Free Archie Meets Nero Wolfe by Robert Goldsborough

years, and he acts like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to the family. He loves to talk about the cars he drives and says Williamson always takes his advice when getting ready to purchase a new automobile.”
    Bascom consulted his notes and continued. “Bell’s single, never been married, he says. He lives in a nicely furnished four-room apartment above the garages—with an outside phone line. He showed me around and is very proud of the setup. I would be, too. He insists he has never seen anybody suspicious hanging around the house and grounds and says he was up in his rooms shaving and getting ready to drive Tommie to school when the boy disappeared. Never heard a thing,” he said.
    Wolfe shifted his bulk and frowned. “On his trips to and from the school with the boy, did Mr. Bell ever sense he was being followed?”
    “No, sir,” Bascom said. “I posed that question to him, and he told me he’s always been on his guard when taking Tommie anywhere, whether to school or to a playmate’s house. He may be a snobbish fellow, but I was left with the strong impression that he is very protective of the boy. At one point, he said, ‘If I ever find the bastard that did this, I’ll ... His words trailed off, but he had a fierce expression and he pounded a fist into an open palm.”
    “Did you sense he was overacting?”
    Bascom paused before responding. “No, not really, sir. In fact, it was the only time during our talk that he stopped behaving like a pompous, puffed-up jackass. It seemed like I was seeing the real Charles Bell just then, without any of those airs he likes to put on.”
    “Orrie,” Wolfe said, “your report, please.”
    Cather tensed, leaning forward on the sofa as if he was about to leap to his feet. “I know how they took the kid away!” he blurted.
    “Really?” Wolfe’s eyebrows went up, and he took his beer glass away from his lips without taking a swallow.
    “Yeah, here’s how I figure—”
    “Enough, Orrie,” Wolfe snapped, holding up a palm. “You should know by now that I like to receive my reports in a methodical fashion, and in the order in which the information has been learned.”
    Cather looked chagrined, but only for a moment. “Well, I first talked to the cook, Mrs. Price, given name Hazel, and Saul is correct: the woman has never been married, despite the label. From the looks of her, she enjoys her own cooking a lot, and she rules like a queen over a kitchen that’s got to be more than twice the size of my flat. Even though it’s down in the basement, it’s got a high ceiling, and—”
    “That’s enough description, Orrie.”
    “Yes, sir. The first thing I asked her was whether anything unusual had happened yesterday, and that’s when I hit pay dirt.” He glanced around at the rest of us with a grin, as if savoring his moment in the spotlight. A look from Nero Wolfe got him back on track.
    “She says it was pretty much like most days, although one thing puzzled her a little bit. Around 8:45 or so, she said there was a knocking at the outside door of the kitchen, the one that opens to a few steps that lead up to the driveway and the backyard. It’s the door where all the deliveries are received. Anyway, she opens the door and there’s a guy she’s never seen before carrying two crates of vegetables. He was tall and quite thin, she said, with dark hair parted in the center. ‘Your order from Mitchell & Sons Purveyors, Mrs. Price,’ he told her.
    “‘I have never heard of this Mitchell & Sons company of yours,’ she said to him. ‘I always get my produce from Baxter & Hart, and have for years.’ At this point, the man pulled out a typewritten sheet with an order for vegetables—carrots, spinach, broccoli, and the like. She said it had her name on it and the Williamson address at the top.
    “She told this guy—she never got his name—that there had been a mistake and asked him to take the food away. He argued, trying to get her to accept