Gambit

5

In the marble lobby of the marble tenement on Fifth Avenue in the Seventies, I was expected. The man in uniform didn’t even let me finish. When I said, “Name, Archie Goodwin, to see—”, he broke in, “Yes, Mr. Goodwin,” and showed me to the elevator. But he phoned while I was being lifted, for when I emerged on the sixteenth floor the client was there, standing in the doorway. She put a hand out, not as an offer to shake but asking for help. I took it with my right and gave it a pat with my left as I told her, “Nineteen minutes. Taxi drivers don’t like snow.”

Inside, in a foyer the size of Wolfe’s office, after I had shed my hat and coat she led me through an arch and across a dozen yards of rug to a fireplace. On the way I took a glance around. Pictures, chairs, a piano in a corner, doodads on stands, potted plants on a rack that took up most of the far end, lamps here and there. The fireplace, where a fire was going, was three times as wide as the one Wolfe used for burning dictionaries.

“Sit down,” Sally said. “I’ll bring my mother, but I don’t know what you’re going to say to her. Do you?”

“Of course not. It depends. What’s the pinch?”

“She says I must call it off — with Nero Wolfe. She’s going to tell Dan Kalmus to tell my father, and I know what he’ll say. I’m sure he will.” She put finger tips on my arm. “I’m going to call you Archie.”

“Good. I answer to it.”

“I can’t call him Nero, I don’t think anybody could, but I can call you Archie, and I’m going to. This morning, did I say this is the first good thing I have ever done?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it is, and I’m doing it, but I have to know somebody is with me. Really with me.” Her fingers were around my arm. “Will you? Are you? Archie?”

My mind wasn’t. It was still with the facts. But having it put to me straight like that, if I had tried hedging I wouldn’t have been loyal to my concept of the obligations of manhood. It had to be either yes or no. “Okay,” I said, “since it’s the first good thing you’ve ever done I’m with you all the way. Anyhow, you’re Nero Wolfe’s client and I work for him, so everything fits. As for what I’ll say to your mother, I’ll decide that when I see her. If she’s willing to—”

I stopped because her eyes left me. With her back to the fireplace, she had the room in view and I didn’t. I turned. A woman had entered and was approaching. Sally spoke. “I was coming for you, mother. Mr. Wolfe couldn’t come. This is Archie Goodwin.”

I would have appreciated better light. The lamps were shaded and not close. As she came near the firelight played on her face, but that’s tricky; one second she looked younger than her daughter, and the next, she was a hag. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t shake hands, Mr. Goodwin,” she said. “I wouldn’t mean it. Please sit down.”

She didn’t sit, she sank, into an armchair on the right. I took one at right angles to her and twisted to face her. Sally stood. I spoke. “Your daughter asked me what I was going to say to you, and I told her I didn’t know. She has hired Nero Wolfe to do a job for her and I work for him. If I tell you anything about it, it will have to be with your daughter’s consent. She’s the client.”

Her eyes were brown like Sally’s, but not as big. “You’re a private detective,” she said.

“Right.”

“It’s grotesque.” She shook her head. “A private detective telling me my daughter is his client and he can talk to me only with her consent. But of course it’s all grotesque. My husband in jail charged with murder. He has a lawyer, a good one. My daughter can’t hire a private detective without his approval. I have told her that, and now you must tell her. That’s... isn’t that wrong? It must be.”

Taking her in, I was making allowances. When lots of men had enjoyed being in the same room with her (according to Sally), and when Lon Cohen had been bewitched by her on sight, the circumstances had been different. The strain of the past ten days had to be considered, and allowing for it, I conceded that I too might have enjoyed being in the same room with her. I suspected that she might even have what will pull three men out of five, that without knowing it she could give you the feeling that she knew absolutely nothing but understood everything. It’s a rare gift. I once knew a woman in her sixties who — but Mrs. Blount had asked me a question. She had a long way to go to her sixties.

“That depends,” I said. “If your daughter’s over twenty-one and she pays Mr. Wolfe with her own money, who can say it’s wrong?”

“I can. I’m her mother.”

I nodded. “Sure, but that doesn’t settle it, that just starts an argument. If by ‘wrong’ you mean illegal or unethical, the answer is no. Isn’t it fairly simple, Mrs. Blount? Isn’t it just a difference of opinion? Your daughter thinks the services of Nero Wolfe are needed, and you don’t. Isn’t that it?”

“No. I mean it’s not just a difference of opinion.”

“Then what is it?”

Her lips parted and closed again. Her eyes went to Sally and came back to me. “I don’t know what my daughter has told you,” she said.

I turned to Sally. “This isn’t going to get us anywhere unless I have a free hand. Unless you turn me loose, no strings. Yes or no?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I’m not a wizard, Sally.”

“That’s all right if you meant what you said about being with me.”

“I did. Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

I turned to Mrs. Blount. “Your daughter told Mr. Wolfe that her father thinks Dan Kalmus is competent to handle his defense, and you do too, but she doesn’t; that Kalmus may be good on business matters but he is no good for this; and she is afraid that if it is left to Kalmus her father will be convicted of murder. So I will say it’s a difference of opinion. Admitting that she may be wrong, it’s her opinion, and it’s her money. And even if she’s wrong and Kalmus makes good, why all the fuss? She’ll have the satisfaction of making a try, her father will be free, and Mr. Wolfe will collect a fee, so everyone will be happy. The only ground for objection is that Mr. Wolfe might mess it up and make it tougher instead of easier, and of course for him and me that’s out. It would also be out for anyone who knows his record.”

She was slowly shaking her head, and I, looking at her, was getting a faint glimmer of the impression she had made on Lon Cohen. It didn’t come from her eyes or from anything about her you could name, it simply came somehow from her to me, the idea that though she could explain nothing, she didn’t have to; between her and me no explanation was needed. Of course that can come to a man from any woman he has fallen for, or is falling, but I wasn’t falling for her, far from it, and yet I was distinctly feeling it. Probably a witch and didn’t know it, Lon had said. A damned dangerous woman, whether she knew it or not.

She spoke. “It’s not that, Mr. Goodwin.”

Guessing what a woman means is usually the shortest way, but guessing that one wrong would have been risky, so I asked, “What’s not what, Mrs. Blount?”

“Read this,” she said, and extended a hand with a folded paper.

I took it and unfolded it. It was a memo size, 4 × 6, good quality, with from the desk of Daniel Kalmus printed at the top. Written on it with a ball-point pen was this:

I read it twice, folded it, and handed it back to her. “I still say it’s a difference of opinion. Of course you have shown that to your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Have you any idea what the fact is, the fact that your husband says is known only to him and Kalmus?”

“No.”

I turned. “Have you, Sally?”

“No,” she said.

“Not even a wild guess?”

“No.”

“You see why this is wrong,” Mrs. Blount said. “Mr. Kalmus has spoken with me on the phone, and he says that item in the paper has already done harm because everyone will think he has hired Nero Wolfe. So tomorrow the paper must say that it was a mistake, that no one has hired Nero Wolfe. Whatever my daughter has paid him, that doesn’t matter, he can keep it.”

I looked up at Sally, who was still standing. My mind, still harping on the facts, of course excluding the one known only to Kalmus and Blount, wanted to grab at the excuse to ditch the whole damn mess. If Kalmus already had a fact that would do the trick, that was that; and if he didn’t, the chance that there was one somewhere and Wolfe and I could dig it up looked slimmer than ever. Of course we would have to return the twenty-two grand. Whenever Wolfe sent me on an errand without specific instructions the general instruction was that I was to use my intelligence guided by experience. I would have to go home and tell him that I had done so and had concluded that we should drop it. So I looked up at Sally. If she had been looking at me with any sign of doubt or funk I might have passed. But she had her big brown eyes aimed straight at her mother, no blinking, with her chin up and her lips tight. So I turned to Mrs. Blount and said, “All right, I admit it’s not just a difference of opinion.”

She nodded. “I was sure you would understand if I showed you that note from my husband.”

I shook my head. “That’s beside the point. The point is that your daughter has paid Mr. Wolfe twenty-two thousand dollars, and in order to—”

“I said he could keep it.”

“He only keeps money he earns. In order to get that amount she cleaned out her bank account and sold her jewelry. A girl doesn’t sell her jewelry just like that.” I snapped my fingers. “I’m not telling you now what she told Mr. Wolfe, I’m telling you what I inferred from what she did tell him. She told him three times that Kalmus is in love with you. I inferred that she thinks her father will be convicted of murder not just because Kalmus is incompetent, but because with Blount convicted and sent up either to the chair or for life, you would be loose. So if that’s what—”

“Stop,” she said. She was sitting straight, stiff, staring at me, frowning. “I’m not sure I understand. Are you saying that Mr. Kalmus wants my husband to be convicted?”

“No. I’m saying that I believe your daughter thinks he does. So she sold her jewelry. And she certainly deserves—”

“Stop.” She was on her feet. She moved, across to her daughter, and gripped her arms. “Sally,” she said, “my dear Sally. You can’t think... you can’t!”

“Yes, I can,” Sally said. “I do. You know he’s in love with you. You know he would do anything, anything, to have you. Are you blind, mother? Are you blind? Do you actually not see how men look at you? How Dan Kalmus always looks at you? I was going... last week I was going to—”

A voice came booming, “Anybody home?”

I turned. A man had passed through the arch and was coming. Mrs. Blount said, raising her voice, “We’re busy, Mort,” but, not stopping, he said, “Maybe I can help,” and, arriving, kissed her on both cheeks. Sally had backed away. He turned for a look at me, started to say something, stopped, and looked some more. “You’re Archie Goodwin,” he said. “I’ve seen you around.” He offered a hand. “I’m Mort Farrow. You may have seen me too, but I’m not a famous detective so I don’t get pointed out.” He wheeled to his aunt. “I had that dinner date, but I broke away as soon as I could. I thought something might be stirring when I heard about Nero Wolfe. Was it you, or Dan? Or Uncle Matt? Brief me, huh?”

A fine moment for a six-foot big-mouth to break in. If I had been his aunt or uncle and he had been living under my roof I would have trimmed him down to size long ago. But Anna Blount only said, no protest, “It was a mistake, Mort — about Nero Wolfe. I was explaining to Mr. Goodwin. I’ll tell you about it later.” Her eyes came to me. “So you see, Mr. Goodwin, it was just a — a mistake. A misunderstanding. I’m sorry, we regret it very much, and Mr. Kalmus will tell the newspaper. As for the money, please tell Nero Wolfe—”

She stopped, sending her eyes past me, and I turned. There had been a sound of a gong off somewhere, and through the arch I caught a glimpse of a maid’s uniform passing in the foyer. In a moment a man’s voice came, and in another moment the man appeared. He halted to dart a glance around, then came on, and Mrs. Blount took three steps to meet him. As he took her hand he said something so low I didn’t catch it, and she said, “Mr. Wolfe didn’t come, but Mr. Goodwin is here and I’ve been explaining to him.” I hadn’t sat down again after rising to shake with Morton Farrow, and so was on my feet when the newcomer, nodding to Sally and Farrow, faced me, extended a hand, and said, “I’m Dan Kalmus. In a case one of my partners tried a couple of years ago he had to cross-examine you and he hasn’t forgotten it.”

I might or might not have known him from the picture the Gazette had had. In the flesh he didn’t have much flesh, just bones and skin — felt on his hand and seen on his jaw and cheeks. With no wrinkles or creases and his full share of hair with no gray, he didn’t look the fifty-one years Sally had given him.

“I’m afraid I have,” I said. “So he must have made a monkey of me.”

“He did not. On the contrary.” He was squinting at me. “Mrs. Blount says she has explained the situation to you, but can I add anything? Do you want to ask me anything?”

“Yes. What’s the fact that is known only to you and Mr. Blount?”

His eyes widened for a second, then squinted again. “You know,” he said, “that might be a good question if Wolfe were on the case. But since he isn’t, since Mrs. Blount has explained, it’s out of order. You know?”

I decided to pass the buck to Sally, since it really depended on her. If she hung on with Kalmus present, after the fur I had started flying, that would settle it for good as far as I was concerned. “That would be a good answer,” I said, “if Mr. Wolfe were out of the case. But as far as I know, he isn’t. Let’s ask Miss Blount, she hired him.” I turned to her. “What about it? Do you want out?”

“No.” It came out a croak, and she repeated it. “No.”

“Do you want Mr. Wolfe to go on with it? And me?”

“Yes.”

“Then I have a sugges—”

“Now come off it, Sally.” Kalmus had turned to face her. “You stubborn little imp. If your dad were here — anyway he is, by proxy.” He tapped his chest. “Me. It’s an order, from him, by him, and for him. You can’t disobey an order from your dad.”

“Yes I can.” She had drawn back when he stepped close. “I would even if he were here and told me himself. He trusts you and I don’t.”

“Nonsense. You’re not qualified to judge my professional competence. You don’t even—”

“It’s not just your professional competence. I don’t trust you. Tell him, Archie.”

I told his back, “Miss Blount considers that if her father is convicted and sentenced you can make a set at his wife, and she thinks that that may be affecting your judgment. It was on account of that—”

He had whirled and pulled a fist back, his right, and was starting it for my face. Anna Blount made a grab for his arm and missed. The nephew took a step and stopped. I could have ducked and jabbed him in the kidney, but he was so slow it was simpler to sidestep and get his wrist as it came and give it a good twist. It hurt, but the damn fool started his left, and I jerked him around and as he went down to his knees I sent my eyes to Farrow, who had taken another step.

“I wouldn’t,” I said. “I’m probably in better condition and I’ve had more practice.” I looked at Kalmus, who was scrambling up. “If you must hit somebody, hit Miss Blount. I was merely telling you what she thinks. That’s why she came to Nero Wolfe, and that’s why she won’t let go.” I turned to her. “I was saying, I have a suggestion. It’s not going to be very pleasant for you here. If you’d like to spend the night with some friend, and if you want to pack a bag, I’ll be glad to take you. I’ll wait downstairs. Of course if you prefer to stay here and take it—”

“No.” She moved. “I’ll pack a bag.” She headed for the arch, and I followed. From behind, Mrs. Blount said something, but we kept going. In the foyer she said, “I won’t be long. You’ll wait?” I said I would, took my hat and coat, let myself out, and pushed the elevator button.

I put it at fifty-fifty, an even chance that either her mother or Kalmus, or both, would talk her out of leaving, and down in the lobby I considered alternatives. My watch said 10:41. I would give her half an hour, and then I would go back up, or I would go to a phone booth on Madison Avenue and ring her, or I would go home, report to Wolfe, and let him use his intelligence guided by experience. But she saved me the trouble of deciding. I had just looked at my watch and seen 10:53 when the elevator door closed, and in a couple of minutes it opened again, and there she was, in the pallid mink, with a matching turban, and luggage — not just an overnight bag, a medium-size brown leather suitcase.

Her face was glum but grim, with her jaw set. The hallman was coming for the suitcase, but I was there first. I asked him to get a taxi, and when he was outside I asked her if she had phoned someone, and she said no, she hadn’t decided where to go. She was going on, but the hallman got a break on a snowy night. A cab pulled up at the curb outside, and I ushered her out, let the flunky put the luggage in with the driver, handed him a quarter, got in after the client, told the hackie the first stop would be the nearest phone booth, and we rolled. Sally started to say something, but I put a finger to my lips and shook my head. The hackie might not only know the address of Matthew Blount who was booked for murder, he might even have recognized his daughter from her picture in the paper, and there was no point in letting him in on the latest development. He turned right on Seventy-eighth Street, right again on Madison, and in a couple of blocks stopped in front of a drugstore.

I leaned forward to poke a dollar bill at him. “Here,” I said, “go in and blow it. Aspirin, cigarettes, lipstick for your wife, whatever you need. We’re going in conference. I’ll come in for you, say ten minutes, maybe less.”

“Can’t,” he said. “The law.”

“Nuts. If a cop shows I’ll tell him it’s an emergency.” I got out my card case and showed him my license. He gave it a look, said, “Oh. How-do-you-do,” took the dollar, climbed out, and went.

Sally gave me her face. “I’m glad you did that,” she blurted. “I’m glad.”

“Sure,” I said, “I thought we could use a little privacy. Taxi drivers talk too much. Now if you’ve decided—”

“I don’t mean that. I mean I’m glad you told my mother. And him. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. Now they know. How did you know?”

“The deductive process. I’m a licensed detective, so I’m allowed to guess. Have you decided where you’re going?”

“Yes, I’m going to a hotel — some little hotel. You know about hotels, don’t you?”

“Yeah. But... haven’t you any friends with an extra bed?”

“Of course I have. I was going to phone one, but then I thought what would I say? All of a sudden like this, eleven o’clock at night... I’d have to give some reason, and what could I say? With all the talk...” She shook her head. “I’m going to a hotel.”

“Well.” I gave it a look. “That might be even worse. You could use another name, but if someone spots you and the papers get onto it, talk about talk. Good headlines. BLOUNT’S DAUGHTER FLEES HOME IN MIDDLE OF NIGHT. Also possibly that I escorted you. The hallman. I showed the cab driver my license.”

“Oh. That would be awful.” She eyed me. Silence. My hand was there on the seat between us, and she touched it. “It was your suggestion,” she said.

“Ouch,” I said. “But so it was. Okay. As you may know, I live where I work, in Nero Wolfe’s house. There’s a room above his on the third floor which we call the south room. It has a good bed, two windows, its own bath, hot and cold running water, a Kashan rug fifteen by eleven, and a bolt on the door. The best cook in New York, Fritz Brenner, would get your breakfast, which you could eat either from a tray in your room or in the kitchen with me. His sour milk griddlecakes are beyond any—”

“But I couldn’t,” she blurted. “I might have to stay... I don’t know how long...”

“It’s cheaper by the month. We’ll take it out of the twenty-two grand. Anyway, you couldn’t pay a hotel bill, you’ve even sold your jewelry. Of course you’ll never live it down, shacking up with three unmarried men, and one of them a Frenchman, but you can’t sleep in the park.”

“You’re making a joke of it, Archie. It’s no joke.”

“The hell it isn’t. That a girl wearing a ten-thousand-dollar coat, with her own bed in a sixteen-room Fifth Avenue apartment, with a flock of friends so-called, with credit in any hotel in town, needs a safe place to sleep? Certainly it’s a joke.”

She tried to smile and nearly made it. “All right,” she said. “Some day maybe I can laugh at it. All right.”

I got out and headed for the drugstore to get the hackie.