Rex Stout
And Be A Villain
CHAPTER One
For the third time I went over the final additions and subtractions on the first page of Form 1040, to make good and sure. Then I swivelled my chair to face Nero Wolfe, who was seated behind his desk to the right of mine reading a book of poems by a guy named Van Doren, Mark Van Doren. So I thought I might as well use a poetry word.
“It's bleak,” I said.
There was no sign that he heard.
“Bleak,” I repeated. “If it means what I think it does. Bleak!” His eyes didn't lift from the page, but he murmured, “What's bleak?” “Figures.” I leaned to slide the Form 1040 across the waxed grain of his desk.
“This is March thirteenth. Four thousand three hundred and twelve dollars and sixty-eight cents, in addition to the four quarterly instalments already paid.
Then we have to send in 1040-ES for 1948, and a cheque for ten thousand bucks goes with it.” I clasped my fingers at the back of my head and asked grimly, “Bleak or not?” He asked what the bank balance was and I told him. “Of course,” I conceded, “that will take care of the two wallops from our rich uncle just mentioned, also a loaf of bread and a sliver of shad roe, but weeks pass and bills arrive, not to be so crude as to speak of paying Fritz and Theodore and me.” Wolfe had put down the poetry and was scowling at the Form 1040, pretending he could add. I raised my voice: “But you own this house and furniture, except the chair and other items in my room which I bought myself, and you're the boss and you know best. Sure. That electric company bird would have been good for at least a grand over and above expenses on his forgery problem, but you wouldn't be bothered. Mrs What's-her-name would have paid twice that, plenty, for the lowdown on that so-called musician, but you were too busy reading. That lawyer by the name of Clifford was in a bad hole and had to buy help, but he had dandruff. That actress and her gentleman protector-” “Archie, shut up.” “Yes, sir. Also what do you do? You come down from your beautiful orchids day before yesterday and breeze in here and tell me merrily to draw another man-size cheque for that World Government outfit. When I meekly mention that the science of book- keeping has two main branches, first addition and second subtraction-” “Leave the room!” I snarled in his direction, swivelled back to my desk position, got the typewriter in place, inserted paper with carbon, and started to tap out, from my work sheet, Schedule G for line 6 of Schedule C. Time passed and I went on with the job, now and then darting a glance to the right to see if he had had the brass to resume on the book. He hadn't. He was leaning back in his chair, which was big enough for two but not two of him, motionless, with his eyes closed. The tempest was raging. I had a private grin and went on with my work. Somewhat later, when I was finishing Schedule F for line 16 of Schedule C, a growl came from him: “Archie.” “Yes, sir.” I swivelled.
“A man condemning the income tax because of the annoyance it gave him or the expense it puts him to is merely a dog baring its teeth, and he forfeits the privileges of civilized discourse. But it is permissible to criticize it on other and impersonal grounds. A government, like an individual, spends money for any or all of three reasons: because it needs to, because it wants to, or simply because it has to spend. The last is much the shabbiest. It is arguable, if not manifest, that a substantial proportion of this great spring flood of billions pouring into the Treasury will in effect get spent for that last shabby reason.”
“Yeah. So we deduct something? How do I word it?” Wolfe half opened his eyes. “You are sure of your figures?” “Only too sure.” “Did you cheat much?” “Average. Nothing indecent.” “I have to pay the amounts you named?” “Either that or forfeit privileges.” “Very well.” Wolfe sighed clear down, sat a minute, and straightened his chair.
“Confound it. There was a time when a thousand dinars a year was ample for me.
Get Mr Richards of the Federal Broadcasting Company.” I frowned at him, trying to guess; then, because I knew he was using up a lot of energy sitting up straight, I gave up, found the number in the book, dialled, and, by using Wolfe's name, got through to Richards three minutes under par for a vice-president. Wolfe took his phone, exchanged greetings, and went on: “In my office two years ago, Mr Richards, when you handed me a cheque, you said that you felt you were still in my debt-in spite of the size of that cheque. So I'm presuming
