Read Online Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 46 by A Family Affair - Free Book Online
Authors: A Family Affair
Ads: Link
me help him on with his coat—but he did. No good nights. I opened the door, closed it after him, returned to the office, and asked Wolfe, “Do you want Felix?”
“No.” He was on his feet. “Of course he can tell us about Bassett, but I’m played out, and so are you. One question: Does Philip know the name on that paper?”
“One will get you ten, no. He told me to my face that I may be a murderer and called me Archie Goodwin. He was unloading.”
“Confound it. Tell Felix he’ll hear from me tomorrow. Today. Good night.” He moved.
Chapter 5
T he dinner paid for by Harvey H. Bassett in an upstairs room at Rusterman’s Friday evening, October 18, had been stag. The guests:
Albert O. Judd, lawyer
Francis Ackerman, lawyer
Roman Vilar, Vilar Associates, industrial security
Ernest Urquhart, lobbyist
Willard K. Hahn, banker
Benjamin Igoe, electronics engineer
Putting that here, I’m way ahead of myself and of you, but I don’t like making lists and I wanted to get it down. Also, when I typed it that Wednesday to put on Wolfe’s desk, I looked it over to decide if one of them was a murderer and if so which one, and you may want to play that game too. Not that it had to be one of them. The fact that they had been present when Bassett left the slip of paper among the bills on the tray didn’t make them any better candidates than anyone else for who could have been with him in a stolen automobile on West Ninety-third Street around midnight a week later with a gun in his hand, but we had to start somewhere,and at least they had known him. Possibly one of them had given him the slip of paper.
I got to bed Tuesday night at twenty past one, almost exactly twenty-four hours after the bomb had interrupted me before I got my pants off. It was a good bet that I would be interrupted before I got them on again Wednesday morning by an invitation from the DA’s office, but I wasn’t, so I got my full eight hours, and I needed them, and it was ten minutes to ten when I entered the kitchen, went to the refrigerator for orange juice, told Fritz good morning, and asked if Wolfe had had breakfast, and Fritz said yes, at a quarter past eight as usual.
“Was he dressed?”
“Of course.”
“
Not
of course. He was played out, he said so himself. He went up?”
“Of course.”
“All right, have it your way. Any word for me?”
“No. I’m played out too, Archie, all day the phone ringing and people coming, and I didn’t know where he was.”
I went to the little table and sat and reached to the rack for the
Times
. It had made the front page, a two-column lead toward the bottom and continued on page 19, where there were pictures of both of us. Of course I was honored because I had found the body. Also of course I read every word, some of it twice, but none of it was news to me, and my mind kept sliding off. Why the hell hadn’t he told Fritz to send me up? I was on my third sausage and second buckwheat cake when the phone rang, and I scowled at it as I reached. Again of course, the DA.
But it wasn’t; it was Lon Cohen of the
Gazette
.
“Nero Wolfe’s office, Arch—”
“Where in God’s name were you all day yesterday, and why aren’t you in jail?”
“Look, Lon, I—”
“Will you come here, or must I go there?”
“Right now, neither one, and quit interrupting. I admit I could tell you twenty-seven things that your readers have a right to know, but this is a free country and I want to stay free. The minute I can spill one bean I know where to find you. I’m expecting a call so I’m hanging up.” I hung up.
I will never know whether there was something wrong with the buckwheat cakes or with me. If it was the cakes, Fritz
was
played out. I made myself eat the usual four to keep him from asking questions and finding out that he had left something out or put too much of something in.
In the office I pretended it was just another day—dusting, emptying the wastebaskets, changing the water in the
“No.” He was on his feet. “Of course he can tell us about Bassett, but I’m played out, and so are you. One question: Does Philip know the name on that paper?”
“One will get you ten, no. He told me to my face that I may be a murderer and called me Archie Goodwin. He was unloading.”
“Confound it. Tell Felix he’ll hear from me tomorrow. Today. Good night.” He moved.
Chapter 5
T he dinner paid for by Harvey H. Bassett in an upstairs room at Rusterman’s Friday evening, October 18, had been stag. The guests:
Albert O. Judd, lawyer
Francis Ackerman, lawyer
Roman Vilar, Vilar Associates, industrial security
Ernest Urquhart, lobbyist
Willard K. Hahn, banker
Benjamin Igoe, electronics engineer
Putting that here, I’m way ahead of myself and of you, but I don’t like making lists and I wanted to get it down. Also, when I typed it that Wednesday to put on Wolfe’s desk, I looked it over to decide if one of them was a murderer and if so which one, and you may want to play that game too. Not that it had to be one of them. The fact that they had been present when Bassett left the slip of paper among the bills on the tray didn’t make them any better candidates than anyone else for who could have been with him in a stolen automobile on West Ninety-third Street around midnight a week later with a gun in his hand, but we had to start somewhere,and at least they had known him. Possibly one of them had given him the slip of paper.
I got to bed Tuesday night at twenty past one, almost exactly twenty-four hours after the bomb had interrupted me before I got my pants off. It was a good bet that I would be interrupted before I got them on again Wednesday morning by an invitation from the DA’s office, but I wasn’t, so I got my full eight hours, and I needed them, and it was ten minutes to ten when I entered the kitchen, went to the refrigerator for orange juice, told Fritz good morning, and asked if Wolfe had had breakfast, and Fritz said yes, at a quarter past eight as usual.
“Was he dressed?”
“Of course.”
“
Not
of course. He was played out, he said so himself. He went up?”
“Of course.”
“All right, have it your way. Any word for me?”
“No. I’m played out too, Archie, all day the phone ringing and people coming, and I didn’t know where he was.”
I went to the little table and sat and reached to the rack for the
Times
. It had made the front page, a two-column lead toward the bottom and continued on page 19, where there were pictures of both of us. Of course I was honored because I had found the body. Also of course I read every word, some of it twice, but none of it was news to me, and my mind kept sliding off. Why the hell hadn’t he told Fritz to send me up? I was on my third sausage and second buckwheat cake when the phone rang, and I scowled at it as I reached. Again of course, the DA.
But it wasn’t; it was Lon Cohen of the
Gazette
.
“Nero Wolfe’s office, Arch—”
“Where in God’s name were you all day yesterday, and why aren’t you in jail?”
“Look, Lon, I—”
“Will you come here, or must I go there?”
“Right now, neither one, and quit interrupting. I admit I could tell you twenty-seven things that your readers have a right to know, but this is a free country and I want to stay free. The minute I can spill one bean I know where to find you. I’m expecting a call so I’m hanging up.” I hung up.
I will never know whether there was something wrong with the buckwheat cakes or with me. If it was the cakes, Fritz
was
played out. I made myself eat the usual four to keep him from asking questions and finding out that he had left something out or put too much of something in.
In the office I pretended it was just another day—dusting, emptying the wastebaskets, changing the water in the
Similar Books
