“Hello, Archie?” It was Helen Steinberg. “How are you, bubula? Mama and Papa are out at one of their Talmudic night classes at the Yeshiva and so I’m all alone.”
“Where’s your brother? ”
“That bum? Don’t even mention him. He’s dead as far as we're concerned. Out drawing swastikas with some of his goyisha friends, I suppose!”
“Oh. Well, what is it you want, Helen?”
“Like I said, I’m all alone and so I thought maybe you’d like to come over and play a bissel chess.”
“Sorry. I can’t tonight.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed. “Well, then, I guess I’ll just have to curl up in bed all alone with my copy of Sholom Aleichem."
“Why don’t you try Pilgrim’s Progress instead?” Archie suggested.
“Oh, aren't you the smartypants? All right for you. Anyway, maybe the professor will call back again. Maybe I can even talk him into coming up and playing chess.”
“Professor? What professor?” Archie had a foreboding. It was justified. “Why, Professor Bcaumarchais, of course. He called me just a little while ago. I told him you’d been here.”
“What did he want?”
“Now that you mention it, I don’t really know. Just to say hello and let me know he was in New York, I suppose. He seemed most interested in you.”
“I’ll just bet!”
Singlemindedly, Helen Steinberg switched back to her reason for calling. “If you can’t make it tonight, when will you come up and play chess with me?” she wanted to know.
“Just as soon as you have that dumbwaiter widened,” Archie assured her. “Tell me, did the professor mention anything about your scientific correspondence?”
“Only to say he hoped I’d saved my notes. I told him of course I had, and he said that was good because he wanted to see them. He said he’d call again and drop over when it was convenient. He sounded a lot more eager to come over than you do,” she added pointedly.
“That’s because he doesn’t know about the dumbwaiter.”
“Wel1, maybe he won’t have to find out. Maybe he’s Jewish.”
“No, he’s not,” Archie assured her. Although, he added to himself since he really had no idea who might be impersonating the dead Beaumarchais, it’s possible that he might be. “I’ve got to go now,” he added to Helen Steinberg. They exchanged goodbyes and he hung up the telephone.
As he left the library, he bumped into Lester in the hall. “There was another call while you were on the telephone, sir," Lester told him. “Miss Helen Riley again. She said she couldn’t wait.”
“Did she leave a number where I could call her back?”
“No, sir. She said you couldn’t reach her when I asked that.”
“Did she say she’d call back?"
“No, sir. I asked her that, too. She just said it was too late now and hung up.”
“Too late?”
“Yes, sir.”
Now, I wonder what that’s supposed to mean? Archie thought to himself as he headed for the parlor in the left wing where “the gentleman named Vito" had been left to await him. The parlor was empty. Vito wasn't there. Archie went back to the main living room where his mother’s soiree was in full swing.
Melanie spotted him as soon as he entered. She came straight over to him. “Ah’ve been talkin’ to that friend of youah’s," she said. “An’ he has been makin’ me the most amazin’ financial offers.”
“What friend?”
“The teensie fellow with the bow legs an’ those little black eyes full of mischief. He says if I let him be mah agent, he can make me hundreds of dollahs a week. What do you think, Archie?”
“Did he say what kind of work he had in mind for ou?"
“He wasn’t too specific, but he said it would be real easy an’ I wouldn’t have to worry ’bout standin’ on mah feet all day.”
“No, in Vito’s line, your feet aren’t likely to be where you get your calluses," Archie said. “But if I were you, I’d get him to spell out exactly what it is he has in mind.”
“Archie!” His mother was at his elbow, interrupting them. “Who is that darling little friend of yours who made himself so popular with the men? just look at them crowding around him over there. Whatever do you suppose he can be saying to them?”
“Probably telling them jokes,” Archie suggested.
“I wouldn’t be a bit surprised. Every time I go over there all conversation ceases most abruptly. And I’ve noticed the same thing every time one of the other ladies gets near his circle. I appreciate his consideration, but you should really tell him, Archie, that the distaff side is quite sophisticated and there’s really no need for him to guard us from a risqué story. If your friend is such a fascinating raconteur, I think the ladies should be allowed to enjoy him, too.”
“I’ll suggest it.” Archie moved away from his mother and Melanie and started toward Vito. Before he reached him, a man detached himself from the group surrounding the little Italian and came up to Archie. It was Strom Huntley, the CIA man.
“Man, am I ever glad to see you,” Archie began. “Wait ’til I tell you—”
“That fellow,” Huntley interrupted. “Is he reliable?”
“What?” Archie was caught off balance
“Can he really produce? Does he really have access to all those fabulous girls who can do all those fabulous things?”
“You mean the CIA might want to use -” Archie jumped to the conclusion.
“ CIA, hell! I'm dedicated, but I’m not that dedicated. I'm a normal man just like anybody else. I have to have a little recreation in my life, too, you know!”
Archie stared at him. He saw a rather stoop-shouldered man with gray hair that was thinning out on top, a man of about sixty years of age. The man's blue eyes, which had impressed Archie as “steely” on their first meeting, were aglitter with lust, and damp, as if the tongue which had licked the thin lips had glazed their surface. His still-muscular body, gone to paunch, was actually bouncing slightly with excitement.
“Look,” Archie said, “come on inside where we can talk privately. This Beaumarchais business,” he whispered, “is getting all fouled up. Remember? You told me it could affect the security of the whole nation. That’s more important than Vito’s broads.”
“To you, maybe,” the CIA man answered. “But you’re only a kid. When you reach my age, you’ll realize there’s nothing as important as what you can get while you’re still alive to get it.”
“Listening to you," Archie said, “I get visions of the whole world going up in smoke while you get your ashes hauled.”
“What good’s the world if you can’t get your ashes hauled? " Huntley retorted.
“You may have something there. But all the same, will you please come on into the library where we can talk privately?”
“Oh, all right.” A bit petulantly, the CIA man followed Archie into the other room.
“Now listen,” Archie insisted when he'd closed the door behind them. He proceeded to tell Huntley everything that had happened during the long previous night, concluding with the mysterious phone calls to two of the Helens from somebody pretending to be the dead man. “What do you think?” he asked when he’d finished.
“I think he was exaggerating,” Huntley said a little sadly. “No girls, not even pros, could be that uninhibited.”
“Not about Vito’s whores!” Archie had to stop himself from screaming. “About the Beaumarchais case. Have you gotten any leads on who might have done him in? Do you know who set it up to steal his papers?”
“We suspect the Russians. A certain agent of theirs has been given the job of smuggling something very important into the right Commie hands. He’s been told to let everything else drop and concentrate on it. Seems likely it could be the Beaumarchais papers.”