“That is patently true,” Wolfe said. “President Truman’s Displaced Person’s Act of 1948 allowed for the admission of two hundred thousand immigrants over a two-year period. Recently, that number has been raised to four hundred thousand, but I have read in the newspapers that far greater numbers continue to seek asylum here.”
“Well, I have to assume that somebody is making big money by sneaking others in.”
“A valid assumption. And it seems apparent the amount of money changing hands is significant enough that violence is being done to those who have suspicions of impropriety and illegality.”
“There ought to be a special place in hell for those who get rich on the suffering of others,” I put in.
“As Sophocles wrote more than twenty-four centuries ago, ‘For money, you would sell your soul,’” Wolfe said. “Countless souls have ransomed themselves over the centuries for profit.”
“I suppose so. Have you got any thoughts on how we should now proceed?”
“I believe your stay at that apartment building is nearing its completion. It appears you have mined that lode for all of the ore you are likely to get. Those card players Saul spoke to, Sid and Harvey. Do you feel we might benefit if I were to talk to them?” Only on rare occasions has Wolfe asked my advice, which usually means he is at least temporarily stymied.
“A good question. In the past, I’ve interviewed countless people, thinking that I milked them dry. And then they come in here, and within a half hour, often less, you have been able to find out far more than I did twice the time.”
Wolfe leaned back in his chair and sighed. “Based on what you have said, Saul knows the two gentlemen better than you do.”
“There’s no question whatever. He has spent more time with them than I have, both at the bridge table and in conversation, including their recent session away from McCready’s.”
“That being the case, I suggest Saul persuade them to come here, and we already know his powers of persuasion are considerable. He will of course need to reveal our identities and that of Theodore as well.”
“I’ll give him a call. Do you want to be on the line?”
“Not necessary,” Wolfe said, browsing an orchid catalog that arrived in the morning mail.
I got Saul at home and relayed Wolfe’s request. “So, I spill the beans about you guys and Theodore as well, right?” he asked.
“Do you see that as a problem?”
“Oh... not really, Archie. I’m sure they’ll be surprised at first, but when I tell them Nero Wolfe is seeking not just the people who beat Horstmann half to death but those who killed Chester as well, I think that ought to seal the deal. When does he want to see them?”
I turned to Wolfe, holding up the receiver so he could he part of the conversation, whether he wanted to or not. “Assuming Saul can get the pair to come, did you have a time in mind?”
“Would he be able to deliver them here tonight at nine?”
“I will give it a try,” Saul said. “You’ll hear from me sometime this afternoon, one way or the other.”
In fact, Saul got back to me just after 4 p.m., which meant, of course, that Wolfe was up in the plant rooms for his afternoon session. “I will bring them both at nine,” he said. “And in answer to the question you are about to ask, they were surprised, make that very surprised, to learn about you and Wolfe, and of course about Theodore.”
“Were they angry or upset?”
“Not either, really. Once they got over the initial shock, I think they both were encouraged. And they were particularly pleased to learn their friend ‘Ted’ was alive. Although I didn’t sugarcoat his condition in the least.”
“We’ll be ready for all of you at nine,” I told him, hanging up and then calling Wolfe in the plant rooms.
“Yes!” he barked. The man has never learned telephone etiquette and never will. And it didn’t help that he hates to be disturbed when he’s playing with his “concubines,” as he refers to the orchids that fill and glorify those three rooms in the greenhouse on the roof.
When I told him of Saul’s success, he did manage to mutter a “satisfactory” before slamming down his instrument.
Chapter 15
At 8:45 p.m., the doorbell rang and I did the honors. On the stoop were Saul with the men I recognized as Sid and Harvey, although their garb was different from when I played bridge with them. Both sported jackets and ties, perhaps because they felt a meeting with Nero Wolfe demanded a certain amount of decorum.
“Please come in,” I said, and I got looks of uncertainty from each of our guests. “I assume you both now know that I am not ‘Art,’ but rather Archie Goodwin, assistant to Nero Wolfe.”
“We do,” said an unsmiling Harvey, who eyed me over his ever-present half-glasses. Sid nodded but said nothing.
When we got to the office, I gestured the two to yellow chairs facing Wolfe’s desk, while Saul slid into the red leather chair normally reserved for a client or Cramer. “Can I get anyone a drink? We have a well-stocked bar,” I said, nodding to the table against the wall.
“I’ll have a scotch and water,” Saul said, breaking the ice, so to speak.
“Make that two,” said Sid.
“Do you have rye? If so, I would like it on the rocks,” put in Harvey.
I nodded, playing bartender for the trio. Our visitors did not seem surprised that Wolfe wasn’t present, which meant Saul had told them of their host’s habit of not appearing until his audience was seated.
After everyone had their drinks, Wolfe strode in, as if on cue. He nodded, settled behind the desk, and rang for beer. “Gentlemen, thank you for accepting our invitation. I realize both Mr. Goodwin and Mr. Panzer were, by intent, not forthcoming about their identities when you first encountered them at the bridge table in McCready’s. Before I begin talking, I invite each of you to ask as many questions as you wish to any of the three of us. I promise candor in our responses.”
Sid and Harvey looked at each other, and Sid began. “Needless to say, sir, we were surprised when Saul told us who he was and who Art — make that Archie — was. And we knew nothing about Ted’s real background until we also learned that from Saul. It has taken us awhile to digest all of this.” Harvey nodded his agreement.
“Your reactions are understandable,” Wolfe said as he took a drink from the first of two chilled beers Fritz had brought in. “And you now are aware that Theodore Horstmann, the man you know as Ted, is in my employ and currently lies in a coma at a local hospital.”
It was Harvey’s turn to speak. “Yes, and we also learned from Saul that he was viciously beaten. What is his prognosis?”
“It is uncertain,” Wolfe replied. “Both Theodore and your friend Chester were attacked, Chester fatally. Do either of you have any thoughts as to why these two were targeted. And by whom?”
“Chester was the gentlest of men, and although I can’t speak for Ted, he also seemed to be the nonviolent type,” Harvey said, turning to Sid. “What do you think?”
“Each of them seemed to be very bothered by the people around them at McCready’s. Or maybe suspicious is a more accurate word,” Sid said.
“What fueled their suspicion?” Wolfe asked.
“I am not sure about Ted’s reasons,” Sid said, “being that he has been very tight-lipped — friendly, but tight-lipped. Another thing about Ted: Whenever German was spoken by the DPs sitting at the bar, I got the feeling he could understand them.
“As for Chester, he has always been the most perceptive and sensitive of the three of us. And almost since we began playing bridge in that back room at McCready’s, he was the one who seemed to be the most attuned to his surroundings.”