“I didn’t say that!”
“It was implicit. You are cowed. You are daunted. Not, I concede, without reason; the hands and voices of many highly placed men have been stayed by the same trepidation. Possibly mine would be too if it were merely a matter of declining or accepting a job. But I will not return that check for one hundred thousand dollars because I am afraid of a bully. My self-esteem won’t let me. I suggest that you take a vacation for an indefinite period. With pay; I can afford it.”
I uncrossed my legs. “Beginning now?”
“Yes.” He was grim.
“These notes are in my personal code. Shall I type them?”
“No. That would implicate you. I’ll see Mr. Cohen again.”
I clasped my hands behind my head and eyed him. “I still say you’re cracked,” I said, “and I deny that my tail was between my legs, since they were crossed, and it would be a ball to step aside and see how you went at it without me, but after all the years in the swim with you it would be lowdown to let you sink alone. If I get daunted along the way I’ll let you know.” I picked up the torn sheets. “You want this typed?”
“No. For our discussion you will translate as required.”
“Right. A suggestion. The mood you’re in, do you want to declare war by phoning the client? She left her unlisted number, and of course it’s tapped. Shall I get her?”
“Yes.”
I got at the phone and dialed.
Chapter 3
Going to the kitchen before going up to bed, around midnight, to check that Fritz had bolted the back door, I was pleased to see that batter for sour-milk buckwheat cakes was there in a bowl on the range. In that situation nice crisp toast or flaky croissants would have been inadequate. So when I descended the two flights a little after nine o’clock Wednesday morning I knew I would be properly fueled. As I entered the kitchen Fritz turned up the flame under the griddle, and I told him good morning and got my orange juice from the refrigerator. Wolfe, who breakfasts in his room from a tray taken up by Fritz, had gone up to the plant rooms on the roof for his two morning hours with the orchids; I had heard the elevator as usual. As I went to the little table by the wall where I eat breakfast I asked Fritz if there was anything stirring.
“Yes,” he said, “and you are to tell what it is.”
“Oh, didn’t he tell you?”
“No. He said only that the doors are to be bolted and the windows locked at all times, that I am to be — what does ‘circumspect’ mean?”
“It means watch your step. Say nothing to anyone on the phone that you wouldn’t want to see in the paper. When you go out, do nothing that you wouldn’t want to see on TV. For instance, girl friends. Stay away. Swear off. Suspect all strangers.”
Fritz wouldn’t, and didn’t, talk while cakes were getting to just the right shade of brown. When they were before me, the first two, and the sausage, and were being buttered, he said, “I want to know, Archie, and I have a right to know. He said you would explain. Bien. I demand it.”
I picked up the fork. “You know what the FBI is.”
“But certainly. Mr. Hoover.”
“That’s what he thinks. On behalf of a client we’re going to push his nose in. Just a routine chore, but he’s touchy and will try to stop us. So futile.” I put a bite of cake where it belonged.
“But he — he’s a great man. Yes?”
“Sure. But I suppose you’ve seen pictures of him.”
“Yes.”
“What do you think of his nose?”
“Not good. Not exactly épaté, but broad. Not bien fait.”
“Then it should be pushed,” I forked sausage.
So he was at ease when I finished and went to the office. The meals would be okay, at least for today. As I dusted the desks, tore sheets from the calendars, and opened the mail, which was mostly junk, I was considering an experiment. If I dialed a number, any number, say Parker’s, I might be able to tell if we were tapped. It would be interesting to know if they had already reacted to the call to Mrs. Bruner. I vetoed it. I intended to keep strictly to my instructions. Doing so, I got my pocket notebook and another item from a drawer of my desk, opened the safe to get the check, went to the kitchen to tell Fritz not to expect me for lunch and to the hall rack for my hat and coat, and departed.
Heading east, I merely walked. It’s a cinch to spot a tail, even a good one, especially on a winter day when a cold, gusty wind is keeping the sidewalk traffic down, but presumably they knew where I was going, so why bother? At the bank, on Lexington Avenue, I had the pleasure of seeing the teller’s eyes widen a little as he gave the check a second glance. The simple pleasure of the rich. Outside again, I turned uptown. I had two miles to go, but it was only twenty after ten. I am a walker, and if I had a tail it would be good for his lungs and legs.
The four-story stone on Seventy-fourth Street between Madison and Park was at least twice as wide as Wolfe’s brownstone, but it wasn’t brown. The door to the vestibule, three steps down, was solid, but the inside one was a metal grille with glass. It was opened by a man in black with no lips who swung it wide only after he had my name. He led me down the hall to an open door on the left and motioned me in.
It was an office, not large — filing cabinets, a safe, two desks, shelves, a cluttered table. On the wall back of the table was a blow-up of the Bruner building. My quick glance around came to rest on a face, a face that rated a glance, belonging to the female seated at one of the desks. Her hazel eyes were meeting the glance.
“I’m Archie Goodwin,” I said.
She nodded. “I’m Sarah Dacos. Have a seat, Mr. Goodwin.” She lifted the receiver from a phone and pressed a button, in a moment told someone I was there, hung up, and told me Mrs. Bruner would be down soon. Sitting, I asked her, “How long have you been with Mrs. Bruner?”
She smiled. “I know you’re a detective, Mr. Goodwin, you don’t have to prove it.”
I smiled back. “I have to keep in practice.” She was easy to smile at. “How long?”
“Nearly three years. Do you want it exactly?”
“Later maybe. Shall I wait until Mrs. Bruner comes?”
“Not necessarily. She said you would ask me some questions.”
“Then I will. What did you do before?”
“I was a stenographer at the Bruner Corporation, and then Mr. Thompson’s secretary, the vice-president.”
“Have you ever worked for the government? For instance, for the FBI?”
She smiled. “No. Never. I was twenty-two years old when I started with the Bruner Corporation. I’m twenty-eight now. You’re not taking notes.”
“In here.” I touched my forehead. “What gave you the idea that the FBI is tailing you?”
“I don’t know it’s the FBI. But it must be, because nobody else would.”
“How sure are you you’re being tailed?”
“Oh, I’m positive. I don’t keep looking behind me, nothing like that, but my hours here are irregular, I leave at different times, but when I go to the bus stop a man always comes and gets on after me, and he gets off where I do. The same man.”
“Madison Avenue bus?”
“No, Fifth Avenue. I live in the Village.”
“When did it start?”
“I’m not sure. The first time I noticed him was the Monday after Christmas. He’s there in the morning, too. And in the evening, if I go out. I didn’t know it was done like that. I thought if you followed someone you didn’t want her to know it.”