The hell it is. You may remember that one day a month ago, when you were here asking me about Ellen Tenzer, I asked you if you had found the buttons.
Now that you remind me, yes.
And you dodged. Okay, but now listen to you. You know more about the buttons than I do, but I know this much, they were on a baby’s overalls, and Ellen Tenzer made them, and some of them were on baby’s overalls in her house, and she had had a baby in her house, and the night after you went to see her she was murdered. And now you come with this whimwham about Lucy Valdon and a baby, and you ask if I have any questions. I have. Is the baby in Lucy Valdon’s house the one that Ellen Tenzer had in hers?
Of course I had known that would come. Absolutely off the record, I said.
All right.
Until further notice.
I said all right.
Then yes.
Is Lucy Valdon its mother?
No.
I don’t ask if she’s Wolfe’s client, because that’s obvious. If she wasn’t you wouldn’t have her lined up for your caper. As for it, the caper, I pass. No soap.
There’s no catch in it, Lon. She’ll sign a release.
He shook his head. That wouldn’t help if someone throws a bomb. It’s a good guess that Ellen Tenzer got murdered on account of that baby. That baby is hot, I don’t know why, but it is. You’re asking me to put a spotlight on it, not only where it lives, but where it can be seen outdoors twice a day. That would be sweet. The Gazette spots it, and the next day it gets snatched, or run over and killed, or God knows what. Nothing doing, Archie. Thank you for calling.
I can tell you, straight, that there’s no such risk. None at all.
Not good enough.
I uncrossed my legs. Everything we have said is off the record.
Right.
Here’s more off the record. One will get you a thousand that there will be no snatch or any other trouble. Mrs. Valdon hired Nero Wolfe five weeks ago today to find out who the baby’s mother is. It had been left in the vestibule of her house, and she knew nothing about it and still knows nothing. We have spent a lot of her money and our time and energy trying to find the mother, and have got nowhere. We’re still trying. This attempt is based on the theory that a woman who had a baby six months ago and ditched it, no matter why, would like to see what it looks like. She will see the page in the Gazette, go to Washington Square, recognize the nurse and carriage from the picture, and have a look.
Lon’s head was cocked. What if she doesn’t know the baby Mrs. Valdon has is hers?
She probably does. If she doesn’t we’re wasting some more time and energy and money.
The Gazette’s circulation is nearly two million. If we ran that story there would be a mob of women around the carriage the next day. So?
I hope not a mob. There would be some, yes. The nurse will be a detective, the best female op around. You may have heard of her Sally Corbett.
Yeah.
Saul Panzer and Fred Durkin and Orrie Cather will be on hand, within range. There will be three cameras attached to the carriage, not visible, and the nurse will know how to work them. They’ll take shots of everyone who comes close enough for a look, and the pictures will be shown to Mrs. Valdon. Since the baby was left in her vestibule, it’s a fair bet that the mother is someone she would recognize. The pictures will also be shown to a couple of other people whose names you don’t need. Of course it depends on about a dozen ifs, but what doesn’t? If you cross on the green you may get home alive. If you know what’s good for your newspaper you’ll grab this exclusive. If you run it and it works, you can have the picture of the mother and the story of how we got it, maybe.
How straight is all this, Archie?
As straight as an ace, king, queen, jack, and ten.
Who killed Ellen Tenzer?
How the hell do I know? Ask the cops or the DA.
You say Panzer and Durkin and Cather will be on hand. Will you?
No. I might be recognized. I’m a celebrity. My picture has been in the Gazette three times in the last four years.
He lowered his head and rubbed his chin with a finger tip for five seconds. He looked up. All right. The picture deadline for Sunday is eight a.m. Thursday.
It took an hour to get the details all settled because we were interrupted by four phone calls.
TUESDAY AFTERNOON CONTINUED. To Dol (Theodolinda) Bonner’s office on 45th Street to keep a date with Sally Corbett, made on the phone that morning. Dol and Sally had been responsible, six years back, for my revision of my basic attitude toward female cops, and I held it against them, just as Wolfe held it against Jane Austen for forcing him to concede that a woman could write a good novel. That afternoon Sally showed me once again that I had to keep the revised version. She made only the notes that were necessary, she restricted her curiosity to her dark blue eyes, and she asked only the questions she had to. We arranged to meet at the Posart Camera Exchange in the morning.
WEDNESDAY MORNING. To the Posart Camera Exchange. Sally and I spent more than two hours in the workroom at the back with two mechanics, watching them install and test the cameras. They would have cost the client sixteen hundred bucks, but Al Posner was letting me rent them for a week. Sally was shown how to work them, but she would be fully coached later. I took her to lunch at Rusterman’s.
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON. To the Valdon house with Sally. Lucy had returned from the beach Tuesday evening. She had fixed it with the nurse, telling her that for a week or so someone else would take the baby out to give the nurse a break, and also with the maid and cook. I don’t know how she explained the new fancy carriage, which was delivered before we arrived. By the time the Gazette personnel came, shortly before three a lady journalist and a photographer with a helper Sally was in her uniform, the nurse had gone for the afternoon, the carriage was outfitted, and Lucy needed a drink.
Newspaper photographers work fast, and he was through in the nursery, with Lucy and Sally, by half past three. I tagged along to Washington Square, to see how Sally handled a baby carriage. I hadn’t made a study of that, but I thought she did all right, dragging her feet a little and letting her shoulders sag. When I got back to the house the lady journalist was still there with Lucy, but she soon went, and I made martinis.
THURSDAY, FRIDAY, and SATURDAY. To the Gazette first thing Thursday morning to look it over. The picture they had picked of Sally and the carriage, with baby, in the square, was perfect. The two of the nursery one of Lucy with the baby in her arms, and one of Sally brushing the baby’s hair with Lucy watching were good enough shots, but Lucy’s expression was not exactly dosing. She looked like a woman trying to smile in spite of a toothache. Lon said the others had been even worse. I saw no point in using the one of the front of the house, but made no objection. Lon okayed the four changes I made in the text.
Sally wheeled the baby to Washington Square for its outing twice a day, all three days, but her camera, instruction and practice took place in the house, in the big room on the second floor, with Al Posner and Lucy and me. Lucy was needed because she was seven inches shorter than me and all levels had to be covered. Two of the cameras were concealed in ornaments at the ends of the hand bar, and one was in a narrow box at the front of the carriage with a rattle and other trinkets. That one was worked by remote control. During those three days I had my picture taken at least a thousand times. The Thursday ones were mostly off focus, the Friday ones were better, and by Saturday morning Sally had it down pat. Anyone looking at the baby from a distance of six yards or less was going to get shot, and shot good.
Saul and Fred and Orrie were in the old brownstone Saturday evening until after midnight. They spent the first half hour in the office getting briefed (Saul was to direct their deployment in the square in the morning), and the next three hours in the dining room with me, with refreshments, playing pinochle.