That was satisfactory. I liked that all right, except for one thing. After the
Westchester dick was finished on the phone and it was settled that I would roll my own, and the sergeant had generously said that the Police Department would contribute the phone call, I asked the dick if he understood that I didn't care to be tailed, and he replied that I needn't worry because he was going back to
Thirty-fifth Street to see Nero Wolfe. I didn't care much for that, but said nothing because I hadn't yet decided exactly what to say. So when I found a place on Lexington Avenue for a sandwich and a malted, I went first to a phone booth, called the house, and told Fritz to leave the chain bolt on, tell callers that Wolfe was out of the city and no more, and admit no one.
Being on the move did help. Having decided, while touring the park and avenues, what my immediate trouble was, I now, on my way to Birchvale, got the whole thing into focus. Considering the entire picture, including the detail of putting the house up for sale and the lack of even one little hint for me, let alone a blueprint, it was by no means a bet that Wolfe had merely dived into a foxhole. Look how free Marko had been with his poor-young-friending. It was not inconceivable that Wolfe had decided to chuck it for good. A hundred times and more, when things or people-frequently me-didn't suit him, he had told me about the house he owned in Egypt and how pleasant it would be to live there. I had always brushed it off. I now realised that a man who is eccentric enough to threaten to go and live in Egypt is eccentric enough to do it, especially when it gets to the point where he opens a package of sausage and has to run for his life.
Therefore I would be a dimwit to assume that this was merely time out to gather ammunition and make plans. Nor could I assume that it wasn't. I couldn't assume anything. Was he gone for good, or was he putting on a charade that would make all his other performances look like piker stuff in comparison? Presumably I was to answer that question, along with others, by the light of experience guided by intelligence, and I did not appreciate the compliment. If I was finally and permanently on my own, very well; I would make out. But apparently I was still drawing pay, so what? The result of my getting the whole picture into focus was that as I turned in at the entrance to Birchvale I was sorer than ever.
I was stopped at the entrance by one of Noonan's colleagues, there on guard, and was allowed to proceed up the curving drive only after I had shown him four documents. Parking in a space at the side of the house that was bordered by evergreens, I walked around to the front door and was admitted by a maid who looked pale and puffy. She didn't say anything, just held the door open, but a man was there too, one of the county boys whom I knew by sight but not by name.
He said, “This way, and led me to the right, to the same small room I had seen before.
Ben Dykes, sitting there at the table with a stack of papers, grunted at me, “So you finally got here.
“I told Archer two o'clock. It's one fifty-eight.
“Uh-huh. Sit down.
I sat. The door was standing open, but no sound of any kind came to my ears except the rustling of the papers Dykes was going through.
“Is the case solved? I inquired courteously. “It's so damn' quiet. In New York they make more noise. If you-
I stopped because I was being answered. A typewriter started clicking somewhere.
It was faint, from a distance, but unmistakably a typewriter, with a professional at it.
“I suppose Archer knows I'm here, I stated.
“Don't work up a lather, Dykes advised me without looking up.
I shrugged, stretched my legs and crossed my ankles, and tried to see what his papers were. I was too far away to get any words, but from various aspects I finally concluded that they were typewritten signed statements of the family, guests, and servants. Not being otherwise engaged at the moment, I would have been glad to help Dykes with them, but I doubted if it was worth the breath to make an offer. After the strain of trying to identify the papers, my eyes went shut, and for the first time I was aware how sleepy I was. I thought I had better open my eyes, and then decided it would show more strength of will if I kept awake with them shut…
Someone was using my head for a cocktail shaker. Resenting it, I jerked away and made a gesture of protest with my fist closed, following up by opening my eyes and jumping to my feet. Backing away from me was a skinny guy with a long neck.
He looked both startled and angry.
“Sorry, I told him. “I guess I dozed off a second.
“You dozed off forty minutes, Dykes declared. He was still at the table with the papers, and standing beside him was District Attorney Archer.
“That leaves me, I said, “still behind seven hours and more.
“We want a statement, Archer said impatiently.
“The sooner the better, I agreed, and pulled my chair up. Archer sat at the end of the table at my left, Dykes across from me, and the skinny guy, with a notebook and pen, at the other end.
“First, Archer said, “repeat what you told us last night about Mrs Rackham's visit to Wolfe's office with Leeds.
“But, I objected, “that'll take half an hour, and you're busy. That's routine.
I assure you it won't vary.
“Go ahead. I want to hear it, and I have questions.
I yawned thoroughly, rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms, and started. At first it was fuzzy, but it flowed easy after a minute or two, and it would have been a pleasure to have them compare it with a record from the previous recital if there had been one.
