The Missing Heiress

Chapter 8

Chasing became the operative word for Lily and me, starting the next day. After breakfast, I went to her apartment and we sat in the morning room with coffee and tried to figure out who she might have overlooked among Maureen’s friends and acquaintances.

“I know that you have talked to her closest friends, the ones both of you are in that group with,” I told her. “And you also have met with the men she has been with most recently. Who does that leave?” I spread my hands, palms up.

Lily thought for several seconds before speaking. “Well, I probably should get in touch with the people who head the organizations Maureen has been most closely involved with.”

“They are...?”

“A women’s and children’s aid society, a home for unwed mothers, and an orphanage. I hate to see you and Mr. Wolfe spend so much time with this. I feel like I’ve pushed both of you into my problem.”

“First, you never pushed me into this; I have jumped in with both feet, ready to help. And nobody ever pushes Nero Wolfe into anything he doesn’t want to do, either literally or figuratively. Now about the people who run these groups — I assume they are all women.”

“They are, and I know each of them fairly well,” Lily said. “I’m afraid I will have to tell them about Maureen’s disappearance, and I really need to talk to them in person.”

“No question whatever. Does that bother you?”

“Oh, a little, but I don’t think we can keep the situation under wraps any longer. Besides, the men whom I talked to about Maureen already know something isn’t right, and it’s just a matter of time before they start calling me to ask what I’ve heard from or about her.”

“Good point. Would you feel comfortable having me along when you talk to these fine women?”

“Oh, Archie, I really am leaning on you, and I’m sorry, but playing detective is certainly not my métier.”

“No need to be sorry, and despite what you say, your instincts are good. I think you’d make a good shamus.”

“I assume ‘shamus’ is some sort of a synonym for private eye.”

“Some sort. I’m ready to accompany you to these meetings, assuming you are able to set them up.”

“That should be no problem. I’ll start calling now.”

I went to the next room, which I would describe as a den, to give Lily privacy for her calls. Fifteen minutes later, I was reading the current copy of Time when she walked in and announced that she had set up appointments today for all three of these paragons of good works without telling them the reason for the meetings.

“Weren’t they curious?”

“They were, but I merely told them it was a subject that I preferred not to discuss on the telephone.”

“Now, of course, they are more curious than ever,” I said, laughing. “Who are you talking to first?”

“Emily Ferris; she’s the one who oversees the home for abandoned and orphaned children. She said she could see us there at any time today. I suggested eleven o’clock.”

“Which means we need to get going. Did you tell her that I would be with you?”

“I did, and she was fine with that. She remembers meeting you once.”

“Then she has the better of me. Where’s the orphanage?”

“On the Upper East Side, Eighty-Ninth Street.”

A Yellow cab, driven by a dour hackie who muttered about the mayor’s many faults, got us to our destination ten minutes early. The building, an unadorned four-story brick number with a currently unoccupied playground on one side, was separated by high metal fencing from the noisy FDR Drive, and just beyond it, the gray waters of the East River.

In the small entry hall, a white-haired receptionist behind a window with a sliding panel recognized Lily and gave her a dimpled grin. “Hello, Miss Rowan, it is so nice to see you again. Mrs. Ferris is expecting you; I will buzz her.”

“Thank you so much, Doris. It is good to see you again, as well. I hope your husband has recovered from his back troubles.”

“He has indeed, Miss Rowan; he’s almost as good as new, and thank you for asking. Here’s Mrs. Ferris.”

Emily Ferris stepped into the entry hall and greeted Lily with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. She was small and full-figured, with auburn hair, bangs, and a sunny expression. “And a hello to you, Mr. Goodwin,” she said. “You may remember that we met a few years ago at a benefit auction in the Commodore Hotel.”

“I do remember, of course,” I said, finally recognizing her from our very brief moment at that frenzied function. “To Lily’s friends, I’m Archie, none of this ‘Mr.’ business.”

“Archie it is,” she said, patting my arm. “Let’s go to my office.”

Once we were settled, Emily Ferris behind her plain wooden desk and Lily and I facing her in equally plain wood chairs, our hostess said to Lily, “Well, my curiosity is piqued. I do hope this visit does not mean that we have misused any of the funds your group has so generously given to us.”

“Oh no, not at all. I have heard no complaints whatever about the way the orphanage is being run, quite the contrary. The reason we are here is to talk about Maureen Carr.”

“Funny that you should mention Maureen,” Emily said. “I was just this morning wondering why I haven’t heard from her for some time now. She usually calls or stops by at least once a week, sometimes more often.”

“Nobody else we know has heard from her for some time, either,” Lily replied. “She seems to have disappeared without leaving any clue as to where she might be. We were hoping you might know something about her whereabouts.”

The orphanage director wore a shocked expression. “My heavens! Let me see, the last time I saw Maureen was” — she opened what turned out to be a datebook — “yes, here it is. We had lunch three weeks ago yesterday, and she seemed just fine, very cheerful.”

“And Miss Carr didn’t mention any trips she was planning?” I asked.

“No, not at all. I’m trying to recall what she said about herself that day. I don’t think she mentioned anything particular she was doing. But that is like Maureen. She doesn’t talk a lot about herself. She always seems more interested in what others are up to.”

“That is typical of her, all right,” Lily said. “When you were with Maureen at lunch, did she seem to be worried or distracted in any way?”

“Not at all, as I said. I’m still trying to think of anything she might have told me that would indicate some sort of problem, but I am sorry, nothing occurs to me.

“Oh, wait — Maureen had asked about my family and what we were doing, and I filled her in on our activities, which were nothing special. I thought I should respond with a question about her own family, which as far as I know consists of just the one brother, so I felt I should ask how he was.

“Her upbeat mood suddenly got dark, and just for a moment I saw... I don’t know quite how to put it... I opened a door into a part of her life that I probably should not have. Then, like in the blink of an eye, she was her old self again. But I wish I hadn’t been so nosy.”

“You weren’t nosy, you were just being friendly and supportive,” Lily assured her.

“I suppose so,” Emily said, “but now, given what you’ve told me, I have to wonder if her disappearance is somehow tied in with her brother... Everett is his name, right?”

“Yes. Had she ever talked to you about him before?” I asked.

“Only in passing, and never with any details. I couldn’t even tell you what he does for a living, or where he lives, although I’m sure their parents must have left both him and Maureen comfortable financially. After all, I do know a little about Maureen’s past.”

“If you hear anything from her, please let me know,” Lily said as we rose to leave.

“I ask the same of you,” Emily Ferris responded. “I simply can’t imagine where she could have gone.”

I won’t bore you with the descriptions of our conversations with the women who oversee the children’s aid society and the unwed mothers’ home, as neither of them had anything to add regarding Maureen’s disappearing act.

“Have you got any other suggestions?” I asked Lily as we left the last of our meetings.

“Not at the moment, except to check back with the members of our group to see if any of them has news.”

I dropped Lily off at home and returned to the brownstone. Wolfe was indulging in his afternoon session in the plant rooms, and I found a note on my desk from Fritz that read, “Call Mr. Panzer.”

“Goodwin replying to your summons,” I said into the mouthpiece when Saul picked up his phone.

“Archie, I got hold of that bookie, Spencer, although he’s not a bookie anymore; he went straight — well, sort of. He now runs a pawnshop in Yorkville, which is where I talked to him. Anyway, that’s neither here nor there. He remembered Everett Carr as a regular who came into his handbook damned near every day. ‘That guy loved playing the ponies,’ Spencer told me, ‘but he didn’t seem to know the first thing about handicapping. It got so that I almost felt sorry for the guy, because he ended up almost always backing losers.’”

“Did it seem to Spencer that Everett Carr had deep pockets?” I asked.

“I asked him that, of course, and he laughed. ‘That’s why I was almost sorry for him; it seemed like he was always carrying a thick wad, and I don’t mean Abes, but double sawbucks and fifties and even the occasional C-note. And it didn’t seem to bother him much when he came up a loser, which sadly happened most of the time.’”

“Does Spencer still see Carr?”

“Not at all,” Saul replied. “He said that after he got busted, he got out of the bookie business altogether, and he cut his ties with all his old customers at his wife’s insistence. The last time he saw Carr was the day the cops shut Spencer down and hauled him in.”

“Pick anything else up from other bookies?”

“Not much at all. Oh, there is one named Leon. He operates out of a cigar store on Thirty-Second Street, and he told me there’s somebody he knows only as ‘Everett,’ who he thought was living at the Y. He said Everett came in like clockwork until recently, and then just stopped.”

“Was Carr just as unsuccessful at this establishment as with Spencer?”

“That’s what I picked up. Our man gambled heavily and never got upset when he lost, according to Leon, who said, ‘the guy seemed to have a bottomless pit of money, although he dressed more like a vagrant than a swell.’

“That’s the extent of what I’ve learned, Archie, which is not much. I can hit a few more places tomorrow. Heard anything from Fred or Orrie?”

“Not yet, but I expect they will be checking in. If you haven’t got anything else on your plate right now, you could visit a few more bookies, but I’m not sure you’re going to learn anything more about our elusive gambler.”

No sooner had I hung up with Saul than Fred checked in. “I’ve been to more darned bookies than I ever knew existed in Flatbush and the far reaches of Brooklyn, and it seems that nobody running those joints knows one single thing about Everett Carr. That assumes, of course, that he uses his real name when he’s laying down bets.”

“He’s been up front about his name on this side of the East River,” I told Fred. “He does not appear to be ashamed of his gambling proclivities.”

“‘Proclivities,’ that’s a word Mr. Wolfe would use, right, Archie? I even know what it means.”

I told Fred I was proud of him and said he should spend one more day with the bookies in Brooklyn and then report back. He didn’t grumble because like most other freelance operatives, he was just glad to be working, even in the short term.

That left Orrie, and I didn’t hear from him until just before Wolfe came down from playing with the posies at six. “Archie, I’ve been all over this island coming across all sorts of handbooks in all kinds of places. I have been smart enough never to get sucked in by horse racing, so I’m getting quite an education,” he said from a phone booth.

“I am sure glad to learn that you’re improving your knowledge of the city where you’ve spent your whole life. But more to the point, have you found anything out about Everett Carr and where he might be?”

“Well... no, but it hasn’t been for lack of trying, Archie. I’ve walked my tail off, and I haven’t met a single one of these guys who’s ever heard of Everett Carr. Maybe he gives another name, probably a phony one, when he makes bets.”

“Fred suggested the same thing, and I told him Carr has used both his first and last names when betting. Here’s one thing you can do tomorrow: ask each bookie if there’s been a gambler in his place who seems to have a lot of dough to throw around, as in wads of it. And one who is not very successful in his wagering.”

Orrie grumbled about what he thought was a waste of time, but like Fred, he has never said no to Wolfe’s money, so I did not have to twist his arm to keep him focused on the job.

Once Wolfe was settled behind his desk with his predinner beer, I gave him a report, and he grunted. “Does Miss Rowan know where Maureen Carr does her banking?” he asked.

“I don’t know, but I can find out.”

“Do so.”

That’s Wolfe for you. When giving orders, never use a lot of words when one or two will be adequate. I dialed Lily and posed the question to her.

“I’m almost positive it’s the Continental Bank and Trust Company,” she said, “although I’m not sure which branch Maureen uses.” She didn’t ask why I wanted to know, so I thanked her, ended the call, and turned to Wolfe with the answer.

“Satisfactory,” he said, which for Wolfe is an effusive reply, especially given the seemingly mundane nature of the question and answer. But I was about to get an explanation for his enthusiasm.

“Get Mr. Hotchkiss on the telephone. I want to speak to him.” Another tersely worded order.

A few words here about Mortimer M. Hotchkiss: He is a longtime vice president of the Continental Bank, where my boss has been a depositor for years — make that a depositor with a balance that averages close to six figures. Hotchkiss is always available to talk to Wolfe, and today was no exception. I got through to his secretary quickly, and she put the banker on the line while I stayed on as well.

“Ah, Mr. Wolfe, it is so good to hear from you,” he said. “I do hope that nothing is amiss.”

“It is not, sir, although I am in need of some information.”

“Anything I can do to help you will be my pleasure,” Hotchkiss replied.

“You had better wait until you hear my request. I am in search of knowledge regarding another of your depositors, one who may very well be in a life-threatening situation.”

After a pause on the other end, Hotchkiss cleared his throat before speaking. “I know, Mr. Wolfe, that you are aware of how highly we value privacy where our customers are concerned.”

“I would expect nothing less of you in the way of rectitude, and I will be as discreet as possible. I am going to speak a name, and if you remain silent upon hearing it, I will assume that individual is among your customers. And if I ask other questions and you remain silent, I will take that silence as an assent.”

“All right...” Hotchkiss replied in an uneasy tone, “although I may need time to call up some records.”

“So be it,” Wolfe said as he pronounced Maureen Carr’s name. I could hear Hotchkiss muttering to someone, presumably his secretary, who gave him a whispered reply. Records likely were on their way to his office.

Wolfe waited almost two minutes by my watch and received no response from the banker.

“Did the individual whose name I uttered recently withdraw a large sum from your institution?” Again, no response.

“Did that sum equal or exceed fifty thousand dollars?”

Still the banker remained mum.

After another minute-plus had elapsed, Wolfe spoke. “Thank you very much for your time and your patience, Mr. Hotchkiss,” Wolfe said.

“You are most welcome, Mr. Wolfe. As I have said many times in the past, Continental appreciates and values your business and the trust that you have placed in our institution. I look forward to many more years of our association.”

“Spoken as only a banker can speak,” I told Wolfe after we had hung up.

“Mr. Hotchkiss represents tradition and a strong sense of duty, which is not to be dismissed lightly at a time when tradition and dedication to duty are too frequently denigrated as being old-fashioned values.”

“Well, I thought your figuring out that a big withdrawal was made and your way of dealing with that tradition and duty was damned cute. Hotchkiss can’t be accused of violating a customer’s trust. Also, wasn’t it a nice coincidence that both you and Maureen Carr use the same bank? No wonder you said ‘satisfactory’ to me.”

“Coincidence, perhaps,” Wolfe said, flipping a palm. “But Continental is the biggest bank in the city, so to use one of your sports terms, I was playing the odds.”