“You can,” I admitted, “put me out, but if you wait half a minute you can still put me out. I have come to see Mrs. Whitten on behalf of Miss Julie Alving. It would be only fair to let Mrs. Whitten herself decide whether she wants to see someone who wishes to speak for Miss Alving. If you-”
“Beat it.” He took another step. “You’re damn right we can put you out—”
“Take it easy, Mort.” Jerome was approaching, in no haste or alarm. He saw the license card in the butler’s hand, took it and glanced at it, and handed it to me. “My mother’s upstairs asleep. I’m Jerome Landy. Tell me what you want to say for Miss Alving and I’ll see that it gets attention.”
“She’s asleep?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s sick?”
“Sick?”
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“Yeah. 111.”
“I don’t know. Not me. Why?”
“I just saw a doctor leave here carrying his case, and of course if he gave her sleeping pills and then stopped for a chat with you, naturally she would be asleep now. It’s the way a detective’s mind works, that’s all.” I grinned at him. “Unless she’s not the patient. One of your sisters maybe? Anyhow, I have nothing to say for Miss Alving except direct to Mrs. Whitten. I don’t know whether she would agree that it’s urgent and strictly personal, and there’s no way of deciding but to ask her. By tomorrow it might be too late. I don’t know about that either.”
“Ask him,” suggested Daniel Bahr, who had joined us, “whether it’s a request for money. If it is an attempt at a shakedown there is only one possible answer.”
“If that was it,” I said, “our blackmail department would be handling it, and I’ve been promoted from that. That’s as far as I can go except to Mrs. Whitten.”
“Wait here,” Jerome instructed me, and made for the stairs.
I stood in quiet dignity, but allowed my eyes to move. This, of course, was the reception hall, with the stairs at the left, the door to the living room on the right, and at the far end the door to the dining room, where the secret meeting of sons and daughters had been held. The hall was large and high-ceilinged and not overfumished, except maybe a pink marble thing against the wall beyond the living-room door. It had a bare look because there was nothing but a couple of straw mats on the floor, but since it was July that was understandable. The only action while Jerome was gone was Mortimer’s dismissing the butler, who disappeared through the door to the dining room.
It wasn’t too long before Jerome came halfway down the stairs and called to me.
“Up here, Goodwin.”
I mounted to join him. On the landing above he turned to face me.
“You’ll keep it brief. I’m telling you. Is that understood?”
“Sure.”
“My mother’s in bed but not asleep. The doctor didn’t give her sleeping pills because she doesn’t need them. Her heart isn’t as good as it might be, and what happened here night before last, and these two days—1 tried to persuade her not to see you, but she takes a lot of persuading- You’ll make it brief?”
“Sure.”
I followed him up to the third Hoor, which seemed a bad location for a woman with a weak heart, and into a room at the front. Inside I halted. Within range there was not one woman, but three. The one standing over
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by the bed, dark and small like Jerome, was Eve. The one who had been doing something at a bureau and turned as we entered was Phoebe, the child who, according to my day’s collection of scraps, most resembled her father. My quick glance at her gave me the impression that Father could have asked for no nicer compliment. Jerome was pronouncing my name, and I advanced to the bedside. As I did so there were steps to my rear and I swiveled my neck enough to get a glimpse of Mortimer and Daniel Bahr entering. That made it complete—all the six that Wolfe wanted to see!
But not for long. A voice of authority came from the bed.
“You children get out!”
“But mother-”
They all protested. From the way she insisted, not with any vehemence, it was obvious that she took obedience for granted, and she got it, though for a moment I thought Phoebe, who was said to resemble her father, might stick it. But she too went, the last one out, and closed the door after her as instructed.
“Well?” Mrs. Whitten demanded. She took in a long breath, with a long loud sigh. “What about Miss Alving?”
She was lying fiat on her back with a thin blue silk coverlet nearly up to her throat, and against the blue pillow her face was so pale that I might not have recognized her from the pictures and descriptions. That made her look older, of course, and then her hair was in no condition for public display. But the snap and fire were in her eyes, as specified, and the firm pointed chin was even exaggerated at that angle.
“What about her?” she repeated impatiently.
“Excuse me,” I apologized. “I was wondering if I should bother you after all—right now. You look sick.”
“I’m not sick. It’s only—my heart.” She took a long sighing breath. “What would you expect? What about Miss Alving?”
I could and would have done better if my mind had been on it, but it wasn’t. I couldn’t even remember which tack I had decided to take, because an interesting idea had not only entered my head but evicted all the previous tenants. But I couldn’t just turn on my heel and blow, so I spoke.
“I don’t want to be crude, Mrs. Whitten, but you understand that while you have your persona] situation and problems, other people have theirs. At least you will grant that the death of Floyd Whitten means more to Miss Alving than it does to people who never knew him, though they’re all reading about it and talking about it. The idea was for Nero Wolfe to have a little talk with you regarding certain aspects of the situation which are of special interest to Miss Alving.”
“I owe Miss Alving nothing.” Mrs. Whitten had raised her head from the pillow, aiming her eyes at me, but now she let it fall back, and again she
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sighed, taking in all the air she could get. “It is no secret that my husband knew her once, but their—it was ended when he got married. That is no secret either.”
“I know that,” I agreed. “But I couldn’t discuss things even if I knew about them. I’m just a messenger boy. My job was to arrange for Mr. Wolfe to talk with you, and it looks as if I’ll have to pass it up for now, since he never leaves his house to see anyone on business, and you can’t very well be expected to leave yours if your doctor has put you to bed.” I grinned down at her. “That’s why I apologized for bothering you. Maybe tomorrow or next day?” I backed away. “I’ll phone you, or Mr. Wolfe will.”
Her head had come up again. “You’re going to tell me,” she said in a tone that could not have been called a cluck, “exactly why Miss Alving sent you here to annoy me.”
“I can’t,” I told her from the door. “Because I don’t know. And I promised your son I’d make it brief.” I turned the knob and pulled. “You’ll be hearing from us.”
Two daughters and a son were out on the landing. “Okay,” I told them cheerfully, got by, and started down. Bahr and Mortimer were in the reception hall, and I noddled as I breezed past, opened the door for myself, and was out.
Since what I wanted was the nearest phone booth, I turned left, toward Madison, and one block down, at the comer, entered a drug store.
Routine would have been to call Wolfe and get his opinion of my interesting idea, but he had sicked me onto them with nothing to go by but his snooty remark that circumstances might offer suggestions, so I went right past him. I could have got what I wanted from 2oth Street, but if I got a break and my hunch grew feathers I didn’t want the Homicide boys in on it, so the number I dialed was that of the Gazette office. Lon Cohen was always there until midnight, so I soon had him.
“I’m looking,” I told him, “for a good doctor to pierce my ears for earrings, and I think I’ve found one. Call me at this number”—I gave it to him— “and tell me who New York license UMX four three three one seven belongs to.”
He had me repeat it, which shouldn’t have been necessary with a veteran newspaperman. I hung up and did my waiting outside the booth, since the temperature inside was well over a hundred. The phone rang in five minutes, exactly par for that routine item of research, and a voice—not Lon’s, for he was a busy man at that time of night—gave me a name and address: