but for a working detective it's pure crap. So I did it again. I looked at Vance's purled eyes, flabby cheeks, thin hair, saggy shoulders, down to his brown shoes that needed a shine, actually hoping to get a slant on the question, Did he kill Elinor Denovo? Nuts.
By the time I got to nuts Wolfe was saying, '… not that I scorn all trite expressions; some of the finest words and phrases in the language were once vulgarisms and are well worn. But a faddish cliche like 'image' as now abused is an abomination. You told Mr. Goodwin that my 'public image' needs expert handling and you would like to meet me. If you have some proposal to make I'll listen as a matter of courtesy, but don't call my repute my image.'
'To hell with your courtesy. Shove it.' Vance's voice was not as I remembered it. I had thought he was a fairly smooth talker that Sunday, but now the words came out blurry. He went on, 'I've learned something about you since I talked with Goodwin. You don't give a damn about your public image. Did you get me here just to tell me you don't like cliches? Do I go home now?'
Wolfe nodded. 'That's your question, why I got you here. My question is, Why did you come? I doubt if either of us expects a candid answer. In fact, Mr. Vance, I'm in some confusion about my objective. One possibility is that I would like to know why you prevailed on your friends to drive you to Miss Rowan's so you could meet Mr. Goodwin. Another possibility is that I would like to know why you made several attempts to see Mrs. Elinor Denovo last May. Still another is that I want to
ask you about your association with Miss Carlotta Vaughn in the summer of nineteen forty-four. And again, another is that I wondered why you didn't reply to an advertisement which appeared-'
'Jesus. Give me a pad and pencil. I'll have to make notes.'
We hadn't wiped a pad. You can't think of everything. I got one from a drawer, and a pencil, and went with them, and he took them, probably because he was uncertain what to do with his tongue and so was glad to have something to do with his hands.
'As you see,' Wolfe said, 'I have-since you fancy cliches-an embarrassment of riches.' His head tilted; I hadn't sat. 'Beer, please, Archie?'
'Yes, sir.' I took a step and stopped. 'Something wet, Mr. Vance?'
He shook his head and said emphatically, 'No.' I started out, foiled because a glass or bottle is a 'best bet, and as I neared the door Ms voice stopped me. 'What the hell. Scotch and water. And ice.'
Fritz, having been told that he wouldn't be needed, had gone out. In the kitchen I put Wolfe's beer and glass on a tray, and on another tray a wiped glass, a bowl which I wiped before putting icecubes in it, a pitcher which I wiped before putting water in it, and a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black which I also wiped. That took a while and made me miss something. When I got to the office with the trays Vance had used his hands some more and had a cigar lit, so I didn't know if he carried them loose or in a case, or if he had used the matches on the stand. The cigar was a long panatela, nothing like a Gold Label Bonita, but that didn't bother me; if he had left that case in the hit-and-run car it would have been common prudence to switch. After serving the trays I went back to the kitchen for a glass of milk and when I returned to the office Vance had Ms glass in his hand and Wolfe was talking.
'… for I have no intention or desire to make any demand or indictment, and I don't think my client has either. I want only what I have been hired to get, information. I can't name my client, but if my questions reveal her identity to you, that in itself would answer my basic
question. The advertisement plainly implied that the woman once known as Carlotta Vaughn was later known as Elinor Denevo, but if you prefer to tell me nothing about Elinor Denovo we'll restrict it to Carlotta Vaughn. By the way…'
He opened a drawer and took out the two photographs. I had cautioned him not to handle them in a way that would make it obvious that he was taking care not to leave prints-the Police Department files already had samples of his-and he did all right, perfectly normal as he handed them to me and I passed them on to Vance.
'She was Elinor Denovo when those were taken,' Wolfe said, 'but had been Carlotta Vaughn only a year or two previously, so you should recognize her.'
Vance handled them normally too. He had put his glass down, and with one in each hand he gave them a look, first the three-quarters face and then the profile. He looked at Wolfe. 'So what? Sure I recognize her.' He put the photographs on the stand. 'I'm not denying that I once knew a woman named Carlotta Vaughn.' He picked up his glass and drank.
'When and where did you first meet her?'
'In the spring of nineteen forty-four.' He was no longer blurring his words; apparently a few swallows of Scotch with very little water had helped. 'I think it was late March. My God, it was twenty-three years ago.'
'Where?' Wolfe had opened his bottle but hadn't poured.
'I don't remember. I suppose some party. I was under thirty and I got around.'
'And you hired her?'
'Well… yes.'
'You paid her a salary?'
Vance took a swallow. 'Look,' he said, 'I'm not going to toot my horn. As I said, I was under thirty, and girls were no problem. They seemed to like my style. This Carlotta Vaughn got it hard. I wasn't setting any rivers on fire in my business and she knew it-what the hell, everybody knew it-and she wanted to help, and she was smart. So I let her help. No, I didn't pay her.'
'How long did she continue to help?'
'Oh, all summer. Into fall. Six months, perhaps seven.'
