Read Online Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 17 by Three Doors to Death - Free Book Online

available?”
    “Isn’t it obvious?” He spread out his hands. “Of course your job is to get her out of it, so you can’t be expected to take an objective attitude. But the police are usually right about these things, and you know what they think.” The grease suddenly got acutely bitter. “So I merely ask, what if she’s not available? As for your—”
    What stopped him was movement by Bernard. Cynthia’s partner had left his chair and taken four healthy strides to the one occupied by Roper. Roper, startled, got erect in a hurry, nearly knocking his chair over.
    “I warned you last night, Ward,” Bernard said as if he meant it. “I told you to watch your nasty tongue.” His hands were fists. “Apologize to Cynthia, and do it quick.”
    “Apologize? But what did I—”
    Bernard slapped him hard. I couldn’t help approving of my rival’s good taste in making it a slap, certainly better than my strangling idea, and to spend a solid punch on him would have been flattering him. The first slap teetered Roper’s head to the left, and a second one, harder if anything, sent it the other way.
    A thought struck me. “Don’t fire him!” I called. “Miss Nieder doesn’t want him fired! She wants him there tonight!”
    “He’ll be there,” Bernard said grimly, without turning. He had backed up a step to glare at Roper. “You’ll be there, Ward, understand?”
    That sounded swell, so I crowded my luck. “You will too, Mr. Daumery, won’t you?”
    What the hell, it was a cinch, with him ordering Roper to come. But he turned around to tell me, “I’lldecide later. I’ll let you know. I’ll phone you. Your number’s in the book?”
    Demarest chuckled.
X
    I like to keep my word, and having on the spur of the moment promised refreshments, they were there. On the table near the big globe were tree-ripened olives, mahallebi, three bowls of nuts, and a comprehensive array of liquids ranging from Wolfe’s best brandy down to beer. Each of the guests had a little table at his elbow. At a quarter to nine, when the last arrival had been ushered in, Bernard Daumery and Ward Roper had nothing on their tables but their napkins, Cynthia had Scotch and water, Demarest a Tom Collins, and Polly Zarella a glass and a bottle of Tokaji Essencia. Bernard had phoned around seven o’clock that we could expect him.
    If the cops were tailing all of them, as they almost certainly were, I thought there must be quite a convention outside on 35th Street.
    I had completed, before dinner, an extra fancy job of reporting. Wolfe had wanted all the details of my party-arranging mission at Daumery and Nieder’s, both the libretto and the full score, and I had to get it all in and still leave time for questions before Fritz announced dinner, knowing as I did that if we were late to the table and had to hurry Wolfe would be in a bad humor all evening. In my opinion there would be plenty of bad humor to go around without Wolfe contributing a share, which was another reason for keeping my promise on the refreshments.
    Since the staging had been left to me I had placed Cynthia in the red leather chair because I liked her there. Polly Zarella had insisted on having the chair nearest to mine, which might have been just her maternal instinct. On her right was Demarest, and then Roper and Bernard. That seemed a good arrangement, since if Bernard took it into his head to do some more slapping he wouldn’t have far to go.
    “Thank you for coming,” Wolfe said formally.
    “We had to,” Demarest stated. “Your man Goodwin dragooned us.”
    “Not you, I understand, Mr. Demarest.”
    “Oh yes, me too. Only I saw the compulsion a little ahead of the others.”
    Wolfe shrugged. “Anyway, you’re here.” His eyes swept the arc. “I believe that Mr. Goodwin has explained to you that, guided by inclination and temperament and compelled by circumstances, my field of investigation in a case like this is severely limited. Fingerprints,