“I got paralyzed on the excavation.”
“What’s the matter, isn’t it any good?”
“Lordy, no. It’s colossal.” Dirk laughed.
“Are you still interested in it?”
“What is this, an offer for the first North American serial rights? The idea is as stimulating as it ever was. But I can’t seem to get back to it.”
“How about professional help?”
“What do you mean?”
“Dirk, your personal problem is beyond me.” Ellery tied the second shoe. “If the skull doctors can’t do anything about it, I certainly can’t. All I can do is suggest a treatment I’ve found therapeutic in my own lunacies. It’s to get out of yourself. A writer does it by writing. Get all wrapped up in a writing problem and drive yourself day and night to fix it on paper.”
“I can’t, I tell you. I’ve tried.”
“Let’s have some breakfast,” said Ellery cheerfully. “I have an idea.”
Nikki arrived for her secretarial day to find Inspector Queen gone, as usual, and Ellery staring out the window, not as usual.
“Was that Dirk Lawrence I saw shuffling up 87th Street,” asked Nikki, “or an unreasonable facsimile thereof?”
“Nikki, grab yourself some coffee and sit down.”
“Yes?” said Nikki, not doing either.
“Dirk came up this morning to apologize for last night, and we had a long talk.” Ellery gave her a résumé of their conversation. Nikki was silent. “It’s obvious that he’s in the grip of a dangerous neurosis. I don’t like it, Nikki. I don’t like it at all.”
“Poor Martha,” was all Nikki said.
“Yes.” Ellery began to stuff a pipe slowly. “For Martha, I’m afraid, the prospects are dim. I’m not sure that even if she left him she’d be in any better case. It might make matters worse at this stage of his phobia. But that’s academic. She won’t leave him, and we’ve got to jump off from that.”
“Yes,” said Nikki. “But what exactly are you afraid of?”
“Violence, especially if Martha gives him provocation.”
“He wouldn’t!” Nikki sat down with clenched hands.
“Nikki, I’ve resorted to subterfuge. I’ve convinced Dirk that his most sensible course is to get back to work on his book.”
“He’ll never do it.”
“That’s what he said. But I think he will do it — or keep trying — if there’s someone with him constantly whom he likes and trusts, who’ll flatter and encourage him, take a living interest in what he’s doing. In other words, if there’s someone at his side to help with his work. The way, for instance, you help me.”
Nikki said quietly, “You’re farming me out to Dirk Lawrence.”
“We’ve got to have someone on hand when trouble starts, Nikki. Before it starts.” Ellery sucked on his pipe. “Nikki Porter, undercover agent. Of course, I neglected to tell Martha that when I phoned her, just before you came in. Dirk was sluggishly interested and rather grateful, and Martha sounded as if I were her patron saint. As far as they’re concerned, this is an experiment in trying to get Dirk back to work. You’re to act in a Girl Friday capacity, typing for Dirk, telling him what a deathless passage he just dictated, holding his hand when the Muse fails, mixing his cocktails for him — keeping his mind on himself as a writer and off Martha and her imaginary love affairs. “No, wait till I finish, Nikki. Martha insists on your living in. She’s going to turn her dressing room into a spare bedroom for you. That’s a break, because it puts us on the scene twenty-four hours a day instead of eight. If you agree to do it, you’ll have to keep watching for danger signals and make immediate reports to me. If we can keep Dirk harmlessly occupied for long enough, maybe a more permanent course of action will suggest itself.
“And one thing more before you say anything,” said Ellery, going over to her. “I wouldn’t have cooked this up if I thought I was sending you into personal danger. But that’s only one man’s guess, and a layman’s at that. I’ve got to leave it up to you, Nikki. In fact, I find myself sort of hoping you’ll turn it down.”
“All I was trying to say,” said Nikki, “was: When do I start?”
Ellery kissed her soberly. “Get into a cab and go right over there.”
That was a Tuesday. By Friday evening Dirk Lawrence’s new secretary was able to report that all was well. In fact, said Nikki, all was so well that she was beginning to wonder if Martha hadn’t exaggerated.
“I went over there on Tuesday and Dirk was snoring his head off, catching up on his sleep. So Martha helped me bring some things over from my apartment, and we fixed up the dressing room for me. By that time Dirk had had a shower and changed into clean clothes, and the three of us had a nice objective talk about work and domestic arrangements, and then Martha kissed him and left us in his study, where he works, and we got going.
“He’s a dynamo, Ellery. The whole thing seems to have given him a shot in the arm. He had a folder full of notes and we went through them the rest of Tuesday and all day Wednesday, reorganizing his material, discarding a lot of it, making notes of new ideas — I’m really quite impressed. It’s going to be a sensational book if it’s ever finished. By Wednesday night I was so fagged Martha put her foot down and we knocked off at a reasonable hour. But I didn’t let myself fall asleep until I heard Dirk snoring.
“Then yesterday morning we went at it again, and this is the first chance I’ve had to call. Dirk and Martha are in the tub having a high old time splashing each other, and the three of us are going out to dinner.”
“You’ve seen no sign of anything, Nikki?”
“Not a ripple. He’s really thrown himself into this, Ellery. He’s trying hard. Martha has her fingers crossed, but she’s beginning to look happy again. Oh, I hope this works out.”
“Try to arrange a foursome for dinner tomorrow night.”
On Saturday night they went to a penthouse restaurant on 59th Street, overlooking Central Park. Dirk ordered breast of guinea hen under glass and French champagne; he was in high spirits. Martha was radiant.
It was Dirk who brought up the subject of the novel. “It’s going great,” he said. “I never realized before what a difference a skilled literary secretary makes. This must be a real sacrifice for you, Ellery. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Dedicate the book to me,” said Ellery solemnly.
“How about to me?” demanded Nikki.
There was much laughter at their table, in a rather soprano key. Ellery watched Dirk with care. He did not like what he saw, and when they separated in the Lawrence lobby he managed to whisper to Nikki, “Watch out for squalls.”
Dirk insisted on working all day Sunday, and on Monday morning, in a new hat and with a light step, Martha left for the theater “to find out,” as she grimaced to Nikki, “how much money we lost last week.” The Alex Conn play was tapering off after a fairish run, and Martha was looking around for a fall production.
The squall threatened that very morning.
Dirk’s exhilaration left the apartment with Martha. His dictation floundered and sank. Nikki tried desperately to resuscitate him. Years of working for a writer had taught her a whole manual of first-aid tricks. She finally gave up.
“You couldn’t expect to keep this pace indefinitely, Dirk,” she said matter-of-factly. “Let’s knock off and take a walk by the river for an hour. I walk Ellery regularly, like a dog.”
But Dirk’s only response was a mutter as he turned to his portable bar. “I’ll be all right. What I need is a drink.”
At noon Martha phoned and Nikki felt a great fear. Dirk’s mood was unrelieved black by now, and the slow turn of his head as Nikki said, “It’s Martha, Dirk,” seemed to her to be moved by something lethal.