Read Online Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 41 by The Doorbell Rang - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: The Doorbell Rang
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Private Investigators, Literary Criticism, Mystery Fiction, Political, New York (N.Y.), Private Investigators - New York (State) - New York, Wolfe; Nero (Fictitious character)
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complain.”
“Then I don’t bother about tails?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief.” I went.
Chapter 6
M y watch said 4:35 as I entered a drugstore near Grand Central, consulted the Manhattan phone book, went to a booth and shut the door, and dialed a number.
From the
Gazette
files, and from Lon Cohen by word of mouth off the record, I had filled a dozen pages of my notebook. I have it here now, but all of it in print would also take a dozen pages, so I’ll report only what you need to understand what happened. Here are the principal names:
M ORRIS A LTHAUS , deceased, 36, height 5 feet 11, weight 175, dark complexion, handsome, liked all right by men but more than liked by women. Had had a two-year affair, 1962 and 1963, with a certain stage personality, name not given here. Had earned from his writing around ten grand a year, but it had probably been augmented by his mother without his father’s knowledge. Not on record when he and Marian Hinckley had decided to tie up, but as far as known he had had no other girl friend for several months. Three hundred and eighty-four typewritten pages of an unfinished novel had been found in his apartment. No one at the
Gazette
, including Lon, had any firm guess who hadkilled him. No one there had known, before the murder, that he had been collecting material for a piece on the FBI, and Lon thought that was a disgrace to journalism in general and to the
Gazette
personnel in particular. Apparently Althaus had used rubber soles.
D AVID A LTHAUS , Morris’s father, around 60, was partner in Althaus and Greif, makers of the Peggy Pilgrim line of dresses and suits (see your local newspaper.) David had resented it that Morris, his only child, had given Peggy Pilgrim the go-by, and they hadn’t been close in recent years.
I VANA (Mrs. David) A LTHAUS had not seen a reporter, and would not. She was still, seven weeks after her son’s death, seeing no one but a few close friends.
M ARIAN H INCKLEY , 24, had been on the research staff at
Tick-Tock
for about two years. There were pictures of her in the file, and they made it easy to understand why Althaus had decided to concentrate on her. She had also refused to talk to reporters, but a newshen from the
Post
had finally got enough out of her for a spread, making some fur fly at the
Gazette
. It had made one
Gazette
female so sore that she worked up the theory that Marian Hinckley had shot Althaus with his own gun because he was cheating on her, but it had petered out.
T IMOTHY Q UAYLE , around 40, was a senior editor at
Tick-Tock
. I include him because he had got rough and tangled with a journalist from the
Daily News
who tried to corner Marian Hinckley in the lobby of the
Tick-Tock
building. A man that gallant deserves a look.
V INCENT Y ARMACK , around 50, was another senior editor at
Tick-Tock
. I include him because the piece by Althaus about the FBI had been his project.
It didn’t look very promising for an approach. I considered the stage personality, but her whirl withAlthaus had ended more than a year ago, and besides, a couple of previous experiences had taught me that actresses are better from the fifth or sixth row. The two editors would hang up. Father probably had nothing. Marian Hinckley would stiff-neck me. The best bet was mother, and it was her number I looked up and went to the booth to dial.
First, of course, to get her to the phone. To the female who answered I gave no name; I merely told her, in an official tone, to tell Mrs. Althaus that I was talking from a booth and an FBI man was with me and I must speak to her. It worked. In a couple of minutes another voice came.
“Who is this? An FBI man?”
“Mrs. Althaus?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Archie Goodwin. I’m not an FBI man. I work for Nero Wolfe, the private investigator. The FBI man is not here in the booth with me; he is with me because he is following me. Tailing me. He will follow me to your address, but that doesn’t matter to me if
“Then I don’t bother about tails?”
“No.”
“That’s a relief.” I went.
Chapter 6
M y watch said 4:35 as I entered a drugstore near Grand Central, consulted the Manhattan phone book, went to a booth and shut the door, and dialed a number.
From the
Gazette
files, and from Lon Cohen by word of mouth off the record, I had filled a dozen pages of my notebook. I have it here now, but all of it in print would also take a dozen pages, so I’ll report only what you need to understand what happened. Here are the principal names:
M ORRIS A LTHAUS , deceased, 36, height 5 feet 11, weight 175, dark complexion, handsome, liked all right by men but more than liked by women. Had had a two-year affair, 1962 and 1963, with a certain stage personality, name not given here. Had earned from his writing around ten grand a year, but it had probably been augmented by his mother without his father’s knowledge. Not on record when he and Marian Hinckley had decided to tie up, but as far as known he had had no other girl friend for several months. Three hundred and eighty-four typewritten pages of an unfinished novel had been found in his apartment. No one at the
Gazette
, including Lon, had any firm guess who hadkilled him. No one there had known, before the murder, that he had been collecting material for a piece on the FBI, and Lon thought that was a disgrace to journalism in general and to the
Gazette
personnel in particular. Apparently Althaus had used rubber soles.
D AVID A LTHAUS , Morris’s father, around 60, was partner in Althaus and Greif, makers of the Peggy Pilgrim line of dresses and suits (see your local newspaper.) David had resented it that Morris, his only child, had given Peggy Pilgrim the go-by, and they hadn’t been close in recent years.
I VANA (Mrs. David) A LTHAUS had not seen a reporter, and would not. She was still, seven weeks after her son’s death, seeing no one but a few close friends.
M ARIAN H INCKLEY , 24, had been on the research staff at
Tick-Tock
for about two years. There were pictures of her in the file, and they made it easy to understand why Althaus had decided to concentrate on her. She had also refused to talk to reporters, but a newshen from the
Post
had finally got enough out of her for a spread, making some fur fly at the
Gazette
. It had made one
Gazette
female so sore that she worked up the theory that Marian Hinckley had shot Althaus with his own gun because he was cheating on her, but it had petered out.
T IMOTHY Q UAYLE , around 40, was a senior editor at
Tick-Tock
. I include him because he had got rough and tangled with a journalist from the
Daily News
who tried to corner Marian Hinckley in the lobby of the
Tick-Tock
building. A man that gallant deserves a look.
V INCENT Y ARMACK , around 50, was another senior editor at
Tick-Tock
. I include him because the piece by Althaus about the FBI had been his project.
It didn’t look very promising for an approach. I considered the stage personality, but her whirl withAlthaus had ended more than a year ago, and besides, a couple of previous experiences had taught me that actresses are better from the fifth or sixth row. The two editors would hang up. Father probably had nothing. Marian Hinckley would stiff-neck me. The best bet was mother, and it was her number I looked up and went to the booth to dial.
First, of course, to get her to the phone. To the female who answered I gave no name; I merely told her, in an official tone, to tell Mrs. Althaus that I was talking from a booth and an FBI man was with me and I must speak to her. It worked. In a couple of minutes another voice came.
“Who is this? An FBI man?”
“Mrs. Althaus?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Archie Goodwin. I’m not an FBI man. I work for Nero Wolfe, the private investigator. The FBI man is not here in the booth with me; he is with me because he is following me. Tailing me. He will follow me to your address, but that doesn’t matter to me if
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