The Missing Heiress

Chapter 16

Wolfe sighed. “It is time for yet another meeting with Saul, Fred, and Orrie, who should have recovered from their Albany expedition,” he said, omitting the words you will arrange it for eleven o’clock tomorrow. But then, I understood precisely what he meant without his having to be specific.

“I trust you all had a good night’s sleep,” Wolfe told the three in the office the next morning as they drank Fritz’s coffee. “Travel, even short trips, can be enervating.”

“I think we are all pretty well rested,” replied Saul, probably the only one of the trio who knew the definition of enervating. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we are ready for whatever you have in mind.”

“Excellent. Archie has been communicating with Lon Cohen, who was able to supply us with some information about Miles Hirsch.” Wolfe turned to me, and I gave them everything we had gotten from Lon about Hirsch.

“I’m surprised that I have never heard of him,” Saul said. “He must keep a low profile.”

“Cohen said Hirsch’s clip file is very thin,” I replied. “He probably likes it that way.”

“I would like to shine some light upon this shadowy gentleman,” Wolfe said. “Do you think you can learn more about his activities, nefarious or otherwise?”

“I don’t just think so, I know so,” Orrie added with his usual bravado. “Just turn us loose.”

“I agree with Orrie,” Saul said. “Having a place on Park Avenue means Hirsch must be spending a good chunk of his time in New York, which ought to help us. He’s got to eat, so we should be able to find some of his hangouts. Also, it just happens that I’m in touch with a man up in Saratoga Springs who knows his way around their racetrack. He may be able to give us a steer regarding Hirsch’s activities involving thoroughbreds.”

“Saul, by all means, communicate with your Saratoga Springs man,” Wolfe said. “To reiterate, we must cast a wide net to learn as much as possible about this individual, who spent time with Miss Carr in the Albany area. Are there any other suggestions?”

“As Saul says, the man has got to eat,” Fred added. “We need to divide up the Midtown restaurants, particularly the more expensive ones, which are the places Hirsch is most likely to dine.”

“And do we know his building on Park Avenue?” Orrie asked. “I can go over there and cozy up to the doorman.”

Wolfe turned to me. “Archie, his address?”

I gave the number to Orrie, who jotted it down in his notebook and announced that co-op would be his first stop after our meeting broke up.

“I can start hitting the restaurants,” Fred said. “Some of the maître d’s have lockjaw when asked who their regulars are, but others like to brag about the famous people who are habitués.”

“Habitués, eh? You’ve been working to improve your vocabulary. I am very impressed,” said a smirking Orrie, who never misses a chance to needle Fred, perhaps in envy of the other man’s plodding though tireless work ethic.

Durkin did not take the bait and just smiled tightly, while Saul played field general. “Okay, Mr. Wolfe, here is the plan: Orrie will start at that Park Avenue palace, while Fred and I will begin nosing around the swank eateries. We’ll put together a list, and I’ll take the ones east of Fifth Avenue in Midtown with Fred tackling the joints to the west. And, Orrie, when you’re done on Park Avenue, you work the spots from Twenty-Third Street south.”

If Cather did not like the assignment he was given, he remained mum, well aware that Panzer was a fair-haired boy in Wolfe’s book, never mind that Saul’s hair was as dark as a raven’s feathers.

The meeting broke up, the boys headed out on their assignments, and Wolfe went to the kitchen to monitor Fritz’s progress with lunch. If I were Fritz, I would banish Wolfe from his domain, but then, I am not owner of the brownstone and the employer of the best chef this side of Paris. And I really should not be too worried about Fritz Brenner, who has shown in the past that he can hold his own in any argument with his boss involving the use of such ingredients as tarragon, saffron, and sage.

Wolfe and I were in the office with coffee after lunch when the telephone rang — an excited Orrie Cather. “Archie, I’ve got a hot one,” he said as I signaled Wolfe to pick up his receiver.

“I am on the line, Orrie. What have you learned?”

“After our meeting, Mr. Wolfe, I talked to the doorman at Hirsch’s Park Avenue address and learned that he stays in New York about half the time, and that he likes Italian food. Then I started hitting the eateries in Little Italy. At the third restaurant I visited, La Trattoria Toscana, on Mulberry Street, which food lovers have told me is the best place in the neighborhood, I talked to the host, and bingo!”

“Go on, Orrie,” Wolfe snapped.

“This guy is named Antonio, no surprise in a place like that. I slipped him a fin, which I figured might not be enough, but damned if it didn’t set him to talking like a stool pigeon. Turns out that Miles Hirsch loves the joint and has dinner there at least once a week when he’s in town, sometimes more often. He usually eats with two or more others, sometimes one of them a woman.”

“Does he know when Mr. Hirsch will next visit the establishment?”

“No, but I’ve got that covered, Mr. Wolfe. I slipped good old Antonio another fin, and he said he will call me the next time Hirsch makes a reservation.”

“And when that occurs, you will telephone us immediately,” Wolfe said.

“Yes, sir, I will.”

“Satisfactory, Orrie.” After the call had ended, Wolfe turned to me. “Would it disconcert you to go to this restaurant and meet with Miles Hirsch?”

“I’m surprised you would ask. I don’t get disconcerted easily.”

“The man could very well be dangerous.”

“So can I, under the right circumstances. I assume you want to see Hirsch.”

“Your assumption is correct. Do you believe the act of bringing him here can be accomplished without violence?”

“I do. It is possible Orrie may call when you are upstairs with the orchids, or we are in the dining room.”

Wolfe scowled. “We will deal with that contingency if it occurs.”

We heard nothing from Orrie, Saul, or Fred the rest of the day, which meant the latter two had not discovered any restaurants patronized by Miles Hirsch. But we did have La Trattoria Toscana in our sights and had to hope we would get a call from Orrie Cather at some point.

That point came two days later, when Orrie phoned at two thirty and told me Hirsch had made a seven thirty reservation for that night.

After thanking Orrie and passing the information along to Wolfe, I told him I planned to be at the restaurant by eight o’clock.

“You will miss dinner.”

“But you won’t. If I can pry Hirsch loose, and that’s a big ‘if,’ I may be able to get him here by the time you are finished with your veal birds in casserole and have returned to the office.”

Wolfe made a face but said nothing and returned to his current book. He was grumpy because it was likely he would have to do some work tonight.

I managed to locate my favorite cabbie, Herb Aronson, who drove me to the restaurant on Mulberry Street. On our way down to Little Italy, I outlined the plan and told him I didn’t know how long I would be inside.

“Don’t worry, Archie. I’ll keep the motor — and the meter — running. And per your orders, I will not attempt to engage your guest in conversation.”

“Assuming I will be able to coax our guest to leave the restaurant and climb into your vehicle,” I said. “See you in a while.”

I went inside and saw a stout, dark-haired man in a tuxedo at a podium just inside the dining room door. “Are you Antonio?” I asked.

“I am, sir,” he said with the slightest of bows. “How may I assist you?”

“I have a message for Mr. Hirsch, and I understand that he is dining here tonight. Can you see that he gets this right now?”

Antonio knit his brow but nodded and took a folded sheet of paper from me on which I had printed, in block letters, two words. I watched as he strode across the half-filled dining room to a table in a back corner where three people sat — two men and a woman. The maître d’ handed my note to the smaller of the men, a wiry fellow with a long face and white hair.

As I stood at the podium, Antonio gestured in my direction as the man who had the note peered at me, finally rising and walking in my direction. “What is the meaning of this?” he snarled, waving the sheet and looking up at me. He was probably five foot six.

“You are Miles Hirsch?”

“I am.”

“Then the meaning should be obvious. My name is Archie Goodwin, and I work for the private investigator Nero Wolfe.”

“Wolfe, huh? I’ve heard of him. Fat guy, isn’t he? What do you — or he — want with me, for God’s sake?”

“Mr. Wolfe would like you to visit him in his office and discuss the name on that piece of paper you’re holding.”

Hirsch continued glowering at me with icy blue eyes. “You can go straight to hell.”

“That is where I may end up, all right. But for the present, I plan to go to the newspapers and tell them about a recent dinner you had at a roadhouse on Route 378 north of Albany.” I turned on my heel and started to leave the Italian restaurant as Antonio looked on, wearing a puzzled expression.

“Wait a minute, Goodwin,” Hirsch said. “Why does Wolfe want to see me?”

“There’s one way to find out. Go to his residence. I have got a taxi running a tab right outside.”

“Why doesn’t he come here — or to my place on Park Avenue, if he wants to talk?”

“He does not leave home on business or for almost any other reason.”

“Look, you’ve already interrupted my dinner, and that of my friends. I am not leaving here with you, so forget it, goddamn it!”

“Have it your way. But once you have finished what I’m sure is a fine meal, you’re welcome to come to Mr. Wolfe’s residence on Thirty-Fifth Street.” I gave him the address.

He still was angry, but his glower had lost some of its intensity, probably because he was assessing his options. “All right, I will be there... later.”

“We will be expecting you,” I told him.

When I got back to the brownstone, Wolfe was in the office with beer, reading that week’s New York Times Magazine. “I saw Mr. Hirsch in the restaurant and tried to get him to leave with me, but he wasn’t having it. He says he will come to see us, but only after he finishes dinner.”

“Do you believe him?”

“Let’s put it this way: I have piqued his curiosity to the degree that I’m giving three-to-one odds he will show up.”

“And just how did you pique the man’s curiosity?”

I told Wolfe what I had printed on that sheet of paper that was handed to Hirsch. No sooner did I finish than the doorbell sounded.

Through the one-way glass, I could see a dour Hirsch and his male dinner companion, a beefy lug with a buzz cut who also wore a grim expression.

I went back to the office and said, “Hirsch brought a large friend, probably a bodyguard. Do I let him in?”

“Do you have Fred stashed in the front room again?” Wolfe was still slightly miffed about that little episode.

“Not tonight,” I said.

“Do you think you are capable of handling the larger individual, should it become necessary?”

“Affirmative.” I was a little riled myself, and I let Wolfe know it. As added protection, I had the Marley .38 in a shoulder holster hidden under my well-tailored suitcoat.

“Very well.” He huffed out a breath. “Have them come in.”

I swung open the front door. “Welcome, gentlemen. I will hang up your coats, and then it’s down the hall to Mr. Wolfe’s office.” Hirsch let me take his coat, but his colleague did the job himself and then I led the way.

Wolfe looked up as we entered. “You are Mr. Hirsch,” he stated, looking at the smaller man. “And your associate?”

“This is Harley Everts. He goes everywhere with me,” Hirsch said, dropping into the red leather chair while Everts parked his bulk in one of the yellow ones.

“Will either of you like something to drink? I am having beer.”

“We did not come here to drink,” Hirsch snapped, settling into the chair that dwarfed him, “but... I will have a scotch and water. What about you?” he asked Everts.

“Sounds good,” came the gruff reply. I mixed the drinks at the cart against the wall and passed them out.

“Okay, Wolfe, I have heard of you and know a little about your reputation, so I was curious when your man here invited me to see you,” Hirsch said, taking a sip of scotch and nodding his approval. “Now just what’s on your mind?”

“I would have thought that was obvious, given the note you received from Mr. Goodwin.”

“You call that a note? It was just a name!”

“Indeed. And what does that name mean to you, Mr. Hirsch?”

“She is someone I happen to know, not that it is any of your business.”

“You had a meal with Maureen Carr at a roadhouse north of Albany.” Wolfe added the date and the approximate time.

“Who says so?” demanded Hirsch, folding his arms over his concave chest.

“Come, sir, this is an established fact. Do you deny its occurrence?”

“I do not have to admit or deny anything. I am not on trial.”

“Not yet anyway. Are you aware Miss Carr has dropped out of sight, and that none of her friends have seen her in weeks?”

“Maybe that is by intent,” Hirsch said.

“What did you discuss at your meal?”

“Again, I say, none of your business.”

“A missing person report has been filed for Miss Carr,” Wolfe improvised. “I am sure the authorities would be interested in learning that you may well be the only individual who has seen her in the last several weeks.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” Hirsch said, lifting off the chair and leaning forward, jaw out.

“I do not indulge in blackmail, sir. But I am commissioned with learning the whereabouts of Miss Carr.”

“Yeah, just who commissioned you?”

“That is irrelevant at present. Do you know where the lady is?”

“I do not.”

“Have you seen her since your meeting in the Albany area?”

“No.”

“I repeat my question: Do you know where she is?”

“Also, no, I haven’t any idea.”

“How do you happen to know Miss Carr, or do you claim that also is none of my business?”

“You have said it,” Hirsch answered with a scowl.

“What about you, Mr. Everts?” Wolfe asked. “What role to you play in the affairs of Mr. Hirsch?”

The question took Everts by surprise, and he jerked upright. “I’m, I... help him wherever I can.”

“Leave Harley out of this, Wolfe,” Hirsch barked. “I find it helpful to have a protector, someone who can keep people from pestering me.”

“Do you get pestered often?”

“I feel that I am being pestered right now!”

“I would hardly call my questions pestering. You split your time between residences in New York City and Saratoga Springs.”

“That is no secret.”

“I understand you are well known in the horse racing world.”

“I have done all right at the tracks over the years,” he replied, settling back and crossing one leg over the other.

“And you have your own stable of horses?”

“Say, you have done a lot of research on me, Wolfe. I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Such was not my intent, sir. Jonathan Swift wrote that ‘flattery’s the food of fools,’ and you are by no means a fool, so it would be futile to flatter you. Back to the horses, are you a gambler on the races?”

“I’ve been known to put a few dollars on certain ponies over the years.”

“Would you say you have been successful?”

“Overall, I have done all right.”

“Do you also loan funds to other gamblers?”

Hirsch stiffened. “I am really tired of answering your impertinent questions,” Hirsch said, rising. As he stood, so did his silent partner, who glowered at me. I answered with a bland smile and walked the two of them down the hall in silence. I helped Hirsch with his coat but did not get thanks, not that I expected any.

The two men stepped into an idling blue Chrysler Imperial at the curb. My eyes are plenty good enough that as I stood on the stoop, I could read the numbers and letters on the New York plate as the car drove off.