Free The Rubber Band by Rex Stout Page A

just disappeared.
    I ran the car down on the elevator myself and got into the street and headed east. The dick jumped on the running board, and when I reached around to brush a speck off the windshield I accidentally pushed the dick off. By that time he was at Third Avenue and he hopped a taxi and followed me. When I got to Tenth Avenue, inside your garage, I turned the car inside out, but there was nothing there but tools and an old lead pencil and a busted dog leash and a half a package of Omar cigarettes and—”
    Wolfe put up a palm at him. “And the dick is now across the street?”
    “Yes, sir. He was when I come in.”
    “Excellent. I hope he doesn’t escape in the dark. Go to the kitchen and tell Fritz to give you a cyanide sandwich.”
    Fred shifted his hat. “I’m sorry, sir, if I—”
    “Go! Any kind of a sandwich. Wait in the kitchen. If we find ourselves getting into difficulties here, we shall need you.”
    Fred went. Wolfe leaned back in his chair and got his fingers laced on his belly; his lips were moving, out and in, and out and in. At length he opened his eyes enough for Clara Fox to see that he was looking at her.
    “Well. We were too late. I told you you were wasting time.”
    She lifted her brows. “Too late for what?”
    “To keep you out of jail. Isn’t it obvious? What reason could there be for watching your car except to catch you trying to go somewhere in it? And is it likely they would be laying for you if they had not already found the money?”
    “Found it where?”
    “I couldn’t say. Perhaps in the car itself. I am not a necromancer. Miss Fox. Now, before we—”
    The phone rang, and I took it. It was Saul Panzer. I listened and got his story, and then told him to hold the wire and turned to Wolfe.
    “Saul. From a pay station at Sixty-second and Madison. There was a dick playing tag with himself in front of Miss Fox’s address. Saul went through the apartment and drew a blank. Now he thinks the dick is sticking there, but he’s not sure. It’s possible he’s being followed, and if so should he shake the dick and then come here, or what?”
    “Tell him to come here. By no means shake the dick. He may know the one Fred brought, and in that case they might like to have a talk.”
    I told Saul, and hung up.
    Wolfe was still leaning back, with his eyes half closed. Mike Walsh sat with his closed entirely, his head swaying on one side, and his breathing deep and even in the silence. Hilda Lindquist’s shoulders sagged, but her face was flushed and her eyes bright. Clara Fox had her lips tight enough to make her look determined.
    Wolfe said, “Wake Mr. Walsh. Having attended to urgencies—in vain—
    we may now at our leisure fill in some gaps. Regarding the fantastic business of the Rubber Band. Mr. Walsh, a sharp blow with your hand at the back of your neck will help. A drink of water? Very well. Did I understand you to say, Miss Fox, that you have found George Rowley?”
    She nodded. “Two weeks ago.”
    “Tell me about it.”
    “But Mr. Wolfe … those detectives …”
    “To be sure. You remember I told you you should be tied in your cradle?
    For the present, this house is your cradle. You are safe here. We shall return to that little problem. Tell me about George Rowley.”
    She drew a breath. “Well … we found him. I began a long while ago to do what I could, which wasn’t much. Of course I couldn’t afford to go to England, or send someone, or anything like that. But I gathered some information. For instance, I learned the names of all the generals who had commanded brigades in the British Army during the war, and as well as I could from this distance I began to eliminate them. There were hundreds and hundreds of them still alive, and of course I didn’t know whetner the one I wanted was alive or not. I did lots of things, and some oЈ them were pretty bright if I am a fool. I had found Mike Walsh through an advertisement, and I got photographs of scores of