“It depends. Sometimes you do want her to know. It’s called an open tail. Can you describe the man?”
“I certainly can. He’s six or seven inches taller than me, about thirty years old, maybe a little more, a long face with a square chin, a long thin nose, a small straight mouth. His eyes are a kind of greenish gray. He always has his hat on, so I don’t know about his hair.”
“Have you ever spoken to him?”
“Of course not.”
“Have you reported it to the police?”
“No, the lawyer said not to. Mrs. Bruner’s lawyer. He said that if it’s the FBI they can always say it’s a security check.”
“So they can. And do. By the way, did you suggest sending people copies of that book to Mrs. Bruner?”
Her brow went up. It was a nice smooth brow. “Why, no. I hadn’t read it. I only read it afterwards.”
“After you got a tail?”
“No, after she decided to send all those copies.”
“Do you know who did suggest it to her?”
“I don’t know if anyone did.” She smiled. “I suppose it’s natural, your asking me that, since you’re a detective, but to me it would seem more natural to ask her. Even if I knew someone suggested it, I don’t think—”
There were footsteps in the hall, approaching, and Mrs. Bruner appeared. As she entered I arose, and so did Sarah Dacos. I moved to meet her and take the offered hand and return the greeting, and when she went to sit at the other desk I changed to another chair. She gave a pile of papers under a weight a mere glance and pushed it aside, and said to me, “I suspect that I owe you some thanks, Mr. Goodwin. More than just thanks.”
I shook my head, “No, you don’t. Not that it matters, since the check has been deposited, but I was against it. Now that it’s a job I’m for it.” I got from a pocket the item I had taken from my desk drawer and handed it to her. It was a sheet of paper on which I had typed:
MR. NERO WOLFE
914 West 35th Street
New York City 1
January 6, 1965
Dear Sir:
Confirming our conversation of yesterday, I hereby engage you to act in my interest in the matter we discussed. I believe the Federal Bureau of Investigation is responsible for the espionage I and my family and associates are being subjected to, for the reasons I gave you, but whoever is responsible, you are to investigate it and use your best efforts to have it stopped. Whatever the outcome, the $100,000 I have given you as a retainer will not be subject to any claim by me. I will pay any expenses you incur in my behalf, and if you get the result I desire I will pay a fee to be determined by you.
She read it twice, first skimming and then every word. She looked up. “I’m supposed to sign this?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t. I never sign anything my lawyer hasn’t read.”
“You can call him and read it to him.”
“But my telephone is tapped.”
“I know. It’s barely possible that when they know that you are giving Nero Wolfe a free hand, no limit, they’ll cool off. Tell the lawyer that. Not that they’re in awe of him, they’re not in awe of anybody, but they know a lot about him. As for that last sentence, the fee to be determined by him, there’s a loophole. It says ‘if you get the result I desire.’ Obviously that will be determined by you, so you’re not signing a blank check. The lawyer should agree.”
She read it again, then leveled the brown-black eyes at me. “I can’t do that. My lawyers don’t know I went to Nero Wolfe. They wouldn’t approve. No one knows but Miss Dacos.”
“Then we’re up a stump.” I turned a palm up. “Look, Mrs. Bruner. Mr. Wolfe couldn’t possibly tackle it without something in writing. What if it got so hot you wanted out, leaving him in? What if you tried to hedge on what you hired him to do and wanted the retainer back?”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’m not a hedger, Mr. Goodwin.”
“Good. Then go ahead and sign it.”
She looked at it, at me, back at it, and at Miss Dacos.
“Here, Sarah,” she said, “make a copy of it.”
“I have a carbon,” I said, and handed it to her. By gum, she read it through. Well trained by her husband, or by the lawyers after he died. She took a pen from a stand and signed the original, and I reached for it.
“So that’s why Mr. Wolfe wanted you to come this morning,” she said.
I nodded. “Partly. He wanted me to ask Miss Dacos a few questions about being tailed, and I have. I saw your tail yesterday. When you left a car followed you, close, with two men in it, and I got the license number. They were FBI. They want you to know. From here on we probably won’t have anything to ask you or tell you unless and until there’s a break, but we might, and there should be an arrangement. Since you have read that book, you know what ‘bugged’ means. Do you know if this room is bugged?”
“No, I don’t. Of course I’ve thought about it, and we have examined it several times. I’m not sure. They have to get in, don’t they? Put something in it?”
“Yes. Unless electronics has come up with something that isn’t being mentioned, and I doubt it. I don’t want to overplay it, Mrs. Bruner, but I don’t think any part of this house is a good place to talk. It’s cold out, but a little fresh air will do you good. If you’ll get a coat?”
She nodded. “You see, Mr. Goodwin. In my own house. All right.” She got up. “Wait here.” She went.
Sarah Dacos was smiling at me. “You could have gone upstairs,” she said. “I can’t hear through walls or even through keyholes.”
“No?” I looked her up and down, glad to have an excuse. She was very lookable. “You may be wired for sound, and there would be only one way to make sure, and you wouldn’t enjoy it.”
The hazel eyes laughed. “How do you know I wouldn’t?”
“My knowledge of human nature. You’re the squeamish type. You haven’t walked up to your tail and said what’s your name and what do you want.”
“Why, do you think I should?”
“No. But you haven’t. May I ask, do you dance?”
“Sometimes.”
“I’d know more about you if you danced with me. I don’t mean about the possibility that you’re playing with the FBI. If they had you, right here in the house, they wouldn’t be dogging her and the whole family. The only reason I—”
The client showed at the door. I hadn’t heard her footsteps. That was bad. Miss Dacos was attractive, but not enough to keep me from hearing footsteps, even though I was talking. That could only mean that my opinion of the job wouldn’t let me get fully on it, all of me, and that wouldn’t do. As I went and followed the client to the front my jaw was set. The man in black opened the door, and I got the vestibule door, and we were out in the January wind. We headed east, toward Park Avenue, and stopped at the corner.
“We can talk better standing,” I said. “First, our getting you in a hurry if we have to. There’s absolutely no telling what’s going to happen. It’s even possible that Mr. Wolfe and I will have to leave his house and hole up somewhere. If you get a message, by phone or otherwise, no matter how, that the pizza is sour, go at once to the Churchill Hotel and find a man named William Coffey. He’s a house dick there — an assistant security officer. You can do that openly. He’ll have something for you, either to tell you or give you. Pizza is sour. Churchill Hotel, William Coffey. Remember it. Don’t write it down.”
“I won’t.” She was frowning. “I suppose you’re sure you can trust him?”
“Yes. If you knew Mr. Wolfe better, and me, you wouldn’t ask that. Have you got it?”