"I said I've got another one. Another woman."
"I'm not sure that was sensible, Mr. Gerson. That might get you into serious trouble.''
"Oh. Somebody there?"
"Certainly." Fred had good enough connections in his skull, but the service was a little slow. "I guess I'll have to, but I don't know how soon I can make it. Hold the wire a minute." I covered the transmitter and turned to Wolfe. "That damn fool Gerson has found his bonds and has got two of his staff locked in a room. He could get hooked for more damages than the bonds are worth. He wants me to come, and of course I ought to, but."
Wolfe grunted. "You'll have to. The man's a nincompoop. You can call Mr. Parker from there if necessary."
I uncovered the transmitter and told it, "All right, Mr. Gerson, I'm on my way. Keep them locked in till I get there." I hung up and went.
At the curb in front was Cramer's car. Trading waves with the driver, Jimmy Burke, I headed east. There was no reason to suppose that Cramer had a tail posted for me, but I wasn't taking the thinnest chance of leading a city employee to 82nd Street. Getting a taxi on Ninth Avenue, I told the driver I would give directions as we went along. We turned right on 34th Street, right again on Eleventh Avenue, right again on 56th Street, and left on Tenth Avenue. By then I knew I was clear, but I kept an eye to the rear all the way to 82nd and Broadway. From there I walked.
The hole was being filled in. There was no uniform around, and no one in sight who might be representing Homicide West or the DA's bureau. Turning in at the basement entrance of 156, using Meg Duncan's key, and going down the hall, I had no feeling of eyes on me, but as I approached the end Cesar Perez appeared at the kitchen door.
"Oh, you," he said, and turned. "It's Mr. Goodwin."
His wife came from inside. "There's a woman up there," she said.
I nodded. "I came to meet her. Had you seen her before?"
"No." She looked at her husband. "Cesar, we must tell him."
"I don't know," Perez spread his hands. "You think better than I do, Felita. If you say so."
Her black eyes came at me. "If you're not an honest man, may the good God send us help. Come in here." She moved.
I didn't hesitate. Fred hadn't sounded on the phone as if he had any new scratches, and this pair might have something hot. I stepped into the kitchen. Mrs. Perez went to the table and Picked up a card and handed it to me. "That man came this morning," she said.
It was the engraved card of a John Morton Seymour, with ' 'Attorney at Law" in one corner and a midtown address in the other. "And?" I asked.
"He brought this." She picked up an envelope from the table and offered it. "Look at it."
It had been sealed and slit open. I took out a paper with the regulation blue legal backing and unfolded it. There were three typewritten sheets, very neat and professional. I didn't have to read every word to get the idea; it was a deed, signed by Thomas G. Yeager and properly witnessed, dated March 16, 1957, conveying certain property, namely the house and ground at 156 West 82nd Street, Borough of Manhattan, City of New York, to Cesar and Felita Perez. First and most interesting question: how long had they known it existed?
"He brought that and gave it to us," she said. * 'He said Mr. Yeager told him that if he died he must give it to us within forty-eight hours after he died. He said it was a little more than forty-eight hours but he didn't think that would matter. He said he would take care of it for us - formalities, he said - without any charge. Now we have to tell you what we were going to do. We were going away tonight. We were going somewhere and not come back. But now we argue, we fight. My husband and daughter think we can stay, but I think we must go. For the first time we fight more than just some words, so I am telling you."
Cesar had an eye half closed. "What he say yesterday," he said, "your Mr. Wolfe. He say when they find out Mr. Yeager owned this house they come here and then we have bad trouble, so we decide to go tonight. But this man today, this Mr. Seymour, he say Mr. Yeager did this paper like this so nobody could know he owned this house and we must not say he owned it. He say it is fixed so nobody will know. So I say we can stay now. It is our house now and we can take out the things we don't want up there and it can be our room. If it's too big we can put in walls. That kitchen and that bathroom are beautiful. My wife thinks better than I do nearly always, but this time I say I don't see why. Why must we run away from our own house?"
"Well." I put the deed in the envelope and tossed it on the table. "When Mr. Wolfe said yesterday that you would be in trouble when they find out that Yeager owned this house you knew they wouldn't find out, and why didn't you say so?"
"You don't listen," Mrs. Perez said. "This Mr. Seymour didn't come yesterday, he came this morning. You don't listen."
"Sure I do. But Yeager told you about that paper long ago. You knew the house would be yours if he died."
Her black eyes flashed. "If you listen do you call us liars? When we say we were going away and this Mr. Seymour comes with this paper, and now we fight?"
I nodded. "I heard you. Have you got a Bible?"
"Of course."
"Bring it here."
She left the room, not to the hall, by another door. In a moment she was back with a thick little book bound in stiff brown leather. It didn't resemble the Bibles I had seen, and I opened it for a look, but it was in Spanish. Holding it, I asked them to put their left hands on it and raise their right hands, and they obliged. "Repeat this after me: I swear on this Bible… that I didn't know… Mr. Yeager was going to give us this house… and I had no reason… to think he was going to… before Mr. Seymour came this morning."
I put the Bible on the table. "Okay. If Mr. Seymour says he can handle it so no one will know Yeager owned it he probably can, but there are quite a few people who already know it, including me, so I advise you not to take anything from that room, not a single thing, even if it's your property. I also advise you to stay here. I'm not saying who did the best thinking on that, but skipping out is the worst thing you could possibly do. Yeager was killed up there, and you moved the body. If you skip it could even be that Mr. Wolfe will decide he has to tell the police about you, and it wouldn't take them long to find you, and swearing on a Bible wouldn't help you then."
"They wouldn't find us," Mrs. Perez said.
"Don't kid yourself. Smarter people than you have thought they could go where they couldn't be found, and it can't be done. Forget it. I have to go upstairs and see that woman. Please accept my congratulations on having a house all your own. May a cop never enter it."
I was going, but she spoke. "If we go away, we'll tell you before we go."
"We're not going," Perez said. "We're citizens of the United States of America."
"That's the spirit," I said, and went to the elevator and pushed the button. It came, and I entered and was lifted.
That bower of carnality grew on you. Emerging from the elevator and seeing that all was serene, that Fred hadn't had to use the coverlet again, I let my eyes glance around. Unquestionably the place had a definite appeal. It would have been an interesting and instructive experiment to move in and see how long it would take to get used to it, especially a couple of pictures across from the -
But I had work to do. Fred was in a yellow silk chair, at ease, with a glass of champagne in his hand, and on a couch facing him, also with a glass of champagne, was a female who went with the surroundings much better than either Meg Duncan or Julia McGee, though of course they hadn't been relaxed on a couch. This one was rather small, all curves but not ostentatious, and the ones that caught your eye and held it were the curves of her lips - her wide, but not too wide, full mouth. As I approached she extended a hand.
"I know you," she said. "I've seen you at the Flamingo. I made a man mad once saying I wanted to dance with you. When Fred said Archie Goodwin was coming I had to sit down to keep from swooning. You dance like a dream."