Pine said, not getting up, “Gentlemen, this is Mr. Archie Goodwin. Goodwin, this is a joint meeting of the Board of Directors and some of the executive staff. It is a special meeting, called to consider the matter of the death of Mr. Kerr Naylor. We have discussed it at some length in all its aspects. The suggestion has been made that we instruct Nero Wolfe, your employer, to continue his investigation and extend it to include Mr. Naylor’s death. Some of those present think that before deciding that point we should—” He stopped because old George Naylor uttered an emphatic word. It was a word often heard among engineers doing field work, truck drivers, and detectives when working under strain, but I wouldn’t have expected it to be used at a directors’ meeting.
The founder added to it, “It’s already decided! Certainly Wolfe continues!” It wasn’t from him, I noted, that his son had got a tenor voice. His was baritone and still had volume and force, though his age was in it too.
There were murmurs. Pine told him with courteous deference but with not quite all the impatience filtered out, “It was agreed, I thought, Mr. Naylor, that we should hear from Goodwin first. Goodwin, tell us what you have done since you came here last Wednesday.” Nothing was said about sitting down, in spite of five empty chairs, so, seeing that one there at my end was vacant, I got into it and adjusted myself comfortably.
“Do you want the high spots,” I asked, “or all the trimmings?” Pine said to go ahead and they would stop me if it was too detailed. I did so. I gave them what I thought should be enough to satisfy, but nothing to compare with one of my all-out performances with Wolfe, and skipping a few items entirely, as for instance my first encounter with Gwynne Ferris when she put on her non-spelling act. They interrupted me whenever they felt like it, to ask questions or make critical comments, and when I got to the scene at the door of Sumner Hoff’s office, where Kerr Naylor told me he knew who killed Waldo Moore, they came at me in pairs and threes. Evidently there were two schools of thought and maybe more.
One bird told me to my teeth, “I knew Kerr Naylor twenty years, Goodwin, and I never knew him to tell a lie. I don’t know you at all!” That specimen had been riding me from the start and I was developing an attitude toward him. His age was about halfway between mine and the founders, he was by far the best-dressed man in the room, he had a wide mouth with full lips, and he loved to interrupt people. I had a retort on its way to the tongue, but old George Naylor got in ahead.
“Nonsense! Kerr was an inveterate liar from the time he was a baby!” That didn’t set the best-dressed man back any. “Of course,” he told me, “Kerr Naylor is dead. But you’re not!” His tone implied that that was regrettable.
“I keep a list,” I said, “of the people who call me a liar. What’s your name?” He smiled at me condescendingly with his wide mouth.
“You’re too old to hit,” I conceded, standing up. “But I know a trick that’s supposed to make dumb animals talk, and it would be fun to try—” “His name’s Ferguson,” a wiry little guy with a mustache tossed in. He had a dry look and a dry voice and was as crisp as Melba toast. “Sit down, Goodwin. Emmet Ferguson. He’s a lawyer and owns most of a bank and has been trying for ten years to have Kerr Naylor made president of this company. The last time the vote went against him nine to five, and—” “Is this proper?” an indignant voice demanded. “With an outsider—” “If you had made Kerr president,” old George Naylor declared, “I would have come down here and kicked him out myself! He was my son, but he couldn’t have run this business!” “He wanted to bad enough,” the wiry little guy muttered.
I had sunk back into my chair and was trying to convey the impression that I wasn’t present, hoping they would go on with the family quarrel, which seemed interesting. They did, long enough for me to infer that the reason Kerr Naylor had refused to be an officer of the company was because.he was holding out for top billing, namely president. Apparently the Board, which of course had the say formally, had been a solid two to one for Pine, but at that Kerr Naylor had had five votes. I wondered which side Cecily had been on and how much weight old George Naylor had been able to pull. About all I got was the general idea, for Pine, presiding, stopped it before long and told me to proceed.
With the question of who was a liar, Kerr Naylor or me, out of the way, or anyhow tabled, I was permitted to continue without many interruptions. I covered the ground adequately, right up to the end, but still omitting details which I thought they could get along without, such as the recent developments concerning Hester Livsey. When I was through they asked questions, with the best-dressed man furnishing more than his share, until Pine put in: “We’ve been at this over two hours, gentlemen, and it’s time we reached some decisions. The first question is what to do about Nero Wolfe. Goodwin, if we instruct Wolfe to continue the investigation, and extend it to include the death of Mr. Naylor, what could he do?” Half of them started to talk. Pine tapped with his gavel and asserted the authority of the chair: “Let Goodwin tell us.” I looked around at them, giving an extra half a second to Emmet Ferguson. “Mr.
Wolfe could catch the murderer,” I stated, “if that’s what you want. He—” “Why not the police?” Ferguson asked offensively. “That’s their job.” “I am not,” I told the table, “going to argue with Babblemouth Ferguson. Shall I go on?” The wiry little guy threw back his head and laughed. Someone said, “Shut up.
Emmet, or we’ll be here all day.” “It all depends,” I said. “If you think something about it is hotter than you like it, call Mr. Wolfe off immediately. If you would just as soon have the murderer caught but don’t really give a damn, let the cops do it, you would be wasting your money on Mr. Wolfe and he comes high. If you feel that you owe it to yourselves or to anyone else to make sure that the job isn’t muffed, and if you suspect that it may require something more than good standard detective work, you need Mr. Wolfe no matter what it costs. As to—” “You weren’t asked for a sales talk,” Ferguson sneered. “You were asked—” I merely lifted my voice. “As to what Mr. Wolfe could do, I don’t know. Nobody ever knows what Mr. Wolfe can do on a case until after he has done it. I could tell you what he has done, but it would take a week, and anyhow most of you have probably already heard some of it.” “I move,” the wiry little guy said, “that we authorize the president to engage Nero Wolfe—” The gavel sounded. “Wait a minute.” Pine addressed me, “Goodwin, will you step out to the reception room and wait there?” I glanced at my wrist. “I’m late for an appointment.” “We all are,” someone growled.
Pine said it wouldn’t take long, and I left.
Judging from the customers distributed around on the chairs in the reception room, some of them looking as if they were running short on patience, the appointments were piling up. One of them I recognized, an Assistant District Attorney, and I wondered which one of the gang in the Board Room he was waiting for. I fully expected to be kept there on my fundament for half an hour or more, and was debating whether to drop down to the lobby and tell Hester Livsey I was held up, when the executive sentinel arrived with word that I was wanted.
Evidently they had agreed with Pine that it was time to can the talk and make some decisions. Unless what they had decided was to ask me more questions.
But no, they had executed. As I approached the table Pine spoke to me.
“Goodwin, we wish to instruct Nero Wolfe to extend his investigation to include the death of Mr. Kerr Naylor. Do you need a letter?” “No, not with all these witnesses. Then it’s a straight murder job, and you might as well take me off the company payroll, with the understanding that I can come and go in the stock department. I assume we get cooperation?” “Certainly.” “Okay. Mr. Ferguson, Mr. Wolfe will be expecting you at his office at six o’clock today.” The best-dressed man goggled at me and his mouth came open. He was speechless.