“He’s been up front about his name on this side of the East River,” I told Fred. “He does not appear to be ashamed of his gambling proclivities.”
“‘Proclivities,’ that’s a word Mr. Wolfe would use, right, Archie? I even know what it means.”
I told Fred I was proud of him and said he should spend one more day with the bookies in Brooklyn and then report back. He didn’t grumble because like most other freelance operatives, he was just glad to be working, even in the short term.
That left Orrie, and I didn’t hear from him until just before Wolfe came down from playing with the posies at six. “Archie, I’ve been all over this island coming across all sorts of handbooks in all kinds of places. I have been smart enough never to get sucked in by horse racing, so I’m getting quite an education,” he said from a phone booth.
“I am sure glad to learn that you’re improving your knowledge of the city where you’ve spent your whole life. But more to the point, have you found anything out about Everett Carr and where he might be?”
“Well... no, but it hasn’t been for lack of trying, Archie. I’ve walked my tail off, and I haven’t met a single one of these guys who’s ever heard of Everett Carr. Maybe he gives another name, probably a phony one, when he makes bets.”
“Fred suggested the same thing, and I told him Carr has used both his first and last names when betting. Here’s one thing you can do tomorrow: ask each bookie if there’s been a gambler in his place who seems to have a lot of dough to throw around, as in wads of it. And one who is not very successful in his wagering.”
Orrie grumbled about what he thought was a waste of time, but like Fred, he has never said no to Wolfe’s money, so I did not have to twist his arm to keep him focused on the job.
Once Wolfe was settled behind his desk with his predinner beer, I gave him a report, and he grunted. “Does Miss Rowan know where Maureen Carr does her banking?” he asked.
“I don’t know, but I can find out.”
“Do so.”
That’s Wolfe for you. When giving orders, never use a lot of words when one or two will be adequate. I dialed Lily and posed the question to her.
“I’m almost positive it’s the Continental Bank and Trust Company,” she said, “although I’m not sure which branch Maureen uses.” She didn’t ask why I wanted to know, so I thanked her, ended the call, and turned to Wolfe with the answer.
“Satisfactory,” he said, which for Wolfe is an effusive reply, especially given the seemingly mundane nature of the question and answer. But I was about to get an explanation for his enthusiasm.
“Get Mr. Hotchkiss on the telephone. I want to speak to him.” Another tersely worded order.
A few words here about Mortimer M. Hotchkiss: He is a longtime vice president of the Continental Bank, where my boss has been a depositor for years — make that a depositor with a balance that averages close to six figures. Hotchkiss is always available to talk to Wolfe, and today was no exception. I got through to his secretary quickly, and she put the banker on the line while I stayed on as well.
“Ah, Mr. Wolfe, it is so good to hear from you,” he said. “I do hope that nothing is amiss.”
“It is not, sir, although I am in need of some information.”
“Anything I can do to help you will be my pleasure,” Hotchkiss replied.
“You had better wait until you hear my request. I am in search of knowledge regarding another of your depositors, one who may very well be in a life-threatening situation.”
After a pause on the other end, Hotchkiss cleared his throat before speaking. “I know, Mr. Wolfe, that you are aware of how highly we value privacy where our customers are concerned.”
“I would expect nothing less of you in the way of rectitude, and I will be as discreet as possible. I am going to speak a name, and if you remain silent upon hearing it, I will assume that individual is among your customers. And if I ask other questions and you remain silent, I will take that silence as an assent.”
“All right...” Hotchkiss replied in an uneasy tone, “although I may need time to call up some records.”
“So be it,” Wolfe said as he pronounced Maureen Carr’s name. I could hear Hotchkiss muttering to someone, presumably his secretary, who gave him a whispered reply. Records likely were on their way to his office.
Wolfe waited almost two minutes by my watch and received no response from the banker.
“Did the individual whose name I uttered recently withdraw a large sum from your institution?” Again, no response.
“Did that sum equal or exceed fifty thousand dollars?”
Still the banker remained mum.
After another minute-plus had elapsed, Wolfe spoke. “Thank you very much for your time and your patience, Mr. Hotchkiss,” Wolfe said.
“You are most welcome, Mr. Wolfe. As I have said many times in the past, Continental appreciates and values your business and the trust that you have placed in our institution. I look forward to many more years of our association.”
“Spoken as only a banker can speak,” I told Wolfe after we had hung up.
“Mr. Hotchkiss represents tradition and a strong sense of duty, which is not to be dismissed lightly at a time when tradition and dedication to duty are too frequently denigrated as being old-fashioned values.”
“Well, I thought your figuring out that a big withdrawal was made and your way of dealing with that tradition and duty was damned cute. Hotchkiss can’t be accused of violating a customer’s trust. Also, wasn’t it a nice coincidence that both you and Maureen Carr use the same bank? No wonder you said ‘satisfactory’ to me.”
“Coincidence, perhaps,” Wolfe said, flipping a palm. “But Continental is the biggest bank in the city, so to use one of your sports terms, I was playing the odds.”
Chapter 9
So now we knew almost surely that Maureen had withdrawn a healthy sum from her account at the Continental Bank & Trust Company. I say almost surely because we were relying on the words — or lack thereof — from Mortimer M. Hotchkiss. However, I knew Wolfe felt comfortable in the knowledge that Hotchkiss was playing straight with us. And knowing the banker almost as well as Wolfe does, I also felt he gave us the information we requested without having to utter a single word.
“You need to apprise Miss Rowan of this development,” Wolfe said as he picked up his current book, Crusade in Europe, by Dwight D. Eisenhower.
Lily may not be a fee-paying client, but to Wolfe, she is a client nonetheless, as he was reminding me. I called her and laid out what we had learned from the banker.
I was met with silence for several seconds, and when she spoke, it was in measured and somber tones.
“I do not like what I have heard. Does Mr. Wolfe have an explanation, or a conjecture?”
“Not so far. I’m sure we will be discussing the situation. What are your thoughts?”
“I... I don’t know. Fifty thousand dollars, if that really is the figure; what a lot to withdraw at once. And for what reason?”
“It could take Maureen a lot of places, including around the world on an ocean liner,” I said, trying to lighten the mood. I failed.
“Be serious! Something bad has happened to her, really bad, I am sure of it. I have thought so all along, and now this...”
“As I said, Mr. Wolfe and I are going to talk, and we will let you know what the next moves will be.”
Lily clearly was not satisfied, and I did not blame her.