Trouble at the Brownstone

Chapter 14

After leaving Saul, I went back to the Elmont and turned in, wedging a chair under the knob of my door to the hall as a precaution against prowlers, something I should have done earlier. I’m a sound sleeper, and especially after my discussion with Saul, I began to feel somewhat paranoid.

The next morning, I returned to the coffee shop down the street for ham, eggs, and hash browns, resisting the temptation to show up at the brownstone for some of Fritz’s first-rate breakfast fare. At the crowded counter as I was polishing off my second cup of coffee, I considered my options. I could either go back to the Elmont and try to draw out some of my fellow roomers or go poke around the National Export docks to see if any more “passengers” were debarking from the company’s ships. I didn’t like either option, so I headed for the brownstone, where I could make myself useful by catching up on Wolfe’s correspondence.

I hit the buzzer with my usual combination of long-and-short buzzes, and Fritz pulled the door open with what I took to be a relieved smile. “I worry about you when you are not here, Archie,” he said.

“I appreciate that. Have you heard anything about Theodore?”

“Dr. Vollmer telephoned yesterday afternoon and told Mr. Wolfe that his condition has not changed. The doctor said he was neither surprised nor discouraged.”

“Is anything else happening around here?”

“I do not think Mr. Wolfe is pleased with his new gardener, Mr. Willis. It has made him more difficult than usual in the kitchen. I cannot seem to please him. We had a fight last night over whether to use shallots in baked scallops. I have done it the same way for years and have never had any complaints, and now he is unhappy with me.”

“Your lot is not an easy one,” I told him. “But it’s been that way for years, isn’t that true?”

Fritz nodded, his expression woeful. “I work very hard to please him, Archie.”

“I know you do. And if I am allowed to have a vote in this discussion, I think you are a marvel in the kitchen, and always have been.”

He mumbled a thank-you and turned back to the kitchen, while I went into the office. Fritz had neatly stacked the morning mail on my desk. I slit all the envelopes and pulled out the only bill to be paid, from Murger’s, where Wolfe buys his books. On my desk were several letters I had previously typed, signed by Wolfe and ready to be mailed. I set to work.

I had finished my chores when the boss came down from the plant rooms after his morning session with the orchids. He settled in at his desk, rang for beer, asked if I had slept well, and gave me a look that indicated I should report.

“Yes, I slept well, although I would rather have been in my own room upstairs. I understand Vollmer called and told Fritz there has been no change in Theodore’s condition.”

“Yes, although the doctor remains optimistic. What have you learned since last we spoke?”

“Not a lot.” I filled Wolfe in on my conversation with Liam McCready and Saul’s meeting with Sid and Harvey. “We are both stumped about what’s really going on in what I’m going to call the ‘Mysterious Triangle’ — the National Export dock, McCready’s saloon, and the Elmont. It seems clear that people are getting smuggled into the country. I’m sure it’s because more people want to come here than the law allows.”

“That is patently true,” Wolfe said. “President Truman’s Displaced Person’s Act of 1948 allowed for the admission of two hundred thousand immigrants over a two-year period. Recently, that number has been raised to four hundred thousand, but I have read in the newspapers that far greater numbers continue to seek asylum here.”

“Well, I have to assume that somebody is making big money by sneaking others in.”

“A valid assumption. And it seems apparent the amount of money changing hands is significant enough that violence is being done to those who have suspicions of impropriety and illegality.”

“There ought to be a special place in hell for those who get rich on the suffering of others,” I put in.

“As Sophocles wrote more than twenty-four centuries ago, ‘For money, you would sell your soul,’” Wolfe said. “Countless souls have ransomed themselves over the centuries for profit.”

“I suppose so. Have you got any thoughts on how we should now proceed?”

“I believe your stay at that apartment building is nearing its completion. It appears you have mined that lode for all of the ore you are likely to get. Those card players Saul spoke to, Sid and Harvey. Do you feel we might benefit if I were to talk to them?” Only on rare occasions has Wolfe asked my advice, which usually means he is at least temporarily stymied.

“A good question. In the past, I’ve interviewed countless people, thinking that I milked them dry. And then they come in here, and within a half hour, often less, you have been able to find out far more than I did twice the time.”

Wolfe leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Based on what you have said, Saul knows the two gentlemen better than you do.”

“There’s no question whatever. He has spent more time with them than I have, both at the bridge table and in conversation, including their recent session away from McCready’s.”

“That being the case, I suggest Saul persuade them to come here, and we already know his powers of persuasion are considerable. He will of course need to reveal our identities and that of Theodore as well.”

“I’ll give him a call. Do you want to be on the line?”

“Not necessary,” Wolfe said, browsing an orchid catalog that arrived in the morning mail.

I got Saul at home and relayed Wolfe’s request. “So, I spill the beans about you guys and Theodore as well, right?” he asked.

“Do you see that as a problem?”

“Oh... not really, Archie. I’m sure they’ll be surprised at first, but when I tell them Nero Wolfe is seeking not just the people who beat Horstmann half to death but those who killed Chester as well, I think that ought to seal the deal. When does he want to see them?”

I turned to Wolfe, holding up the receiver so he could he part of the conversation, whether he wanted to or not. “Assuming Saul can get the pair to come, did you have a time in mind?”

“Would he be able to deliver them here tonight at nine?”

“I will give it a try,” Saul said. “You’ll hear from me sometime this afternoon, one way or the other.”

In fact, Saul got back to me just after 4 p.m., which meant, of course, that Wolfe was up in the plant rooms for his afternoon session. “I will bring them both at nine,” he said. “And in answer to the question you are about to ask, they were surprised, make that very surprised, to learn about you and Wolfe, and of course about Theodore.”

“Were they angry or upset?”

“Not either, really. Once they got over the initial shock, I think they both were encouraged. And they were particularly pleased to learn their friend ‘Ted’ was alive. Although I didn’t sugarcoat his condition in the least.”

“We’ll be ready for all of you at nine,” I told him, hanging up and then calling Wolfe in the plant rooms.

“Yes!” he barked. The man has never learned telephone etiquette and never will. And it didn’t help that he hates to be disturbed when he’s playing with his “concubines,” as he refers to the orchids that fill and glorify those three rooms in the greenhouse on the roof.

When I told him of Saul’s success, he did manage to mutter a “satisfactory” before slamming down his instrument.