I ignored Wolfe's instruction to keep my eye on the client, women being the one thing he admits I know more about than he does, and took over for Saul at Washington Square. When I got to the office late Tuesday afternoon, after taking the day's crop of films to Al Posner, there had been developments. Willis Krug and Julian Haft and Leo Bingham had all phoned to say that they recognized none of the faces on the fifty-four prints, which was surprising in Krug's case, since he had been married to one of them. And Saul had phoned twice, first just before four o'clock, to get Wolfe before he went up to the plant rooms, to report that Carol Mardus had been absent from her job at Distaff for nearly six months, from Labor Day until the last of February, and again shortly after six to report that she had also been absent from her home, an apartment on East 83rd Street, and the apartment had not been sublet. That made it fifty to one. Wolfe enjoyed his dinner more than he had for weeks, and so did I.
A little before eleven the doorbell rang, and it was Saul. He preceded me to the office, sat in the red leather chair, and said, I just did something I'm glad my father will never know about. I swore to something with my hand on the New Testament. The Bible was upside down.
Wolfe grunted. Was it inescapable?
Yes. This person is a little twisted. He or she was taking fifty bucks to tell me something he or she had promised someone to keep secret, but first I had to swear on the Bible I would never tell who told me. That wasn't sensible. What if my price for telling was merely sixty bucks? Anyway I got the address. He got his notebook from a pocket and flipped it open. Care of Mrs. Arthur P. Jordan, 1424 Sunset Drive, Lido Shores, Sarasota, Florida. Things sent there to Carol Mardus last fall reached her. He or she didn't swear to it on the Bible, but I bought it and paid for it.
Satisfactory, Wolfe said. Perhaps.
Saul nodded. Of course it's still perhaps. There's a plane from Idlewild for Tampa at three-twenty-five a.m.
Wolfe made a face. I suppose so. He hates airplanes. I suggested getting the Heron and driving Saul to Idlewild, but Wolfe said no, I was to be at Washington Square at ten in the morning. He knows how I yawn when I'm short on sleep.
Saul phoned four times from Florida. Wednesday afternoon he reported that 1424 Sunset Drive was the private residence of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur P. Jordan, and Carol Mardus had been a guest there last fall and winter. Late Wednesday evening he reported that Carol Mardus had been obviously pregnant in November and December. Thursday noon he reported that she been taken to the Sarasota General Hospital on January 16, had been admitted under the name of Clara Waldron, and had given birth to a boy baby that night. At twenty minutes past ten Thursday evening he reported that he was at Tampa International Airport, that Clara Waldron, with baby, had taken a plane there for New York on February 5, and that he was doing likewise in three hours.
Wolfe and I hung up. The mother hunt was over. Forty-five days.
He eyed me. How much of that woman's money have we spent?
Around fourteen grand.
Pfui. Tell Fred and Orrie they're no longer needed. And Miss Corbett. Tell Mrs. Valdon she can return to the beach. Return the cameras.
Yes, sir.
Confound it! It could be so simple! But for that woman.
The dead one. Yeah.
But she gave you a drink of water.
Nuts. If we emptied the bag for Cramer now, including the message, the only question would be should we demand separate trials. Not only you and me, also the client. I could ring Parker and ask him which is worse, withholding evidence or conspiring to obstruct justice.
He tightened his lips and took a deep breath, and another one. Have you a suggestion?
I have a dozen. I have known for two days we would soon be facing this, and so have you. We can tackle Carol Mardus just on the mother angle, no mention of Ellen Tenzer, just what she did with her baby, and see what happens. There's a chance, a damn slim one but a chance, that she simply got rid of the baby, which isn't hard to do, and she didn't know what had happened to it, and that piece in the Gazette about Mrs. Valdon merely made her curious. Or suspicious. Second suggestion: we could take a stab at the rest of the commitment to the client. You were to learn the identity of the mother. Done. You were also to demonstrate the degree of probability that Valdon was the father. Before we tackle Carol Mardus head on we might do a routine job on her and Valdon in the spring of last year.
He shook his head. That would take time and more money. You will see Carol Mardus.
No, sir. I was emphatic. You will. I saw Ellen Tenzer. I have seen Mrs. Valdon twenty times to your once. I'll do the chores, but it's your name on the billhead. In the morning?
He scowled at me. Another woman to deal with. But he couldn't deny that I had a point. When that was settled I had another one, that there was no hurry about telling the client that the mother hunt was definitely over; it would be better to wait until we had had a talk with the mother herself.
Before I went up to bed I rang Fred Durkin, and Orrie Cather, and Sally Corbett, to tell them the operation was finished to Wolfe's satisfaction, not to mention mine. Also I considered dialing the number of Carol Mardus's apartment on 83rd Street, to invite her to drop in tomorrow morning, but decided not to give her a night to sleep on it.
I learned Friday morning that she had slept on it. I was intending to ring her at her office around ten o'clock, but at ten minutes to nine, when I was in the kitchen dealing with bacon and corn fritters with honey, the phone rang. I got it there in the kitchen and used the routine, and a woman's voice said she would like to speak with Mr. Wolfe. I said he wouldn't be available until eleven o'clock, and I was his confidential assistant, and perhaps I could help.
She said, You're Archie Goodwin?
Right.
You may have heard my name. Carol Mardus.
