Chapter 7
Up in the plant rooms on the roof it was Cattleya mossiae time. In the cool room, the first one you enter from the vestibule, the Odontoglossums were sporting their sprays, and in the middle room, the tropical room, two benches of Phalaenopsis, the hardiest of all to grow well, were crowding the aisle with racemes two feet long, but at mossiae time the big show was in the third room. Of Wolfe’s fourteen varieties of mossiae my favorite was reineckiana, with its white, yellow, lilac, and violet. But then, passing through, I only had time for a glance at them.
Wolfe, in the potting-room, washing his hands at the sink and talking with Theodore, growled at me. “Couldn’t it wait?”
“Just rhetoric,” I said. “It’s ten to six and Miss Tescher may be there when you come down, and you might want a report on Younger before you see her. If not, I’ll go look at orchids.”
“Very well. Since you’re here.”
I gave it to him verbatim. He had no questions and no comments. By the time I finished he had his hands and nails clean and had moved to the workbench to frown at a bedraggled specimen in a pot.
“Look at this Oncidium varicosum,” he grumbled. “Dry rot in April. It has never happened before and there is no explanation. Theodore is certain—”
The buzz of the house phone kept me from learning what Theodore was certain of. Instead, I learned what had upset Fritz downstairs: “Archie, you only told me to admit a Miss Susan Tescher. She has come, but there are three men with her. What do I do?”
“Are they in?”
“Of course not. They’re out on the stoop and it has started to rain.”
I said I’d be right down, told Wolfe Miss Tescher had arrived with outriders, and beat it. I rarely use the elevator, and never squeeze in together with Wolfe’s bulk. Descending the three flights to the main hall, and taking a look through the one-way glass panel, I saw that Fritz’s count was accurate. One female and three males were standing in the April shower, glaring in my direction but not seeing me. The men were strangers but not dicks unless they had changed brands without telling me, and it seemed unnecessary to let them get any wetter, so I went and unbolted the door and swung it open, and in they came. A remark about rain being wet might have been expected from the males, but they started removing their coats with no remarks at all. The female said in a clear strong capable voice, “I’m Susan Tescher.”
I told her who I was and hung her coat up for her. She was fairly tall, slender but not thin, and not at all poorly furnished with features. From a first glance, and I try to make first glances count, everything about her was smart, with the exception of the earrings, which were enameled clock dials the size of a quarter. She had gray eyes and brassy hah- and very good skin and lipstick.
As we were starting for the office the elevator door opened and Wolfe emerged. He stopped, facing her.
“I’m Susan Tescher,” she said.
He bowed. “I’m Nero Wolfe. And these gentlemen?”
She used a hand. “Mr. Hibbard, of the legal staff of Clock.” Mr. Hibbard was tall and skinny. “Mr Schultz, an associate editor of Clock.” Mr. Schultz was tall and broad. “Mr. Knudsen, a senior editor of Clock.” Mr. Knudsen was tall and bony.
I had edged on ahead, to be there to get her into the red leather chair, which was where Wolfe always wanted the target, without any fuss. There was no problem. The men were perfectly satisfied with the three smaller chairs I placed for them, off to my right and facing Wolfe at his desk. All three crossed their legs, settled back, and clasped their hands. When I got out my notebook Schultz called Hibbard’s attention, and Hibbard called Knudsen’s attention, but there was no comment.
“If you please,” Wolfe asked, “in what capacity are these gentlemen present?”
He was looking at them, but Miss Tescher answered. “I suppose you know that I am assistant director of research at Clock.”
“At least I know it now.”
“The publicity about the contest, after what happened last night and this morning, and my connection with it, was discussed at a conference this afternoon. I can tell you confidentially that Mr. Tite himself was there. I thought I would be fired, but Mr. Tite is a very fair man and very loyal to his employees. All my work on the contest was done on my own time—of course I’m a highly trained researcher. So it was decided that Mr. Hibbard and Mr. Knudsen and Mr. Schultz should come with me here. They want to be available for advice if I need it”
“Mr. Hibbard is a counselor-at-law?”
“Yes.”
“Is he your attorney?”
“Why-I don’t-” She looked at Hibbard. He moved his head, once to the left and back again. “No,” she said, “he isn’t.” She cocked her head. “I want to say something.”
“Go ahead.”
“I came here only as a favor to Lippert, Buff and Assa, because Mr. Assa asked me to. The conditions for breaking the tie in the contest were agreed to last evening by all of us and they can be changed only by changing the agreement, and it remains the same. So there is really nothing to discuss. That’s the way it looks to me and I wanted you to understand it.”
Wolfe grunted. She went on, “But of course there’s nothing personal about it-I mean personal towards you. I happen to know a lot about you because I researched you two years ago, when you were on the list of cover prospects for Clock, but don’t ask me why they didn’t use you because I don’t know. Of course there are always dozens on the list, and they can’t all—”
Knudsen cleared his throat, rather loud, and she looked at him. There was no additional signal that I caught, but evidently she didn’t need one. She let it lay. Returning to Wolfe, “So,” she said, “it’s not personal. It’s just that there is nothing to discuss.”
“From your point of view,” Wolfe conceded, “there probably isn’t. And naturally, for you, as a consequence of the peculiar constitution of the human ego, your point of view is paramount. But your ego is bound to be jostled by other egos, and efforts to counteract the jostling by ignoring it have rarely succeeded. It is frequently advisable, and sometimes necessary, to give a little ground. For example, suppose I ask you for information in which you have no monopoly because it is shared with others. Suppose I ask you: at the meeting last evening, after Mr. Dahlmann displayed a paper and said it contained the answers, what remarks were made about it by any of the contestants? What did you say, and what did you hear any of them say?”
“Are you supposing or asking?”
“I’m asking.”
She looked at Knudsen. His head moved. At Schultz. His head moved. At Hibbard. His head moved. She returned to Wolfe. “When Mr. Assa asked me to come to see you he said it was about the contest, and that has no bearing on it.”
“Then you decline to answer?”
“Yes, I think I should.”
“The police must have asked you. Did you decline to answer?”
“I don’t think I should tell you anything about what the police asked me or what I said to them.”
“Nor, evidently, anything about what the other contestants have said to you or you have said to them.”
“My contact with the other contestants has been very limited. Just that meeting last evening.”
Wolfe lifted a hand and ran a finger tip along the side of his nose a few times. He was being patient. “I may say, Miss Tescher, that my contact with the other contestants, mine and Mr. Goodwin’s, has been a little broader. Several courses have been suggested. One was that all five of you agree that the first five prizes be pooled, and that each of you accept one-fifth of the total as your share. The suggestion was not made by my clients or by me; I am merely asking you, without prejudice, would you consider such a proposal?”
She didn’t need guidance on that one. “Of course I wouldn’t. Why should I?”
“So you don’t concede that the manner of Mr. Dahlmann’s death, and the circumstances, call for reconsideration of anything whatever connected with the contest?”
She pushed her head forward, and it reminded me of something, I couldn’t remember what. She said slowly and distinctly and positively, “I don’t concede anything at all, Mr. Wolfe.”
She pulled her head back, and I remembered. A vulture I had seen at the zoo-exactly the same movement. Aside from the movement there was no resemblance; certainly the vulture hadn’t looked anything like as smart as she did, and had no lipstick, no earrings, and no hair on its head.