Over My Dead Body Read online

  “Oh, no. No, thank you. Good-night. Good-night, Miss Lovchen.”

  I went with them and extended the courtesies of the hall, and when they were out I shot the night bolt on the door. Then I went back to the office and stood and looked down at Wolfe’s colossal countenance, immobile with closed eyes, and treated myself to an unrestricted stretch and yawn.

  “Hvala Bogu,” I declared. “I like Montenegrin girls, but it’s time to go to bed. They’re all right. I offered to take them home and they refused to let me. In spite of which, I have to run up to 48th Street before I turn in, to get the damn roadster I left there. This is a very peculiar case. I’ve got a feeling in my bones that there is going to be a strange romantic twist to it by the time we get through. I have an inner conviction that when the full moon comes I’ll be standing right here in this office asking you formally for the hand of your daughter in marriage. You’ve got something there, gospodar. Only you’ll have to help me break her of lying.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Shall I go up for the roadster?”

  “I suppose you’ll have to.” Wolfe shuddered. Out into the night like that. “What time will Saul be here in the morning?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Phone him and tell him to bring that envelope.”

  “Yes, sir. Are you really going to hand it over to her?”

  “I am. I want to see what she is going to do with it. Will Fred and Orrie also be here at nine?”

  “Yes, sir. Who do you want to tail whom?”

  “Tailing may not be necessary. On the other hand, it may be, for her protection. Mr Faber wanted that paper.”

  “Not only did he want it, he knew where to look for it,” I yawned. “And since Carla put it there, did she tell him about it? Or did he learn it from a member of your family?”

  “I have no family.”

  “A daughter is commonly considered to be a member of one’s family. In this case it would hardly be too much to say that a daughter is a family.” I made my voice grave and respectful. “When I marry her, I guess it will be unavoidable for me to call you Dad.”

  “Archie, I swear by all—”

  “And I would be your heir in case you die. I would be the beneficiary on your life insurance. We could play in father and son golf tournaments. Later on you could hold the baby. Babies. When the time comes for the divorce—now what the hell!”

  The doorbell was ringing.

  Chapter Nine

  At half past one in the morning, with me yawning my head off and an outside errand still to do, the doorbell should ring.

  I went to the front and unlocked, leaving the chain bolt on so that the door only opened to a five-inch crack, and peered through at the male figure standing there.

  “Well?”

  “I want to see Nero Wolfe.”

  “Name, please?”

  “Open the door!” He was a bit peremptory.

  “Tut-tut,” I said. “It’s after office hours. If you don’t like your own name, make up one. But it had better be a good one, at this time of night.”

  “My name is Donald Barrett.”

  “Oh. Okay. Hold that pose. I’ll be back.”

  I went to the office and told Wolfe. He opened his eyes, frowned, muttered something and nodded. I returned to the front and let the night-walker in, flunkeyed for him, and escorted him to the office. In the bright light he looked handsome and harassed, with his white tie somewhat crooked and his hair disarranged. He blinked at Wolfe and said he was Donald Barrett.

  “So I understand. Sit down.”

  “Thanks.” He lodged his sitter on the edge of a chair in a temporary manner. “This is a frightful stink, this thing.”

  Wolfe’s brows went slightly up. “This thing?”

  “This—up at Miltan’s. Ludlow. It’s murder, you know.”

  “I believe it is. You were among those present.”

  “Yes, I was, damn it. Of course, you got that from this fellow you sent up there.”

  “Excuse me,” Wolfe murmured. “I thought you two had met. Mr Barrett, this is Mr Goodwin, my assistant.”

  “Oh, we met. We spoke a few words. He was guarding the door, and I asked him to let a young lady through to keep an important appointment, and he wouldn’t do it.”

  Wolfe nodded. “That was Miss Reade.”

  “Oh? He told you that too?”

  “Mr Goodwin tells me everything.”

  “I suppose he would. Naturally. He was damn bull-headed about letting Miss Reade out. He said the worst thing she could do was to leave the place and start the cops looking for her; and then, by God, he gets out himself somehow and starts them looking for him!”

  “I know. He goes by whim.” Wolfe was sympathetic. “Is that what you came to see me for? To reproach me for Mr Goodwin’s behaviour?”

  Barrett looked at him suspiciously, but Wolfe’s expression was bland. “No,” he said, “I just mentioned it. He was damn bull-headed. There was no reason in the world why Miss Reade should have been kept there. As far as I myself was concerned, I was perfectly willing to stand the inconvenience. But I came to see you regarding another . . . well, another angle. This fellow that you sent up there—you sent him to represent Miss Tormic, didn’t you?”

  “What fellow?”

  “Your assistant, damn it!” His head went sidewise in my direction. “Goodwin.”

  “Yes. I’m not really obtuse, Mr Barrett, only I like the custom of designating people by their names; it’s so handy. Yes, Mr Goodwin was there in the interest of Miss Tormic.”

  “That’s what he said.”

  “She agreed, didn’t she?”

  “Sure. That was all right. But that was about that business of Driscoll’s diamonds—the damn fool. What I want to know is, are you still representing her? I mean, in connexion with the murder.”

  “Do you ask that question as a curious friend?”

  “Why, I—a friend, yes. It’s not just curiosity.”

  “Well, I am representing Miss Tormic. What moved you besides curiosity?”

  “Oh, just . . .” He hesitated. He put his hand up to smooth his straggled hair, shifted in his chair, and cleared his throat. “Frankly, just that I’m a little interested in Miss Tormic, and I should hate it . . . you know? Such a frightful stink! I only met her a couple of months ago, and I got her and Miss Lovchen their jobs at Miltan’s—and I feel some responsibility about that too. She’s a stranger in New York, and I wanted to be sure she has proper and competent advice. Of course, if you’re representing her . . .”

  “I am.”

  “That ought to settle it.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Provided you . . .” He smoothed his hair, and cleared his throat again. It was plain that he was having trouble getting the cork out. “Provided you appreciate that it’s important that she shouldn’t be tangled up in the thing at all. For instance, take that rumour that she was seen putting something in that fellow—in Goodwin’s overcoat pocket. If that got to the police it would start a hell of a row. Although I don’t believe she did any such thing. I doubt if anybody did.” He turned to me. “You ought to know. Did you find anything in your overcoat pocket?”

  “Sure.” I grinned at him. “Driscoll’s diamonds.”

  “No, damn it—”

  Permit me,” Wolfe said brusquely. “If we are in possession of any secrets which we think should remain secret in the interest of Miss Tormic, we certainly aren’t going to disclose them. Neither to the police nor to anyone else. Including you, sir. If you came here for information of that kind, you may expect a famine.”

  “I am a friend of Miss Tormic.”

  “Then you should be glad that she has discreet advisers.”

  “That’s all right. Certainly. But sometimes you fellows like to stand in with the police. You know? And it would be bad if they got hold of that talk about her putting something in Goodwin’s pocket. They’d go after her plenty and they’d turn her inside out. It was
bad enough that she had been in there fencing with Ludlow, and this would make it ten times worse. I wanted to be sure you appreciate—”

  “We do, Mr Barrett. We haven’t much native subtlety, but a long experience has taught us things—for instance, never to toss ammunition to the enemy except under compulsion or in exchange for something better.” Wolfe’s tone was a soothing purr, which made me wonder when and why he was getting ready to pounce. He went on with it: “By the way, I don’t suppose you happened to meet Miss Tormic on your way down here just now?”

  “No, I didn’t. Why? Where was she?”

  “She was here for a little talk. She and her friend, Miss Lovchen. They left shortly before you arrived, and I wondered if by any chance you had seen them.”

  “No.”

  “Have you had an opportunity to talk this thing over with her in much detail?”

  “Not much of one. You might say none, really. They questioned the men first up there, and they let me go around eight o’clock. She was still there. I don’t know how long they kept her.”

  “Indeed. Since you are a sufficiently good friend of hers to bother to come down here, it might be thought that you wouldn’t have gone off and left her there.”

  “I couldn’t get at her. The place was full of cops and there was one for everybody. Anyway, that’s my business. Meaning it’s none of yours. You know?”

  “Yes, excuse me. You’re quite right.” Then Wolfe pounced. As usual, there was no change whatever in his tone as his forefinger traced a tiny circle on the polished mahogany of his chair arm. “But I think you’ll have to concede that this is my business: Where have you hidden Madame Zorka?”

  Chapter Ten

  Donald Barrett wasn’t especially good; not much above the average man when he is suddenly and abruptly faced with a question which he isn’t supposed to know the answer to but does. His jaw loosened, his eyes widened, and his breathing stopped. The first two may be the result of innocent surprise, but not the third. But he was fairly quick on the recovery. He stared at Wolfe and made folds in his smooth handsome brow and demanded:

  “Where have I hid who?”

  “Madame Zorka.”

  He shook his head. “If it’s a joke, you’ll have to explain it to me. I don’t get it.”

  Wolfe said patiently, “I’ll explain it. Madame Zorka phoned here this evening and said she saw Miss Tormic put something in Mr Goodwin’s pocket and she was going to report it to the police immediately.”

  “The devil she did!”

  “Please don’t interrupt. It’s wasted. Mr Goodwin persuaded her to postpone informing the police until he could take Miss Tormic to Madame Zorka’s apartment for a discussion of the matter. When he and Miss Tormic arrived some time later, they found the apartment empty; and they learned that Madame Zorka had departed fifteen minutes previously, in a hurry, with a bag and suitcase. Mr Goodwin then brought Miss Tormic and Miss Lovchen here to see me.”

  “Well, that—”

  “Please. The two young ladies have a talk with me and leave. Soon you arrive. You reveal that you possess knowledge of three facts: that someone says that Miss Tormic was seen putting something in Mr Goodwin’s pocket, that that information has not yet reached the police, and that it has reached me. The first two you might have got hold of in several conceivable ways, but not the third. You couldn’t possibly have known that the information had reached me unless Madame Zorka communicated with you after she phoned here.”

  Barrett was standing up, apparently with the idea that it was time to go. “Rubbish,” he snorted. “If that’s the kind of deduction—”

  Wolfe shook his head, and his tone got sharp. “I won’t have it, sir. I won’t spend an hour working it into your skull that I know what I know. Madame Zorka told you what she had told me. Don’t try dodging; you’ll only annoy me.”

  “It would be too damn bad if I annoyed you.” He looked and sounded nasty. “What if Zorka did tell me about it? What if that’s why I came down here? What’s wrong with that?”

  “Did she?”

  “What if she did?”

  “Did she?”

  “Yes!”

  “On the telephone?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you, being a friend of Miss Tormic, saw that the only way to make sure that her story would not reach the police was to hustle her away somewhere—and you somehow persuaded her. Then you thought of the possibility that I might pass it on to the police, and came here to plug that hole. Where is Madame Zorka, Mr Barrett?”

  “I don’t know. I supposed she was at home until you said Goodwin was told she had gone with her bag and suitcase. I’ll tell you something. I don’t like the way you’re handling this and I’m going to tell Miss Tormic so. She ought to have a good lawyer, anyway, and I’ll see that she gets one. If she lets you out, how much cash will you take not to peddle this fairy tale to the police about her putting something in Goodwin’s pocket?”

  I got up and took a step towards him, but Wolfe shook his head at me. “No, Archie. Let me—”

  I said, “Excuse me. There are times when you get mad and there are times when I get mad. I’ll make a concession. I was going to hit him and then talk, but I’ll talk first.”

  I put my face fourteen inches from Barrett’s. “You. I am restraining myself. You have implied that this office has a stooling department. What evidence have you got to back that up? Talk like a man whether you are one or not. I warn you I’m mad. Have you got any evidence?”

  “I . . . I didn’t mean—”

  “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “Are you sorry you said it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t say it to oblige me. I’d rather you refused to say it. You are sorry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Marshmallows,” I muttered, and went back to my chair.

  Wolfe said, “You’ll have to learn to control that, Archie. Physical duress, unless carried to an intolerable extreme, is a miserable weapon.” He wiggled a finger at Barrett. “Not that I object to duress when it’s necessary, as it is now. It doesn’t matter what it was that moved Madame Zorka to tell you about her phone call to me; the fact is that she did so; nor does it matter what form of persuasion you used on her. It’s obvious that you hid her, or at least you know where she is, since it was you who got her to pack up and go—”

  Barrett started off. I circled around him on the lope to head him off at the door. Wolfe snapped at his back:

  “Come back here! Unless you want everyone sniffing on the trail of Bosnian forest concessions and Yugoslav credits—”

  I admit that Wolfe’s form of duress was more effective than mine. Mine had made him eat a bite of crow, but Wolfe’s apparently drained him of his blood. Three steps from the door he stopped and stiffened, and his cheeks went pasty. He turned slowly then, to face Wolfe. I went back to my chair and sat and enjoyed looking at him.

  He wet his lips with his tongue, twice. Then he moved, clear to the corner of Wolfe’s desk, and squeaked down at him: “What are you talking about? Do you know what you’re talking about?”

  “Certainly. About banditry. A euphemism for it is international finance. In this case represented by the well-known firm of Barrett & De Russy.”

  “And what about it?”

  Wolfe shook his head. “I furnish no details, Mr Barrett. You know them better than I do. The precise amount of the credits held by your firm, for instance, and the extent of its relations with the Donevitch gang. I don’t need to supply details in order to blackmail you, which is all I’m after. I merely want to see Madame Zorka, and I’m sure you’ll help me on that rather than have this Yugoslav foray exposed to a lot of disconcerting curiosity.”

  Barrett, motionless and silent, gazed at him. South-west of his ear, above the edge of his starched white collar, I could see the tendons on his neck standing out. Finally he squeaked again:

  “Who are you working for?”

  “For Miss Tormic.�
�

  “I ask you, who are you working for? Rome?”

  “I am working on a murder case. My client is Neya Tormic. My only interest—”

  “Oh, skip it. Do you think I’m a boob?” The international financier put the tips of eight fingers on the desk and gave them some weight. “Look here, I understand perfectly that no matter who you’re working for, you wouldn’t be tipping me off just for your health. If you’ll put this damn pet gorilla of yours on a leash, I’m quite willing to discuss details and terms—subject, of course, to consultation with my associates—”

  “Pfui.” Wolfe was disgusted. “I might have known it would make you ugly. Now how the devil am I going to convince you that my only concern is the welfare of my client?”

  “I don’t know. If I were you I wouldn’t try.” Barrett’s voice had lost its squeak and assumed a tone that might have sold me on the idea he was really tough if I hadn’t already caught a glimpse of the yellow. “I don’t know how far you’re in, but I presume you know what you’re doing. If you do I don’t need to tell you that it’s too dangerous a game for anybody to try any private hijacking.”

  “I said blackmail.”

  “All right, blackmail. Who are you selling out and what’s your price?”

  I let it pass. If he was going to wholesale his insults, it would save trouble to wait till he was finished and then collect in a lump sum.

  Wolfe leaned back and sighed, “Will you sit down, sir?”

  “I’m all right standing.”

  “Then please back up. I’m not comfortable with my head tilted. Now listen. Get it out of your head that I represent any interest, either friendly or hostile to you, in your Balkan enterprise. I don’t. Then, you wonder, how did I learn of it? What’s the difference? I did. Next, you must somehow manage to believe that I do not want a slice of the loot. Incredible and even immoral as that must seem to a man of your instinct and training, I don’t. I want just one thing. I want you to conduct Mr Goodwin to Madame Zorka, wherever you have put her, and he will bring her here. That’s all. Unless you do that, I shall send information at once, to three different quarters, of your firm’s projected raid on the property of the people of Yugoslavia. You know better than I do the sort of hullabaloo that would start. Don’t complicate matters by assuming for me a cupidity and corruption beyond the limits I have set for myself. You’re suffering from an occupational disease. When an international financier is confronted by a hold-up man with a gun, he automatically hands over not only his money and jewellery, but also his shirt and pants, because it doesn’t occur to him that a robber might draw the line somewhere. I beg you, understand that I want Madame Zorka and nothing else. Beyond that I do not and shall not represent any threat to you—unless, of course, it should turn out that it was you who murdered Percy Ludlow.”