?”
“My wife’s cat. A yellow, long-haired fiend. It got loose and jumped out a window and climbed this fence. If you—” I lost my balance and toppled over and landed flat on the concrete on his side. As I picked myself up I cussed appropriately. “If I find the little darling I’ll strangle the damn thing. If you’ve been standing here you must have seen it.”
“I didn’t see it.”
“You must have. Okay, then you didn’t, but it came here. It must have smelled the grub in the restaurant—”
I was on my way and kept going. He started after me, but with slow acceleration, so I went through the open door unimpeded. It was a large room, full of noise, cookery smells, and activity. Without coming to a stop I inquired above the noise, “Did a cat come in here?” They stared at me and a couple shook their heads. There was one with a loaded tray, in waiter’s uniform, headed for a swinging door, and I got on his heels and followed him through. At the other end of a pantry corridor another swinging door let us into the restaurant proper—purple and yellow leather, gleaming chromium, gleaming white tables—with waiters fussing around waiting for the evening’s customers. One of them blocked me and I snapped at him, “Catching a cat,” and went on around. In the foyer the sucker usher gave me an astonished look and the hat-check girl started for me
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