"For finding my brother Carlo. You didn’t find him. Neither did the police. Some boys found him. I won’t pay you any money."
"You might." Wolfe sighed. "I hadn’t thought of that, Miss Maffei. I’m sorry you suggested it. It arouses me to sordid considerations. But for the moment let us forget it; you owe me nothing. Forget it. But let me ask you--I am sorry if it is painful, but it is necessary--you saw your brother’s body?"
Her eyes were dull on him, but I saw that I had been wrong: the life in them was not gone, it had merely sunk within, waiting back there as if in ambush. She said quietly, "I saw him."
"You saw perhaps the hole in his back. The hole made by the knife of the man who killed him."
"I saw it."
"Good. And if there was a chance of my discovering the man who used that knife and bringing him to punishment, and needed your help, would you help me?"
In the dull eyes a gleam came and went. Maria Maffei said, "I would pay you money for that, Mr. Wolfe."
"I suspect you would. But we shall forget that for the present. It is another kind of assistance I require. Since you are intelligent enough to make reasonable assumptions, and therefore to be made uncomfortable when only reasonable ones are available, I had better explain to you. The man who murdered your brother is sought by me, and by others, for another act he committed. An act more sensational and not less deplorable. I know who he is, but your help is needed-"
"You know? Tell me!" Maria Maffei had jerked forward in her chair, and this time the gleam in her eyes stayed.
Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. "Easy, Miss Maffei. I am afraid you must delegate your vengeance. Remember that those of us who are both civilized and prudent commit our murders only under the complicated rules which permit us to avoid personal responsibility. Let us get on. You can help. You must trust me. Your friend Fanny’s husband, Mr. Durkin, will tell you that I am to be trusted; besides, he will also help. I wish to speak of Miss Anna Fiore, the girl who works at the rooming house where your brother lived. You know her?"
"Of course I know her."
Th "Does she like you and trust you?"
"I don’t know. She is a girl who hides her flowers."
"If any? A tender way of putting it; thank you. Could you go in my automobile this evening, with a driver, and persuade Miss Fiore to take a long ride with you; give her a good excuse, so she would go willingly?"
Maria Maffei looked at him; after a moment she nodded. "She would go. It would be a strange thing, I would have to think-"
"You will have time for that. I prefer to leave it to your wit to invent the excuse; you will use it better if it is your own. But that is all that will be left to you; one of my men will drive the car; in all the rest you must carefully and precisely follow my instructions. Or rather, Mr. Goodwin’s instructions. Archie, if you please." Wolfe put his hands on the edge of the desk and shoved his chair back, and got himself up. "You will forgive me for leaving you, Miss Maffei, it is the hour for my plants. Perhaps when you and Mr. Goodwin have finished you would like him to bring you up to see them."
He left us.
I didn’t take Maria Maffei upstairs to see the orchids that day; it was nearly five o’clock when I had finished with her, and I had something else to do. She didn’t balk at all, but it took a lot of explaining, and then I went over the details three times to make sure she wouldn’t get excited and ball it up. We decided it would be better for her to make a preliminary call on Anna and get it arranged, so I took her out and put her in a taxi and saw her headed for Sullivan Street.
Then I started on my own details. I had to get the knife and the masks and the guns ready, and arrange with the garage for hiring a car, since we couldn’t take a chance on Anna recognizing the roadster, and get hold of Bill Gore and Orrie Cather. I had suggested them, and Wolfe said okay. He had already told Durkin to report at seven o’clock.
I got it all done, but without any time to spare. At six-thirty I ate a hurry-up dinner in the kitchen, while Wolfe was in the office with Saul Panzer. On his way out Saul looked in at the kitchen to make a face at me, as if his ugly mug wasn’t good enough without any embroidery. He called in to me, "Enjoy it, Arch, it may be your last meal, you’re not dealing with a quitter this night!"
I had my mouth full, so I only said, "Shrivel, shrimp."
Bill Gore and Durkin were there on time, and Orrie wasn’t late enough to matter. I gave them the story, and rehearsed Orrie several times because a lot depended on him. We hadn’t been together on anything for over two years, and it seemed like old times to see him again twisting his thin lips and looking around for a place to squirt his tobacco juice.
Wolfe was still in at his dinner when we got away a little before eight o’clock. The garage had given me a black Buick sedan, and it had four wheels and an engine but it wasn’t the roadster. Orrie got in front with me and Bill Gore and Durkin in the back. I thought to myself that it was too bad it was only a set-up, because with those three birds I would have contracted to stop anything from a Jersey bus to a truck of hooch. Orrie said I should have hung a sign on the radiator, Highwaymen’s Special. I grinned, but only with my mouth. I knew everything had to go exactly right and it was up to me. What Wolfe had said about Anna Fiore was true: her mental vision was limited, but within its limits she might see things that a broader vision would miss entirely.
I went up the west side and got onto the Sawmill River Road. The Williamson place was in the back country east of Tarrytown, on a secondary road; I knew the way as well as I knew 35th Street on account of my trips there four years before. I had expected to make it by nine-thirty but traffic up to Yonkers had held me up a little, and it was a few minutes later than that and I had the lights on when I turned into the drive where I had once picked Mrs. Williamson up in a faint and carried her to the pond to throw water on her.
I drove on up to the house, about a third of a mile, and left the three in the car and went and rang the doorbell. Tanzer, the butler, remembered me and we shook hands. I told him I wouldn’t go in, I just wanted to speak to his boss a minute. Burke Williamson came right away; he shook hands too and said he was sorry they had missed me Friday night. I said I was sorry too.
"I’m a little late, Mr. Williamson, I came on up just to make sure that everything’s set. No loose servants out hunting lightning bugs? Can we go ahead?"
"Everything’s arranged." He laughed. "No one will disturb your sinister plot. Of course we’re all itching with curiosity. I don’t suppose we could get behind a bush and watch?"
I shook my head. "You’d better stay in the house, if you don’t mind. I won’t see you again, I’ve got to make a quick getaway. Wolfe will phone you tomorrow, I expect, to thank you."
"He needn’t bother. I’ll never do enough to make Nero Wolfe owe me any thanks."
I went back to the car and turned it around and started back down the drive. I had the spot picked out, about halfway down, a full three hundred yards from the public road, where high shrubbery was on both sides with trees just beyond and it would be good and dark. There the drive was narrow enough so that I could block it with the sedan without bothering to swing it crosswise.
I got the sedan into position and turned off the lights and we all got out. It was nearly ten o’clock and our prey was due at a quarter past. I passed around the guns and gave Orrie the knife, and then handed out the masks and we put them on. We were a hard-looking bunch and I couldn’t help grinning at Orrie’s wisecracks, though to tell the truth I was pretty much keyed-up. The thing had to go absolutely right. I went over it again with them. They had it pat, and we scattered into the bushes. It was plenty dark. They began calling back and forth to one another, and pretty soon I told them to shut up so I could listen.