Shattuck said in a tone of satisfaction, “I don’t think I need to ask you any questions, Mr. Wolfe.”
“May I” Tinkham inquired, “offer a comment?”
“Go ahead,” Fife told him.
“About the — personnel, as Mr. Wolfe put it. This is a complicated and difficult business; we all know that, even if it’s all we know. And judging from what happened to Cross, if Mr. Wolfe is correct, somewhat dangerous. It’s not the sort of enterprise to be entrusted to a kindergarten, and if that’s Mr. Wolfe’s opinion of us — specifically of me—”
“Skin tender?” Fife demanded. “The orders come from me.”
“I was trying,” Wolfe declared, “to educate you, Colonel, not obliterate you.”
“I’m not worrying about my skin.” Tinkham’s voice had emotion in it, which for him was remarkable. “I would like to stay on this job. I merely want to be sure I understand the purpose of Mr. Wolfe’s question about personnel.”
“To get an answer.” Wolfe was eyeing him. “I got it.”
“All the same,” Lawson broke in, addressing General Fife, “Colonel Tinkham has a point. For example, sir, you said just now the orders come from you. But they don’t. At least they haven’t in the two weeks I’ve been in on this. They come either from Colonel Ryder or from Nero Wolfe, and that’s apt to be confusing, and besides, from the tone Wolfe takes he ought to have four stars on his shoulder, and he hasn’t.”
“My God,” Fife said in disgust. “You too. Feelings hurt by the tone Wolfe takes! He’s right. This damn Army is turning into a kindergarten. And if I ship you overseas or back to Washington I’ll only get somebody worse.” He turned to Wolfe. “What about you and Ryder? Has there been any conflict in orders?”
“None that I know of,” Wolfe said patiently.
Fife switched to Ryder. “Any that you know of?”
“No, sir.” Ryder’s answer was a brush-off, as if the matter were of no interest or significance. “Mr. Wolfe has been entirely co-operative and helpful. No one but a fool would resent his mannerisms. But I ought to say— The circumstances— You should know that there will be a change in the setup. I would like to make a request. I respectfully request permission to go to Washington to see General Carpenter. Today.”
For the third time a sudden dead silence fell. Since the rest of us were not professional soldiers, we didn’t grasp immediately all the implications of that request made in that manner; what got us was what happened to General Fife’s face. It froze. I had never seen the old bozo look stupid before, but he sure did then, staring across Ryder’s desk at him.
“Perhaps, sir,” Ryder said, meeting the stare, “I should add that it is not a personal matter. I wish to see General Carpenter on Army business. I have a reservation on the five o’clock plane.”
Silence again. The muscles of Fife’s neck moved, then he spoke. “This is a strange performance, Colonel.” His voice was cold and controlled. “I suppose it can be charged to your unfamiliarity with Army custom. This sort of thing is usually done, if at all, in a less public manner. I offer a suggestion, not official. If you care to, you may discuss it with me privately. Now. Or after lunch, when you’ve thought it over.”
“I’m sorry.” Ryder didn’t sound happy, but he sounded firm. “It wouldn’t help any. I know what I’m doing, sir.”
“By God, I hope you do.”
“Yes, sir. I do. Have I permission to go?”
“You have.” The expression on Fife’s face plainly added, and keep right on going and never come back, but he was being an officer and gentleman in the presence of witnesses. To be fair to him, he didn’t do a bad job at all. He stood up and told Tinkham and Lawson they could go, which they did. Then he invited John Bell Shattuck to have lunch with him, and Shattuck accepted. Fife turned to Wolfe and said it would be a pleasure to have him join them, but Wolfe declined with thanks, saying he had another engagement, which was a lie. He disliked all restaurants, and claimed that the one where General Fife lunched put sulphur in curried lamb. Fife and Shattuck went out together, without another word to Ryder.
Wolfe stood by Ryder’s desk, frowning down at him, waiting for him to look up. Finally Ryder did.
“I think,” Wolfe said, “that you’re a nincompoop. Not a conclusion, merely an opinion.”
“File it for reference,” Ryder said.
“I shall do so. Your brain is not functioning. Your son died. Captain Cross, one of your men, was killed. You are in no condition to make hard decisions. If you have an intelligent friend with a head that works, consult him. Or even a lawyer. Or me.”
“You?” Ryder said. “Now that would be good. That would be just fine.”
Wolfe lifted his shoulders a quarter of an inch, let them drop back into place, said, “Come, Archie,” and started for the door. I returned the suitcase to the chair where I had found it, and followed him. Sergeant Bruce glanced up as we passed through the anteroom. Wolfe ignored her. I halted at her desk and said, “I’ve got something in my eye.”
“That’s too bad,” she said and stood up. “Which eye? Let me see.” I thought, Good lord, where’s she been all these years, falling for that old gag? I bent over to stare into her eyes, not ten inches away, and she stared back into mine.
“I see it,” she said.
“Yeah? What is it?”
“It’s me. In both eyes. No way of getting it out.”
She sat down again and went on typing, absolutely deadpan. I had utterly misjudged her. “Okay,” I conceded, “you’re one up,” and dashed after Wolfe, and found him at the elevator.
There were about a dozen assorted questions I had in mind to ask him, with a chance of finding him inclined to supply at least some of the answers, but the opportunity never arrived. Of course en route was no good, with him in the back seat resenting. The minute we got home he beat it to the kitchen to give Fritz a hand with lunch. They were trying out some kind of a theory involving chicken fat and eggplant. At the table business was always taboo, so I had to listen to him explain why sustained chess-playing would ruin any good field general. Then, because he had missed his morning session up in the plant rooms with the orchids, he had to go up there, and I knew that was no place to start a conversation. I asked him if I should report back downtown, and he said no, he might need me, and since my orders were to nurse Nero Wolfe as required, I went into the office, on the ground floor, did some chores at my desk, and listened to news broadcasts.
At 3:25 the phone rang. It was General Fife. He instructed me, speaking to a subordinate, to deliver Nero Wolfe at his office at four o’clock. I informed him it wouldn’t work. He stated that I should make it work and rang off.
I called him back and said, “Listen. Sir. Do you want him or don’t you? I respectfully remind you that there is no way on God’s earth of getting him except for you, or at least a colonel, to speak to him and tell him what you want.”
“Damn him. Let me talk to him.”
I buzzed the plant room extension, got Wolfe, was told by him to listen in, and did so. It was nothing new. All Fife would say on the phone was that he must have a talk with Wolfe, together with Tinkham and Lawson and me, without delay. Wolfe finally said he’d go. When he came downstairs ten minutes later, I told him, on the way out to the car, “One item you may want, in case you’ve got it entered that it was something that was said this morning that made Ryder decide to go to Washington to see Carpenter. He already had his suitcase there packed.”
“I saw it. Confound the blasted Germans. Don’t let it give that jerk when you start. I’m in no humor for pleasantries.”
We were in the lobby at 17 Duncan Street at 8:55, a few minutes ahead of time. Absent-mindedly, from force of habit, I said “ten” to the elevator man, and it wasn’t until after we had got out at the tenth that I woke up. Fife’s office was on the eleventh. Wolfe was starting the usual rigmarole with the corporal. I said, “Hey, our mistake. We’re on the—”