World, edited by Lyman Bryson. I had spent an hour one afternoon looking it over, and had seen nothing about modern satyrs.
Nero Wolfe 34 - Too Many Clients
CHAPTER 6
Six years ago, reporting one of Wolfe’s cases, one in which no fee or hope of one was involved, I tried a stunt that I got good and tired of before I was through. It took us to Montenegro, and nearly all the talk was in a language I didn’t know a word of, but I got enough of it out of Wolfe later to report it verbatim. I’m not going to repeat that experience, so I’ll merely give you the gist of his conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Perez when he came down from the plant rooms at six o’clock and found them there. It was in Spanish. Either he took the opportunity to speak one of his six languages, or he thought they would be freer in their native tongue, or he wanted to rile me, I don’t know which. Probably all three. After they had gone he gave me the substance.
This isn’t evidence; it’s just what they said. They didn’t know who came Sunday evening, man or woman, or how many, or when he or she or they had left. They didn’t know how many different people came at different times. Sometimes they had heard footsteps in the hall, and they had always sounded like women. If a man had ever come they hadn’t seen or heard him. No one had ever been in the room when they went up to clean; they didn’t go up if the elevator was up there, but that had happened only five or six times in four years.
They had heard no shot Sunday evening, but even the floor of the room was soundproofed. When Perez went up at midnight there had been a smell of burnt powder, but he thought it was a weak smell and she thought it was a strong one. There had been nothing in the room that didn’t belong there�no gun, no coat or hat or wrap. Yeager had been fully dressed; his hat and topcoat had been on a chair, and they had put them in the hole with the body. None of the slippers or garments or other articles were out of the drawers. The bed had not been disturbed. Everything was in place in the bathroom. They had taken nothing from Yeager’s body but his keys. They had cleaned the room Monday morning, vacuumed and dusted, but had taken nothing out of it.
They had paid no rent for their basement. Yeager had paid them fifty dollars a week and had let them keep the rent they collected for the rooms on the four floors. Their total take had been around two hundred dollars a week (probably nearer three hundred and maybe more). They had no reason to suppose that Yeager had left them the house, or anything else, in his will. They were sure that none of the tenants had any connection with Yeager or knew anything about him; the renting had been completely in their hands. They had decided that one hundred dollars wasn’t enough to pay Wolfe and me, and though it would take most of their savings (this isn’t evidence) they thought five hundred would be better, and they had brought half of that amount along. Of course Wolfe didn’t take it. He told them that while he had no present intention of passing on any of the information they had given him he had to be free to use his discretion. That started an argument. Since it was in Spanish I can’t give it blow by blow, but judging from the tones and expressions, and from the fact that at one point Mrs. Perez was up and at Wolfe’s desk, slapping it, it got pretty warm. She had calmed down some by the time they left.
Since they didn’t leave until dinnertime and business is barred at the table, Wolfe didn’t relay it to me until we were back in the office after dinner. When he had finished he said, “It’s bootless. Time, effort, and money wasted. That woman killed him. Call Fred.” He picked up his book.
“Sure,” I said, “no question about it. It was such a nuisance, all that money rolling in, three hundred a week or more, she had to put a stop to it, and that was the easiest way, shoot him and dump him in a hole.”
He
Nero Wolfe 34 - Too Many Clients
CHAPTER 6
Six years ago, reporting one of Wolfe’s cases, one in which no fee or hope of one was involved, I tried a stunt that I got good and tired of before I was through. It took us to Montenegro, and nearly all the talk was in a language I didn’t know a word of, but I got enough of it out of Wolfe later to report it verbatim. I’m not going to repeat that experience, so I’ll merely give you the gist of his conversation with Mr. and Mrs. Perez when he came down from the plant rooms at six o’clock and found them there. It was in Spanish. Either he took the opportunity to speak one of his six languages, or he thought they would be freer in their native tongue, or he wanted to rile me, I don’t know which. Probably all three. After they had gone he gave me the substance.
This isn’t evidence; it’s just what they said. They didn’t know who came Sunday evening, man or woman, or how many, or when he or she or they had left. They didn’t know how many different people came at different times. Sometimes they had heard footsteps in the hall, and they had always sounded like women. If a man had ever come they hadn’t seen or heard him. No one had ever been in the room when they went up to clean; they didn’t go up if the elevator was up there, but that had happened only five or six times in four years.
They had heard no shot Sunday evening, but even the floor of the room was soundproofed. When Perez went up at midnight there had been a smell of burnt powder, but he thought it was a weak smell and she thought it was a strong one. There had been nothing in the room that didn’t belong there�no gun, no coat or hat or wrap. Yeager had been fully dressed; his hat and topcoat had been on a chair, and they had put them in the hole with the body. None of the slippers or garments or other articles were out of the drawers. The bed had not been disturbed. Everything was in place in the bathroom. They had taken nothing from Yeager’s body but his keys. They had cleaned the room Monday morning, vacuumed and dusted, but had taken nothing out of it.
They had paid no rent for their basement. Yeager had paid them fifty dollars a week and had let them keep the rent they collected for the rooms on the four floors. Their total take had been around two hundred dollars a week (probably nearer three hundred and maybe more). They had no reason to suppose that Yeager had left them the house, or anything else, in his will. They were sure that none of the tenants had any connection with Yeager or knew anything about him; the renting had been completely in their hands. They had decided that one hundred dollars wasn’t enough to pay Wolfe and me, and though it would take most of their savings (this isn’t evidence) they thought five hundred would be better, and they had brought half of that amount along. Of course Wolfe didn’t take it. He told them that while he had no present intention of passing on any of the information they had given him he had to be free to use his discretion. That started an argument. Since it was in Spanish I can’t give it blow by blow, but judging from the tones and expressions, and from the fact that at one point Mrs. Perez was up and at Wolfe’s desk, slapping it, it got pretty warm. She had calmed down some by the time they left.
Since they didn’t leave until dinnertime and business is barred at the table, Wolfe didn’t relay it to me until we were back in the office after dinner. When he had finished he said, “It’s bootless. Time, effort, and money wasted. That woman killed him. Call Fred.” He picked up his book.
“Sure,” I said, “no question about it. It was such a nuisance, all that money rolling in, three hundred a week or more, she had to put a stop to it, and that was the easiest way, shoot him and dump him in a hole.”
He
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