The Second Confession

Chapter 2

A couple of hours later, at five to two, Wolfe returned his empty coffee cup to the saucer, pushed his chair back, got all of him upright, walked out of the dining room, and headed down the hall toward his elevator. I, having followed, called to his half an acre of back, “How about three minutes in the office first?”

He turned. “I thought you were going to see that man with a daughter.”

“I am, but you won’t talk business during meals, and I read Bascom’s reports, and I’ve got questions.”

He shot a glance at the door to the office, saw how far away it was, growled, “All right, come on up,” and turned and made for the elevator.

If he has his rules so do I, and one of mine is that a three-by-four private elevator with Wolfe in it does not need me too, so I took the stairs. One flight up was Wolfe’s bedroom and a spare. Two flights up was my bedroom and another spare. The third flight put me on the roof. There was no dazzling blaze of light, as in winter, since this was June and the shade slats were all rolled down, but there was a blaze of color from the summer bloomers, especially in the middle room. Of course I saw it every day, and I had business on my mind, but even so I slowed up as I passed a bench of white and yellow Dendrobium bensoniae that were just at their peak.

Wolfe was in the potting room, taking his coat off, with a scowl all ready for me.

“Two things,” I told him curtly. “First, Bascom not only—”

He was curter. “Did Mr. Bascom get any lead at all to the Communist party?”

“No. But he—”

“Then he got nothing for us.” Wolfe was rolling up his shirt sleeves. “We’ll discuss his reports after I’ve read them. Did he have good men on it?”

“He sure did. His best.”

“Then why should I hire an army to stalk the same phantom, even with Mr. Sperling’s money? You know what that amounts to, trying to track a Communist down, granting that he is one — especially when what is wanted is not presumption, but proof. Bah. A will-o’-the-wisp. I defined the objective and Mr. Sperling agreed. See him and get details, yes. Get invited to his home, socially. Meet Mr. Rony and form an opinion of him. More important, form one of the daughter, as intimately and comprehensively as possible. Make appointments with her. Seize and hold her attention. You should be able to displace Mr. Rony in a week, a fortnight at the most — and that’s the objective.”

“I’ll be damned.” I shook my head reproachfully. “You mean make a pass at her.”

“Your terms are yours, and I prefer mine. Mr. Sperling said his daughter is excessively curious. Transfer her curiosity from Mr. Rony to you.”

“You mean break her heart.”

“You can stop this side of tragedy.”

“Yeah, and I can stop this side of starting.” I looked righteous and outraged. “You’ve gone a little too far. I like being a detective, and I like being a man, with all that implies, but I refuse to degrade whatever glamour I may—”

“Archie!” He snapped it.

“Yes, sir.”

“With how many young women whom you met originally through your association with my business have you established personal relationships?”

“Between five and six thousand. But that’s not—”

“I’m merely suggesting that you reverse the process and establish the personal relationship first. What’s wrong with that?”

“Everything.” I shrugged. “Okay. Maybe nothing. It depends. I’ll take a look at her.”

“Good. You’re going to be late.” He started for the supply shelves.

I raised my voice a little. “However, I’ve still got a question, or two, rather. Bascom’s boys had a picnic trying to tail Rony. The first time out, before anything could have happened to make him suspicious, he had his nose up and pulled a fade. From then on not only did they have to use only the best, but often even that wasn’t good enough. He knew the whole book and some extra chapters. He may or may not be a Communist, but he didn’t learn all that in Sunday school.”

“Pfui. He’s a lawyer, isn’t he?” Wolfe said contemptuously. He took a can of Elgetrol from the shelf and began shaking it. “Confound it, let me alone.”

“I will in a minute. The other thing, three different times, times when they didn’t lose him, he went into Bischoff’s Pet Shop on Third Avenue and stayed over an hour, and he doesn’t keep any pets.”

Wolfe stopped shaking the can of Elgetrol. He looked at it as if he didn’t know what it was, hesitated, put the can back on the shelf, and looked at me.

“Oh,” he said, not curtly. “He did?”

“Yes, sir.”

Wolfe looked around, saw the oversized chair in its place, and went to it and sat down.

I wasn’t gratified at having impressed him. In fact, I would have preferred to pass the chance up, but I hadn’t dared. I remembered too well a voice — a hard, slow, precise voice, cold as last week’s corpse — which I had heard only three times altogether, on the telephone. The first time had been in January 1946, and the second and third had been more than two years later, while we were looking for the poisoner of Cyril Orchard. Furthermore, I remembered the tone of Wolfe’s voice when he said to me, when we had both hung up after the second phone call, “I should have signaled you off, Archie, as soon as I recognized his voice. I tell you nothing because it is better for you to know nothing. You are to forget that you know his name. If ever, in the course of my business, I find that I am committed against him and must destroy him, I shall leave this house, find a place where I can work — and sleep and eat if there is time for it — and stay there until I have finished.”

I have seen Wolfe tangle with some tough bozos in the years I’ve been with him, but none of them has ever had him talking like that.

Now he was sitting glaring at me as if I had put vinegar on his caviar.

“What do you know about Bischoff’s Pet Shop?” he demanded.

“Nothing to speak of. I only know that last November, when Bischoff came to ask you to take on a job, you told him you were too busy and you weren’t, and when he left and I started beefing you told me that you were no more eager to be committed for Arnold Zeck than against him. You didn’t explain how you knew that that pet shop is a branch of Zeck’s far-flung shenanigans, and I didn’t ask.”

“I told you once to forget that you know his name.”

“Then you shouldn’t have reminded me of it. Okay, I’ll forget again. So I’ll go down and phone Sperling that you’re too busy and call it off. He hasn’t—”

“No. Go and see him. You’re late.”

I was surprised. “But what the hell? What’s wrong with my deducting? If Rony went three times in a month to that pet shop, and probably more, and stayed over an hour, and doesn’t keep pets, and I deduce that he is presumably an employee or something of the man whose name I forget, what—”

“Your reasoning is quite sound. But this is different. I was aware of Mr. Bischoff’s blemish, no matter how, when he came to me, and refused him. I have engaged myself to Mr. Sperling, and how can I scuttle?” He looked up at the clock. “You’d better go.” He sighed. “If it could be managed to keep one’s self-esteem without paying for it...”

He went and got the can of Elgetrol and started shaking it, and I headed out.