Rex Stout – Nero Wolfe – Final Deduction

More interesting was his reaction to the news that Margot was coming to see Wolfe. It fussed him more than anything Wolfe had said to him. When he said he didn’t believe his mother had told her that, he had to squeeze it through his teeth. Evidently he had some strong feeling about his sister, and it wasn’t brotherly love. Wolfe tried to ask him questions about Dinah Utley and her relations with Purcell and Frost and Margot, but got no usable answers. Noel wanted to be damn sure that Wolfe wasn’t going to let Margot talk him into switching to her. He even offered to bring Uncle Ralph that evening and Andrew Frost in the morning. When Fritz announced dinner he followed Wolfe to the dining-room door, and I had to take his arm and start him to the front.

Returning and entering the dining room, I found that Wolfe had pulled his chair out but hadn’t sat. “A grotesque venture,” he grunted. “Preposterous. Will that woman be punctual?”

“Probably not.” I pulled my chair back. “She’s not the punctual type.”

“But she may be. You’ll have to be at the phone with your coffee to get Saul and Fred and Orrie. In my room in the morning at eight, and in the office with you at nine.” Fritz was there with the stuffed clams, and he sat and took the spoon and fork. He couldn’t have sat before giving me instructions because that would have been talking business during a meal, and by heck a rule is a rule is a rule. As I helped myself to clams I held my breath, because if you smell them, mixed with shallots, chives, chervil, mushrooms, bread crumbs, sherry, and dry white wine, you take so many that you don’t leave enough room for the duckling roasted in cider with Spanish sauce as revised by Wolfe and Fritz, leaving out the carrot and parsley and putting anchovies in. As I ate the clams I remarked to myself that we darned well had better find at least some leavings of the half a million, since Saul and Fred and Orrie came to twenty-five bucks an hour, plus expenses.

I don’t know how Wolfe first got the notion that when I’ve had one good look at a woman and heard her speak, especially if she’s under thirty, I can answer any question he wants to ask about her, but I know he still has it, chiefly on account of little items like my saying that Margot Tedder wouldn’t be punctual. She was twenty-five minutes late. Of course if she had been on time I would have commented that she must need some ready cash quick. When you once get a reputation, or it gets you, you’re stuck with it for good.

I have said that from hearsay she kept her chin up so she could look down her nose, and her manners when she entered the old brownstone didn’t contradict it. Crossing the threshold, she gave me a nod for a butler, though I hadn’t seen one at 994 Fifth Avenue, and when I took her to the office she stopped at the edge of the big rug, looked it over from side to side and end to end, and asked Wolfe, “Is that a Kazak?”

“No,” he said. “Shirvan.”

“You can’t possibly appreciate it. Is it yours?”

“I doubt it. It was given to me in nineteen thirty-two, in Cairo, by a man to whom I had rendered a service, and I suspected he had stolen it in Kandahar. If it wasn’t rightfully his, it isn’t rightfully mine. But of course illegality of ownership does not extend indefinitely. If my possession of that rug were challenged by an heir of the Kandahar prince who once owned it, or by one of his wives or concubines, I would enter a defense. It would be a borderline case. After sufficient time legal ownership is undisputed. Your grandfather was a bandit; some of his forays were almost certainly actionable. But if a descendant of one of his victims tried to claim that fur thing you are wearing, she would be laughed at. I’m pleased that you recognize the quality of the rug, though only an ignoramus could mistake it for a Kazak. Kazaks have a long pile. You are Margot Tedder? I am Nero Wolfe.” He pointed to the red leather chair. “Sit down and tell me what you want.”

She had opened her mouth a couple of times to cut in on him, but Wolfe in full voice is not easy to interrupt, particularly if his eyes are pinning you. “I told you on the phone what I want,” she said.

“You will please sit down, Miss Tedder. I like eyes at a level.”

She glanced at me. The poor girl was stuck. She didn’t want to sit down because he had ordered her to, but to stay on her feet would be silly. She compromised. One of the yellow chairs was at the end of my desk, and she came and sat on it. As I have said, when she walked you might have thought her hips were in a cast, but sitting she wasn’t at all hard to look at.

“I didn’t come,” she said, “to listen to a lecture about legal ownership by a detective. You know what I came for. My mother paid you sixty thousand dollars for nothing. All you did was put that thing in the paper. For sixty thousand dollars you certainly ought to help me find the money my mother gave the kidnaper. That’s more than ten per cent.”

Wolfe grunted. “Twelve. That might be thought adequate. How would I go about it? Have you a suggestion?”

“Of course not. You would go about it the way any detective would. That’s your business.”

“Could I count on your cooperation?”

She frowned at him, her chin up. “How could I cooperate?”

He didn’t frown back. Having put her in her place, he didn’t mind if she didn’t stay put. “That would depend on developments,” he said. “Take a hypothesis. Do you know what a hypothesis is?”

“You’re being impertinent.”

“Not without provocation. You didn’t know what a Shirvan is. The hypothesis: If I took the job you offer, I would want to begin by asking you some questions. For example, what were your relations with Dinah Utley?”

She stared. “What on earth has that got to do with finding the money?”

He nodded. “I thought so. You’re under a misapprehension. You expected me to pit my wits and Mr Goodwin’s eyes and legs against the horde of official investigators who are combing the countryside and looking under every stone. Pfui. That would be infantile. I would have to approach it differently, and the best way-indeed, the only way-would be through Dinah Utley. You know that Mr Goodwin and I suspected that she was implicated in the kidnaping; you heard your mother and Mr Goodwin discuss it Wednesday afternoon. Now we don’t suspect it; we know it. Therefore-”

“How do you know it? Because she was there and was killed?”

“Partly that, but there were other factors. She was here Tuesday afternoon. Therefore at least one of the kidnapers was someone with whom she had had contacts, and I would want to learn all I could about her. How well did you know her?”

“Why-she was my mother’s secretary. She lived in the house, but she didn’t regard herself as a servant. I thought my mother let her take too many liberties.”

“What kind of liberties?”

“Different kinds. She ate with us. If we had people in for cocktails, she came in if she felt like it. If I asked her to do something, she might and she might not. You might have thought we were equals. You know, I must say, I think this is clever. Perhaps you are clever. I should have thought of this myself, about Dinah, only I really don’t know much about her. She was there seven years, and I suppose she had friends of her own class, but I never saw them.”

“Would your brother know more about her?”

“He might.” She nodded. “Yes, I’m sure he would. He did things with her just to irritate me-like playing cards with her. Gin rummy in the library. You might have thought they were equals, and perhaps they should have been. Once he took her to a prizefight.”

“That sounds promising. I would want to talk with him. I don’t want to shock you, Miss Tedder, but the question should be asked. Is it conceivable that the kidnaping was a joint enterprise of Miss Utley and your brother? That your brother had a hand in it?”

“Good heavens.” Her lips parted. She stared. “Of course it’s conceivable. That’s the second thing you’ve thought of that I should have thought of.”

“Given time, undoubtedly you would have. Your emotions have interfered with your mental processes. We would-“

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