“Okay. Damn good idea. Does he know Gebert's there?”
“No. If Gebert's shy about cops, of course he don't want to leave. What do we do? Toss him out? Let the cops in? We can't go out and dig, all we can do is sit there and watch Gebert smile, and it's as cold as an Englishman's heart and we haven't got a fire. Good God, you ought to hear those troopers talk, I guess out there in the wilds they catch bears and lions with their hands and eat 'em raw.”
“Hold it.” I turned to Wolfe. “I suppose I go for a drive?”
He shuddered. I presume he calculated that there must be at least a thousand jolts between 35th Street and Brewster, and ten thousand cars to meet and pass.
The lurking dangers of the night. He nodded at me.
I told Fred, “Go on back. Keep Gebert, and don't let them in. I'll be there as soon as I can make it.”
Chapter Thirteen
It was a quarter to ten by the time I got away and around the corner to the garage on Tenth Avenue and was sailing down the ramp in the roadster, and it was
11:13 when I rolled into the village of Brewster and turned left-following the directions I had heard Helen Frost give Saul Panzer. An hour and twenty-eight minutes wasn't bad, counting the curves on the Pines Bridge Road and the bum stretch between Muscoot and Croton Falls.
I followed the pavement a little over a mile and then turned left again onto a dirt road. It was as narrow as a bigot's mind, and I got in the ruts and stayed there. My lights showed me nothing but the still bare branches of trees and shrubbery close on both sides, and I began to think that Fred's jabber about the wilds hadn't been so dumb. There was an occasional house, but they were dark and silent, and I went on bumping so long, a sharp curve to the left and one to the right and then to the left again, that I began wondering if I was on the wrong road. Then, finally, I saw a light ahead, stuck to the ruts around another curve, and there I was.
Besides a few rapid comments from Wolfe before I started, I had trotted the brain around for a survey of the situation during the drive, and there didn't seem to be anything very critical about it except that it would be nice to keep the news of Gebert's expedition to ourselves for a while. They were welcome to go in and look for the red box all they wanted to, since Saul, with the whole afternoon to work undisturbed, hadn't found it. But Gebert was worth a little effort, not to mention the item that we had our reputation to consider. So I stopped the roadster alongside the two cars that were parked at the edge of the road and leaned out and yelled:
“Come and move this bus! It's blocking the gate and I want to turn in!”
A gruff shout came from the porch: “Who the hell are you?” I called back:
“Haile Selassie. Okay, I'll move it myself. If it makes a ditch, don't blame me.”
I got out and climbed into the other car, open with the top down, a state police chariot. I heard, and saw dimly in the dark, a couple of guys leave the porch and come down the short path. They jumped the low palings. The front one was in uniform and I made out the other one for my old friend Lieutenant Rowcliff. The trooper was stern enough to scare me silly:
“Come out of that, buddie. Move that car and I'll tie you in a knot.”
I said, “You will not. Get it? It's a pun. My name is Archie Goodwin, I represent Mr. Nero Wolfe, I belong in there and you don't. If a man finds a car blocking his own gate he has plenty of right to move it, which is what I'm going to do, and if you try to stop me it will be too bad because I'm mad as hell and
I mean it.”
Rowcliff growled, “All right, get out, we'll move the damn thing.” He muttered at the cossack, “You might as well. This bird's never been tamed yet.”
The trooper opened the door. “Get out.”
“You going to move it?”
“Why the hell shouldn't I move it? Get out.”
I descended and climbed back in the roadster. The trooper started his car and eased it ahead, into the road, and off again beyond the entrance. My lights were on him. I put my gear in, circled through the gate onto the driveway, stopped back of a car there which I recognized for the convertible Gebert had parked in front of Wolfe's house the day before, and got out and started for the porch.
There was a mob there sitting along the edge of it. One of them got smart and turned on a flash and spotted it on my face as I approached. Rowcliff and the trooper came up and stood at the foot of the steps.
I demanded, “Who's in charge of this gang? I know you're not, Rowcliff, we're outside the city limits. Who's got any right to be here on private property?”
They looked at each other. The trooper stuck out his chin at me and asked, “Have you?”
“You're darned tooting I have. You've seen a paper signed by the executor of the estate that owns this. I've got another one in my pocket. Well, come on, who's in charge? Who's responsible for this outrage?”
There was a cackle from the porch, a shadow in the corner. “I've got a right to be here, ain't I, Archie?”
I peered at it. “Oh, hi, Fred. What are you doing out here in the cold?”
He ambled toward me. “We didn't want to open the door, because this bunch of highbinders might take a notion-”
I snorted. “Where would they get it from? – All right, nobody's in charge, is that it? Fred, call Saul-”
“I'll take the responsibility!” A little squirt had popped up and I saw his spectacles. He squealed, “I'm the Assistant District Attorney of this county! We have a legal right-”
I did some towering over him. “You have a legal right to go home and go to bed.
Have you got a warrant or a subpoena or even a cigarette paper?”
“No, there wasn't time-”
“Then shut up.” I turned to Rowcliff and the trooper. “You think I'm being tough? Not at all, I'm just indignant and I have a right to be. You've got a nerve, to come to a private house in the middle of the night and expect to go through it, without any evidence that there has ever been anything or anyone criminal in it. What do you want, the red box? It's Nero Wolfe's property, and if it's in there I'll get it and put it in my pocket and walk out with it, and don't try to play tag with me, because I'm sensitive about coming in contact with people.” I brushed past them and mounted the porch, crossed to the door and rapped on it:
“Come here, Fred. Saul!”
I heard his voice from inside: “Hello, Archie! Okay?”
“Sure, okay. Open the door! Stand by, Fred.”
The gang had stood up and edged toward us a little. I heard the lock turning; the door swung open and a lane of light ribboned the porch; Saul stood on the threshold with Orrie back of him. Fred and I were there too. I faced the throng:
“I hereby order you to leave these premises. All of you. In other words, beat it. Now do as you damn please, but its on the record that you're here illegally, for future reference. We resent your scuffing up the porch, but if you try coming in the house we'll resent that a lot worse. Back up, Saul. Come on,
Fred.”
We went in. Saul closed the door and locked it. I looked around. Knowing that the joint belonged to McNair, I halfway expected to see some more decorators' delights, but it was rustic. Nice big chairs and seats with cushions and a big heavy wooden table, and a blaze crackling in a wide fireplace at one end. I turned to Fred Durkin: