Free Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 41 by The Doorbell Rang Page B

investigation, if they haven’t got a line they like, they never let up on anybody, and it looks as if they have let up on everybody. That’s one thing we need to know. Mrs. Althaus just told me that you and Mr. Yarmack both think that the FBI killed him. Is that correct?”
    “Yes. Yes, it is. Because there was nothing about the FBI in his apartment.”
    “Do you know what there might have been? What he had dug up?”
    “No. Morris never told me about things like that.”
    “Does Mr. Yarmack know?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
    “How do you feel about it, Miss Hinckley? Whoever killed Morris Althaus, do you want him caught? Caught and dealt with?”
    “Of course I do. Certainly I do.”
    I turned to Mrs. Althaus. “You do too. All right, it’s a good bet that he never
will
be caught unless Nero Wolfe does it. You may know that he doesn’t go to see people. You’ll have to go to him, to his house—you and Miss Hinckley, and, if possible, Mr. Yarmack. Can you be there this evening at nine o’clock?”
    “Why …” She had her hands clasped. “I don’t … What good would it do? There’s nothing I can tell him.”
    “There might be. I often think there’s nothing I can tell him, but I find out I’m wrong. Or if he only decidesthat none of you can tell him anything, that will help. Will you come?”
    “I suppose …” She looked at the girl who had been expecting to be her daughter-in-law.
    “Yes,” Miss Hinckley said. “I’ll go.”
    I could have hugged her. It would have been relevant to the job. I asked her, “Could you bring Mr. Yarmack?”
    “I don’t know. I’ll try.”
    “Good.” I rose. “The address is in the phone book.” To Mrs. Althaus: “I should tell you, it’s next to certain that the FBI has a watch on the house and you will be seen. If you don’t mind, Mr. Wolfe doesn’t. He’s perfectly willing for them to know he is investigating the murder of your son. Nine o’clock?”
    She said yes, and I went. In the foyer the maid came and wanted to hold my coat, and not to hurt her feelings I let her. Down in the lobby, from the look the doorman gave me as he opened the door I deduced that the hallman had told him what I was, and to be in character I met the look with a sharp and wary eye. Outside, some snowflakes were doing stunts. In the taxi, headed downtown, again I ignored the rear. I figured that if they were on me, which was highly likely, maybe one cent of each ten grand of Wolfe’s income tax, and one mill of each ten grand of mine, would go to pay government employees to keep me company uninvited, which didn’t seem right.
    Wolfe had just come down from the plant rooms after his four-to-six afternoon session with the orchids and got nicely settled in his chair with
The Treasure
of
Our Tongue.
Instead of going on in and crossing to my desk as usual, I stopped at the sill of the office door, and when he looked up I pointed a finger straight down, emphatically, turned, and beat it to the stairs to thebasement and on down. Flipping the light switch, I went and perched on the pool table. Two minutes. Three. Four, and there were footsteps. He stood at the door, glared at me, and spoke.
    “I won’t tolerate this.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “I could write it.”
    “Pfui. Two points. One, the risk is extremely slight. Two, we can use it. As you talk you can insert comments or statements at will which I am to disregard, notifying me by raising a finger. I shall do the same. Of course making no reference to Mr. Cramer; we can’t risk that; and maintaining our conclusion that the FBI killed that man, and we intend to establish it.”
    “But actually we don’t.”
    “Certainly not.” He turned and went.
    So I was foxed. His house, his office, and his chair. But I had to admit, as I mounted the steps, that pigheaded as he was, it wasn’t a bad idea. If they really had an electronic ear on the office, which I didn’t believe, it might even be a damned good