“You can wait out there,” she said, and meant it. “I’ll bring the carton.”
I was not particularly enjoying things, and it was getting too prolonged for me. Evidently she had been headed for a closed closet door at the far corner of the room. I stepped past her, rounded the foot of the bed and got to the door, and pulled it open. I admit I was surprised enough to back up two steps when a uniform, erect in the closet, moved toward me, and there was Lieutenant Kenneth Lawson. He came out and stood and looked at me. He didn’t salute.
“Indeed,” I said. That was Nero Wolfe’s word, and I never used it except in moments of stress, and it severely annoyed me when I caught myself using it, because when I look in a mirror I prefer to see me as is, with no skin grafted from anybody else’s hide, even Nero Wolfe’s.
Lawson, as I have said, was big and strong and handsome. The situation, as it stood, seemed to indicate that anything was possible, and I had no desire to join Cross and Ryder on the other side of the river, so I backed into the closet with the door opened as wide as it would go. It wasn’t necessary to do any searching. The carton was right there, bound with cord. I yanked it out, jerked off the cord, lifted the flaps, and was looking at shredded pigskin. For logic, one hit, one run, no errors. I closed the flaps and got the cord back on. Among other things I didn’t know, at that point, was whether Lawson was there on purely personal business or whether he was a partner in the enterprise of salvaging damaged luggage, so the position was delicate in more ways than one.
Lawson said, with no special sign of agitation, “I heard Bruce ask you-and it might clear things up a little-is this an official visit, Major?”
After all, he had me. Wolfe had told me to get the suitcase without the knowledge of Fife, and Fife was my commanding officer. My ignorance was stupendous. Was Lawson straight and would he report to Fife? Was Lawson a crook or a murderer, or both-and would he report to Fife anyway to cover up? Were Lawson and Sergeant Bruce- But there was no sense standing there all night asking myself questions I couldn’t answer, with them staring at me.
I spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen. I have been assigned, as you know, to assist Nero Wolfe in work he is doing for the Army. I’m now going to report to him, and take this carton with me. Up to there, as far as you’re concerned, since you’re only a non-com and a shavetail, we can put it that the only difference between General Eisenhower and me is that he’s not here. But beyond that we’re just folks. If on my way out Lawson tries to trip me or hit me with a chair I won’t appeal to authority, now or later. I’ll merely knock his block off.”
A corner of Lawson’s mouth was turned up. “I wasn’t going to be so crude,” he said coldly, “but now I don’t know.”
“Make up your mind, brother,” I told him, and focused on Sergeant Bruce. “So I offer a suggestion. Not an order from Major Goodwin, just a person-to-person call. How about accompanying the carton and me to Wolfe’s place? I’ve got a car down in front. The trip might do you good.”
If she had flashed a glance at Lawson that would have answered at least one of my questions, but all she did was cock her head at me.
“I think,” she said, “that I ought to tell you you’ll probably be sorry for this, Major.”
“I already am. I don’t like any part of it. Are you coming?”
“Certainly. That carton and its contents belong to me.” She moved, crossing to Lawson and putting her hand on his arm. “Ken darling, this is nothing. Really. But I’m afraid-I don’t know how long it will take. I’ll phone you later. And perhaps you had better phone my sister in Washington-right away.”
“I could,” he growled, “wring him out and hang him up to dry.”
“I’m sure you could.” She patted his arm. “But you behave yourself. There’s more than one way to- cure a cold. Phone me later, Ken?”
“I will.”
“Be sure the door’s locked when you leave. Are we going, Major?”
Lawson didn’t move a muscle as I passed him, with the carton in the hand nearest him, so the other hand would be free in case he decided to show her how big and brave he was. But either she was the boss and he was obeying orders, or he wanted to be alone to think. I signified that she, being a lady, should go first, and she did so, stopping in the other room only to get her peck-measure cap from the table, and letting me close the door after us and push the button for the elevator as if she enjoyed having a male escort attend to such details.
On the street, I put the carton in the rear and her in the front, went around and slid in behind the wheel, beside her, and got going. No conversation. Apparently there wasn’t going to be any. But as I waited for a light at Twenty-Third Street, suddenly she spoke.
“I wonder if you’d like to do me a little favor.”
“I doubt it. What? Want me to phone your sister in Washington?”
She made a little noise, between a chuckle and a gurgle. Three hours earlier I would have thought it very attractive. “No,” she said, “nothing as complicated as that. Just to stop a minute, anywhere there’s a place at the curb, so I can ask you something.”
The light changed and we rolled. A block farther on a roomy space came in view, and I steered into it and shut off the engine.
“Okay. Ask me something.”
“I hope your eye feels better.”
Her tone made it plain that it was not a sergeant speaking to a major. It abolished all consideration of worldly rank and superficial barriers. Not that it conveyed the impression that she intended to seduce me right there on Sixth Avenue in the midst of traffic, but it did indicate that a closer understanding between the two of us would be a natural and wholesome development.
I said, “It feels fine. That all?”
“No. I wish it was.” She was turned to me full face, and I was reciprocating. “I wish there was nothing, I mean with you and me, except silly little pleasant things like that. Don’t think I’m being obvious. I’m just clever enough, just barely, to know how clever you are. If I were a fool, I might think I could start your head
