Archie Meets Nero Wolfe Read online

  I pushed in through a glass-and-chromium revolving door and got greeted by a mustachioed swell at a podium wearing a tuxedo, a carnation, and a smirk. “Yes, sir, may I help you?” He cleared his throat, giving me a once-over that suggested I should consider finding a new tailor.

  When I told him I was there for dinner and didn’t have a reservation, he cleared his throat again, studied his seating chart, and snapped his fingers, which brought a white-aproned waiter running over. “Show this gentleman to table nineteen,” the maître d’ said, turning away to warmly greet a well-dressed couple, obviously regular patrons, who had just entered.

  Table nineteen was tucked into a corner at the back of the mahogany-paneled dining room not far from the swinging doors to the kitchen. The waiter handed me a menu and said he would return shortly for my order. He did, and he was clearly surprised when I ordered the most expensive steak on the menu, along with all the trimmings.

  Alone but not lonely at a table for two, I had what was probably the best meal of my life, topped off by apple pie à la mode. The coffee, however, did not rank with the brew served at Mort’s diner a few blocks away, or by Fritz at Wolfe’s house.

  “Nice to meet you,” I told the mustache at the front desk on my way out. “Grub’s not bad here. I might even consider coming back again one of these days for another steak.” I didn’t wait to see his expression.

  The next morning, I got to Bascom’s office a few minutes after nine to find him at his desk, hunched over the Gazette crossword puzzle. “These damned things,” he muttered. “They drive me crazy, but I keep coming back to them. Guess I’m just a glutton for punishment—Oh, Nero Wolfe called a few minutes ago. He wants to see us at eleven.”

  “Another meeting of the whole crew, eh?”

  “Not this time. Just the two of us.”

  “Huh! What’s it all about?”

  “Beats me, but after the payday we got yesterday, when Wolfe calls, I jump. I hope he treated you okay, too,” Bascom said.

  “No complaints here. I spent a small chunk of it on my stomach last night.”

  “And why not? Me, I took the wife to dinner myself, at her favorite Italian joint just down the block from where we live. They even slipped us some red wine, called it grape juice. First time we been out to eat in months. It was a treat.”

  “Well, since we’ve already been paid for this job, I hope we don’t have to spend too much time working it off.”

  “Wolfe has always been a square shooter with me,” Bascom said, taking a puff of his cigar. “He’s not looking to chisel us. If we end up doing a lot more, he’ll make it worth our while, I can tell you that.”

  In what now seemed to be a daily routine, we sat in Wolfe’s office at eleven with coffee.

  He walked in, placed orchids in a vase on the desk, and sat, dipping his chin to each of us. “Thank you for coming,” he said. “As you know, Mr. Williamson dined with me last night. He shared two items of interest. First, he received a telephone call from Inspector Cramer of Homicide, who pressed him on a possible connection between his son’s kidnapping and the death of that man, Barney Haskell, on a Bronx street.

  “According to Mr. Williamson, the inspector seemed most anxious to implicate me, and by extension my agents, in the killing. To his credit, Mr. Williamson dismissed the idea and told the inspector that he and he alone went to the Bronx that night, only to find Haskell lying dead on the sidewalk. He apologized for not calling the police, but said he was distraught at failing to get his son back.”

  “Didn’t Cramer chew him out for not going to the police in the first place?” Bascom asked.

  “Of course,” Wolfe said, “but Mr. Williamson insisted that he had done the right thing by coming to us. And when Cramer pointed out that he should not have paid a ransom, his response was ‘I have my son back safely, don’t I? End of discussion.’”

  “You mentioned two items of interest,” I prompted.

  Wolfe dipped his head slightly. “Yes. The family chauffeur, Charles Bell, abruptly quit, leaving only a brief note.”

  “Pretty suspicious, I’d say,” Bascom observed.

  “Mr. Williamson told me Bell had complained that others on the staff suspected him of being involved in the kidnapping.”

  “Did somebody come right out and make an accusation?”

  “Apparently, it was considerably more subtle than that,” Wolfe said. “Furtive looks, conversations suddenly ceasing when Mr. Bell walked into a room. So the Williamsons are in need of a chauffeur, which is why I asked you here.”

  We both must have looked puzzled, because Wolfe quickly went on. “Mr. Bascom, would it be an imposition to spare Mr. Goodwin for a few days, possibly longer?”

  Del lifted his shoulders and let them drop. “Archie’s been a breath of fresh air in our little office, a real bulldog, Mr. Wolfe, but I gotta be honest. There’s not a lot of business floating around town these days, so if you’ve got an assignment for him, I’m not about to stand in the way. A dollar’s a dollar.”

  Wolfe readjusted his bulk and drank beer. “When Mr. Williamson was here and told me of the unexpected departure of his chauffeur, I suggested he hire Mr. Goodwin, on a temporary basis, of course—as a combination chauffeur and bodyguard for the boy. He had been impressed with Mr. Goodwin’s resourcefulness under pressure that first night in the Bronx, and he was amenable to my suggestion.”

  “But nobody thought to ask Mr. Goodwin whether he wanted to take the job,” I growled.

  “A salient point,” Wolfe conceded. “However, you appear to relish a challenge, so it seemed natural to suggest you.”

  “Don’t patronize me, Mr. Wolfe,” I said. “I may not be able to vote yet, but I am able to detect appeals to my vanity, such as it is.”

  “Well said!” Wolfe responded with raised eyebrows. “This is the first time I have been accused of patronizing anyone, and I assure you such was not my intent. If the job does not appeal to you, so be it.”

  “I didn’t say that. I might be open to the idea, but I would like to know what you think would be accomplished by my being there as chauffeur and bodyguard.”

  “A fair question. I remain convinced that the key to the kidnapping of the boy and the murder of Barney Haskell lies at the Williamson estate.”

  “What about the chauffeur, Charles Bell?” I asked. “As Del says, his disappearance is suspicious, damned suspicious. Seems to me there’s your man.”

  “Possibly,” Wolfe said, leaning back and placing his hands palms down on the desk. “Mr. Bascom and the others will be pursuing that avenue.”

  “There’s one other thing, of course,” I said. “Several of these people on the household staff already have met me, and they sure as hell will tell the others who I am. I’ll be seen as a spy in their midst.”

  “Not necessarily,” Wolfe responded. “Mr. Williamson will present you to the staff as the young man who has the necessary attributes to protect young Tommie.’

  “Sounds a little on the flimsy side,” I said.

  Wolfe considered me. “Would I be guilty of patronizing you if I said I believe you can pull it off?” he asked.

  “I guess not. But as far as the chauffeur part of the job goes, you should know that I am no expert on automobiles. The closest I ever came to being a mechanic was when I used to change the sparkplugs on my father’s old truck.”

  “It is my understanding that Mr. Bell is not an auto mechanic, either,” Wolfe said. “All the work on the Williamson machines is done at a garage in the town near the estate.”

  “Okay, let’s say for the sake of argument that I take the job. What is it that you expect me to learn? Chances are nobody’s going to open up to me.”

  “Not right away,” Wolfe conceded, “but you may be able to integrate yourself into the life of the estate faster than you think. One of your responsibilities will be to drive Tommie to and from school, and assuming that you and he develop a rapport, that friendship likely will find favor with other member
s of the staff who are devoted to the boy. Bear in mind also that Mr. Bell was not universally admired by his coworkers, so you may be seen as a great improvement.”

  “Speaking of Tommie, do you expect me to pump him about the details of his abduction?” I asked.

  “Not overtly. But specifics of the ordeal may come out little by little during your trips to and from the school. Have you had any experience talking to small boys?”

  “Some. I’ve got two nephews, ages six and ten, back in Ohio, and I’ve always gotten along pretty well with them. They seem to think that I’m funny—as in ha-ha, not peculiar.”

  “Perhaps young Master Williamson will find you amusing as well,” Wolfe said. “While you are piloting the Williamson automobiles and getting to know the staff, an effort will be made at this end to locate Mr. Bell, who apparently took all his clothing and personal effects when he made his hurried departure.”

  “Am I expected to live in the chauffeur’s quarters on the estate?”

  “Yes, to help establish the illusion of semi-permanence for you in this role.”

  “Swell. Being in an apartment tucked away above a garage on Long Island is a far cry from the bright lights and excitement of Manhattan,” I complained.

  “Excitement comes in many guises,” Wolfe said. “And who knows, you just may develop an affinity for the country life.”

  “Not likely. I had enough of the country growing up in southern Ohio to last a lifetime.”

  CHAPTER 15

  The next morning, Saul Panzer drove me out to the Williamson mansion in Wolfe’s Heron. “As I said before, you’ve got yourself an interesting task here, Archie,” he remarked as we entered the grounds in a blowing rainstorm and wheeled around the big house to the rear.

  “I’m not sure how you define ‘interesting,’ but I hope it doesn’t equal ‘boring,’” I said. “I’d rather be with you guys hunting for Charles Bell. For my money, he’s the key to this whole business.”

  “Maybe, although Mr. Wolfe seems to feel it’s important to have you out here, which makes me think that at least part of the puzzle lies with one or more of the Williamson staff—other than Mr. Bell.”

  “I will keep an eagle eye on all of ’em. Who knows, I may become smitten with one of the female members of this crew and we run away together to build a new life on an island in the South Seas.”

  “Have you been reading those dime detective magazines of yours again?” Panzer asked.

  “No, it’s just the romantic in me, bursting to find expression.”

  “Geez, I hope it isn’t catching. Me, all I want out of life is my quiet little flat on East Thirty-Eighth Street with its piano, shelves of good books, Cuban cigars, champagne chilling in the icebox, and the occasional poker game to keep my mind sharp and my wallet full of Lincolns and Hamiltons and, if I’m especially lucky, Jacksons.”

  “Seems like little enough to ask,” I said.

  “Precisely my sentiments, Archie. Oh, I almost forgot—you will need this in your new role,” he said, handing me a card that turned out to be a New York State chauffeur’s license.

  “Where did this come from? Don’t I need to take some sort of test? And who got my address?”

  “Isn’t the address correct?” Panzer asked.

  “Yeah, but ...

  “Archie, don’t ask questions. You have just seen the power of Burke Williamson in action. He took care of everything.”

  “Sure seems like it,” I replied, sliding the license into my billfold.

  “Well, good luck with your assignment,” Panzer said as I hauled my suitcase out of the backseat and headed for the house. “Have fun in the world of the very rich.”

  A few minutes later, I sat with Burke Williamson in his study. “I will introduce you to the staff just before lunch,” he said. “Of course, you already have met several of them, and almost everyone will no doubt be somewhat suspicious of you. I will explain that you are here in the combination role of chauffeur and bodyguard for my son, and that your work as a private detective has trained you well for the latter role.”

  “How are members of your household reacting to Mr. Bell’s disappearance?”

  “I think it is fair to say they all are shocked in various degrees. Coming so quickly after Tommie’s kidnapping, this has further unnerved everyone here, as you can imagine.”

  “Do you have any explanation for his disappearance?”

  “As I told Mr. Wolfe, Charles believed that others on the staff—he would not say who—felt he had something to do with what happened to Tommie. I told him that was total rot, but he was not consoled by my support. He apparently left Monday afternoon after driving Tommie back here from school. He took everything of his and left a brief note saying he would inform us of his new address, where we could forward any mail he received here.”

  “How did he leave?”

  “He had an auto of his own, a Plymouth coupe, which he kept in the garage here. We have room for five machines, and I have three of them myself, so there was plenty of space.”

  Williamson leaned back at his desk. “Young Mr. Goodwin, I must be honest with you. Having you come here was not my idea, it was Nero Wolfe’s. He insists—and I continue to strongly disagree—that someone in my employ helped engineer the kidnapping. I yielded to him for two reasons: first, I am in his incalculable debt for bringing my son back; second, I was impressed with how you handled yourself under pressure in the Bronx both nights. You appear to be mature well beyond your years. If Wolfe had suggested anyone other than you for this role, I very well might have said no.”

  “Thank you for the vote of confidence, sir.”

  “Do not be too quick to thank me. I remain concerned about your presence here, which has the potential to cause further unrest among an already unnerved staff. Doubtless, they—or at least some of them—are going to view you as a Caleb in their midst.”

  “A Caleb?”

  “A biblical reference. He was a spy in the Old Testament.”

  “Guess I must have stayed home from Sunday school that day. Mr. Williamson, I will go out of my way to avoid seeming like a detective.”

  “I appreciate that. Now let’s go over to the garage. I will show you the vehicles you’ll be driving and also your living quarters. You look to be about Charles Bell’s build, so his uniforms should fit you. If not, you can wear a business suit until we get them altered.”

  As it turned out, Bell’s uniforms were a near-perfect fit, although looking in a mirror in what was about to become my new home, I felt more than a little foolish in a black monkey suit and black beaked cap. I would have been right at home driving a hearse for a mortuary.

  “That will do just fine,” Williamson said, nodding his approval. “Now we will go down to the kitchen and I’ll introduce you. They should be gathering for lunch.”

  As we entered the kitchen, conversations stopped in midsentence and all eyes bore in on me. “Excuse my barging in,” Williamson said, “but I would like you to meet Mr. Archie Goodwin, who will be taking over the chauffeur’s duties for the time being and also serving as Tommie’s bodyguard. I believe one or more of you may have met him when he was here earlier this week with the other detectives.”

  Williamson then proceeded to introduce each member of the staff. Mostly, I just got expressionless nods from them, although the portly cook, Mrs. Price, stepped forward, grinning. “You’ve picked a good day to start, lad,” she said. “Given it is so blustery and rainy outside, I have decided to prepare my lamb stew for lunch. Everybody here loves it.”

  “I’m sure I will, too. It has always been a favorite of mine,” I said, causing her grin to widen and her face to flush.

  We went to a long, sturdy wooden table at one end of the large basement kitchen. I waited until the others were seated, figuring they each had their reserved spot. I then parked myself in the last open chair, which put me between the housekeeper, Emily Stratton, and the gardener, Lloyd Carstens, and directly across from Sylvia Moore,
the only member of the staff I had previously met. She nodded to me, showing the hint of a smile. I gave her a full-fledged grin in return, then turned to Carstens, as the housekeeper already was talking with the butler, Waverly, on her right.

  “The grounds here are really beautiful,” I told Carstens. “They seem more like a park than a yard.”

  He nodded, poker-faced. “Bigger’n any so-called yard you’d be likely to find. Eight acres in all, which takes a powerful lot of tending to.”

  “I’m sure it does. Do you enjoy your work?”

  Another nod. “Yep, and we got us a mite longer growing season than up Maine way, where I hail from.”

  Just then, Emily Stratton made a noise in her throat to get my attention and passed me a steaming platter of lamb stew. I thanked her and received a thin-lipped nod for my trouble. She didn’t seem like one who smiled much.

  It was becoming clear that there would be very little animated chatting, at least in my immediate area. In fact, there wasn’t much talk at all during that lunch. Whether or not it had to do with my presence, I couldn’t say, but I was somewhat disappointed, because I had expected to be questioned on my knowledge of automobiles and was ready with all kinds of answers.

  One thing that did not disappoint me, however, was Mrs. Price’s lamb stew, of which I had two helpings. During the meal, I made a couple of halfhearted attempts at conversation with both Carstens and Miss Stratton, both of which died for lack of participation on their behalf.

  After lunch, I reported to Williamson’s study, as he had requested. He would ride with me to pick up Tommie from school, as I did not know the way. “How did lunch go?” he asked.

  “All in all, they seem like a pretty quiet bunch.”

  “I couldn’t say, as I have never intruded on the staff’s meals,” he said, “but perhaps they are simply getting used to your presence. However, I warned you they would be suspicious of you.”