“All right. Satisfactory. Go over the diagrams with Archie.”
Johnny explained to me how good the diagrams were, and I had to agree with him. They were swell. Five of them I discarded, because four of them were shops that wouldn’t be open and the other was the Orient Club, which wouldn’t be easy to get into. Of the remaining four, one was the pet shop, one a movie theater with a fire alley, and two restaurants. After Johnny’s detailed description of the relative advantages and disadvantages, I picked one of the restaurants for the first stab. It seemed like a lot of complicated organization work for getting ready to stop in and ask a guy a question, but considering what the question led to in Wolfe’s mental arrangements it seemed likely that it might be worth the trouble. By the time we were through with Johnny’s battle maps it lacked only a few minutes till seven, and I followed my custom of chucking things in the drawers, plugging the phone for all the house connections, and taking my automatic and giving it a look and sticking it in my pocket. I got up and pushed my chair in.
I asked Johnny, “Can you hang around for a couple of hours’ overtime?”
“I can if I eat.”
“Okay. You’ll find Saul in the kitchen. There’s a caller expected at seven and he’ll tend to the door. Stick around. Mr. Wolfe may want you to exercise your shorthand.”
Johnny strode out. I think he practiced striding. I started to follow, but turned to ask Wolfe, “Are you going to grab time by the forelock? Will there be a party when I get back?”
“I couldn’t say.” Wolfe’s hand was resting on the desk; he was waiting for the door to close behind me, to ring for beer. “We’ll await the confirmation.”
“Shall I phone?”
“No. Bring it.”
“Okay.” I turned.
The telephone rang. From force of habit I wheeled again and stepped to my desk for it, though I saw that Wolfe had reached for his receiver. So we both heard it, a voice that sounded far away but thin and tense with excitement. “Nero Wolfe! Nero—”
I snapped, “Yes. Talking.”
“I’ve got him! Come up here … Fifty-fifth Street … Mike Walsh this is … I’ve got him covered … come up—”
It was cut off by the sound of a shot in the receiver—a sound of an explosion so loud in my ear that it might have been a young cannon. Then there was nothing. I said “Hello, Walsh! Walsh!” a few times, but there was no answer.
I hung up and turned to Wolfe. “Well, by Godfrey. Did you hear anything?”
He nodded. “I did. And I don’t understand it.”
“Indeed. That’s a record. What’s the program, hop up there?”
Wolfe’s eyes were shut, and his lips were moving out and in. He stayed that way a minute. I stood and watched him. Finally he said, “If Walsh shot someone, who was it? But if someone shot him, why now? Why not yesterday or a week ago? In any case, you might as well go and learn what happened. It may have been merely a steel girder crashing off its perch;
there was enough noise.”
“No. That was a gun.”
“Very well. Find out. If you—ah! The doorbell. Indeed. You might attend to that first. Mr. Perry is punctual.”
As I entered the hall Saul Panzer came out of the kitchen, and I sent him back. I turned on the stoop light and looked through the panel because it was getting to be a habit, and saw it was Perry. I opened the door and he stepped inside and put his hat and gloves on the stand. I followed him into the office.
Wolfe said, “Good evening sir. I have reflected, Archie, that the less one meddles the less one becomes involved. You might have Saul phone the hospital that there has been an accident. Oh. no, Mr. Perry, nothing serious, thank you.”
I went to the kitchen and told Saul Panzer: “Go to Alien’s on Thirtyfourth Street and phone headquarters that you think you heard a shot inside the building construction on Fifty-fifth near Madison and they’d better investigate at once. If they want to know who you are, tell them King George.
Make it snappy.”
That was a nickel wasted, but I didn’t know it then.
Chapter 15
Perry glanced at me as I got into my chair and opened my notebook. He was saying, “I don’t remember that anything ever irritated me more. I suppose I’m getting old. You mustn’t think I bear any ill will; if you preferred to represent Miss Fox, that was your right. But you must admit I played your hand for you; so far as I know there wasn’t the faintest shred of evidence with which you could have enforced your threat.” He smiled. “You think, of course, that my personal—er—respect for Miss Fox influenced my attitude and caused me to bring pressure on Muir. I confess that had a great deal to do with it. She is a charming young lady and also an extremely competent employee.”
Wolfe nodded. “And my client. Naturally, I was pleased to leam that the charge had been dropped.”
“You say you heard it from the police? I hoped I was bringing the good news myself.”
“I got it from Inspector Cramer.” Wolfe had got his beer. He poured some, and resumed, “Mr. Cramer told me that he had been advised of it by a Mr. Frisbie, an Assistant District Attorney. It appears that Mr. Frisbie is a friend of Mr. Muir.”
“Yes. I am acquainted with Frisbie. I know Skinner, the District Attorney, quite well.” Perry coughed, watched Wolfe empty his glass, and resumed, “So I’m not the bearer of glad tidings. But,” he smiled, “that wasn’t the chief purpose of my call.”
“Well, sir?”
“Well… I think you owe me something. Look at it this way. By threat ening me with a procedure which would have meant most distasteful publicity for my corporation, you forced me to exert my authority and compel Muir to drop his charge. Muir isn’t an employee; he is the highest officer of the corporation after myself and he owns a fair proportion of the stock. It wasn’t easy.” Perry leaned forward and got crisper. “I surrendered to you. Now I have a right to know what I surrendered to. The only possible inter– pretation of your threat was that Miss Fox had been framed,.and you wouldn’t have dared to make such a threat unless you had some sort of evidence for it.” He sat back and finished softly, “I want to know what that evidence is.”
“But, Mr. Perry.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “Miss Fox is my client. You’re not.”
“Ah.” Perry smiled. “You want to be paid for it? I’ll pay a reasonable amount.”
“Whatever information I have gathered in the interest of Miss Fox is not for sale to others.”
“Rubbish. It has served her well. She has no further use for it.” He leaned forward again. “Look here, Wolfe. I don’t need to try to explain Muir to you, you’ve talked with him. If he has got so bad that he tries to frame a girl out of senile chagrin and vindictiveness, don’t you think I ought to know it? He is our senior vice-president. Wouldn’t our stockholders think so?”
“I didn’t know stockholders think.” Wolfe sighed. “But to answer your first question: yes, sir, I do think you ought to know it. But you won’t learn it from me. Let us not go on pawing the air, Mr. Perry. This is definite: I did have evidence to support my threat, but under no circumstances will you get from me any proof that you could use against Mr. Muir. So we won’t discuss that. If there is any other topic …”
Perry insisted. He got frank. His opinion was that Muir was such an old goat that his active services were no longer of any value to the corporation. He wanted to deal fairly with Muir, but after all his first duty was to the organization and its stockholders. And so on. He had suspected from the first that there was something odd about the disappearance of that $30,000, and he reasserted his right to know what Wolfe had found out about it.