At four o’clock that afternoon I stood in the marble lobby of a forty-story financial castle in Wall Street, across from the row of elevators that were marked “32-40.” I was equipped. In my head was a picture of Avery Ballou, acquired from a back number of Fortune magazine at the New York Public Library, and in my pocket was a card. It was like the card I had given William the elevator man ' my name in the middle and Nero Wolfe’s name and address and phone number in smaller type at the bottom ' but I had added something. Typewritten below my name was the information: “There was a diary in the pink bedroom and the police have it.” It filled the space neatly.
I may have been overdoing it. It was conceivable that not only Ballou’s wife and family, but also some of his friends, and even some of the Federal Holding Corporation personnel, knew how he had spent some of his evenings. But it was likely that they didn’t. Some of the adjectives about him in Fortune were “astute,” “aloof,” “conventional,” and “scrupulous.” I don’t swallow printed adjectives whole, but if that batch was only half right it was going to be ticklish.
So I spent a hundred minutes down in the lobby instead of going up to the thirty-fourth floor. Anyhow it was better than the upstairs hall at 2938 Humboldt Avenue, especially from five o’clock on, when every elevator unloaded a flock of wrens, a pleasing sight. I know that the wrens who lay eggs don’t flock, but if they used elevators instead of wings they would have to.
I had looked at my watch at 5:38, and it was two minutes later that Avery Ballou showed. Of those who had been with him in the elevator, one man stayed with him as they went down the lobby, talking. I followed, six steps back, hoping they would separate, and they did, out on the sidewalk. The man went toward Broadway, and Ballou just stood there. I approached, faced him, offered the card, and said, “This will interest you, Mr. Ballou. Is there enough light?”
For a second I thought he was going to snub it, and so did he, but he looked at my face, the manly honest face that had launched a thousand cards, took it, tilted it for better light, and focused on it. I had plenty of time to size him up. His dark gray coat had set him back three Cs, possibly four, and his dark gray hat around forty bucks. His head was the right size for his big solid frame, and his face was a little seamy but had no sag. It still didn’t say when he finished with the card, stuck it in his pocket, and looked at me.
“Interest me?” he asked.
I nodded. “Of course this is no place to discuss it. The best place for that is Nero Wolfe’s office. He knows even more than the police do about that pink bedroom and about the man they’re holding, and about you. The best time would be now. That’s really all I have to say, I’m just the messenger boy. But you have to admit it was considerate of me not to go up to the thirty-fourth floor and give somebody that card to take in.”
He turned his head, clear around ' to see if there was a cop handy'No. A Rolls-Royce town car had pulled up and stopped, and the uniformed chauffeur was getting out. Ballou turned back to me and asked, “Where is it?”
“West Thirty-fifth Street. Nine-thirty-eight.”
“Have you a car?”
“Not here.”
“If you ride with me you’ll keep your mouth shut.”
“Right. I’ve said my piece.”
He stepped to the Rolls and got in, and I followed, and the driver shut the door and got in behind the wheel. As we moved, Ballou told him we would make a stop and gave him the address. As we stopped for a light at the corner I was thinking that it was the first time I had ever delivered a murder suspect to the old brownstone in his own Rolls-Royce. The rest of the way, since we were not speaking, I concentrated on how it handled, and decided it was a little smoother than the Heron but not quite as fast on the take.
It was after six when we got there, so Wolfe would be down. While I am not as childish as he is about showing off, I like to do things right, so after attending to Ballou’s hat and coat, and mine, in the hall, I went to the office door, stepped in, announced, “Mr. Ballou,” and moved aside. He entered, stopped, glanced around, and asked, “Is this room bugged?”
“Confound it,” Wolfe said, “it will soon be impossible to converse anywhere about anything. I can give you my word of honor that what we say will not be recorded, and do, but though I know what my word is worth, you don’t.” He pointed to the vase. “The microphone could even be in there, but it isn’t.”
Ballou had taken the card from his overcoat pocket and had it in his hand. He showed it. “What is this about a pink bedroom and a diary?”
Wolfe turned a hand over. “That’s obvious. A device to get you here. But not bogus, factual. The bedroom is pink, as you know, since you have spent many hours in it; and Miss Kerr did keep a diary; and the police have it.” He motioned at the red leather chair. “Please be seated; eyes are better at a level.”
“I have never spent an hour in a pink bedroom.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I know something of your reputation. I know you are capable of elaborate maneuvers, and apparently you intended to involve me in one. I wanted to tell you, don’t try it.”
Wolfe shook his head. “No good, Mr. Ballou. The question is not whether I know of your association, over a three-year period, with Miss Kerr, nor is it what evidence I have at hand to support my knowledge. The question is, can public disclosure of it be prevented, and if so, how'That is the question for you. For me the question is, did you kill that woman'If you did, I’m going to establish it and you’re doomed. If you didn’t, I have no desire to expose your association with her, and it may never transpire. It is not overweening to say that that issue depends chiefly on how candid you are with me.”
Ballou turned his head as I crossed behind him to my desk. He regarded me as I sat, looked at Wolfe, moved to the red leather chair, got himself comfortably seated, taking his time, and told Wolfe, “I’m listening.”
Wolfe swiveled to have him straight front. “Some of this may be news to you, but some may not. You know, of course, that a man named Orrie Cather is in custody as a material witness, but he will be charged with homicide at any moment. I have assumed, on sufficient ground, that he is innocent. Mr. Cather has worked for me, on occasion, for years, and I am under an incumbency. If I am to satisfy it I must now violate a confidence. Mr. Cather had been on intimate terms with Miss Kerr for about a year. He visited her frequently at her apartment with the pink bedroom, at times when she knew you would not come, and there were traces there of his presence and the intimacy, not visible to you but discoverable by a search. The police found them, and that’s why they have him. Do you wish to comment?”
“I’m listening.” From Ballou’s face you might have thought he was merely hearing a proposition to hold something.
“Miss Kerr told Mr. Cather many things about you, her provider, but naturally did not tell you about him, her Strephon. Apparently she also put him in her diary, but not you. If you were there, you would have been visited before now by a policeman or the District Attorney. Have you been?”
“I’m listening.”
“That won’t do. I need to know, and it doesn’t commit you. Has anyone called on you?”
“No.”
“Have you had any indication whatever that your name might be a factor in the murder of Isabel Kerr?”
“No.”
“Then it isn’t in the diary. I know only one thing about the diary, that the police found it in Miss Kerr’s apartment. A policeman, an inspector, told Mr. Goodwin that they had it. I know nothing of its contents except, now, that it doesn’t name you, and that’s fortunate. It’s probable that the District Attorney will not charge Mr. Cather with murder until he learns who was paying for that apartment; that would be dictated by prudence. You hope he never learns, and I would be just as well satisfied.”
Wolfe cocked his head. “That’s the point, Mr. Ballou. If Mr. Cather is brought to trial, you’re in for it. He will take the stand, he will speak, and he will certainly name you; and the dogs will be loose. There may be a chance, even a good one, that if the murderer in fact is exposed and tried, and convicted, your name will never be divulged; but if Mr. Cather is tried, it will inevitably be divulged. Assuming his innocence as I do, I don’t want him to be tried, and neither do you, now that I have described the situation. We have a common interest, and I expect you to help me pursue it ' to identify the man who killed Isabel Kerr. If you refuse, I shall of course assume that you killed her, and if you didn’t I would waste much valuable time, and that would be a pity. Have I made it clear?”
Ballou’s face looked seamier, but that was all; there was still no sag. He took a deep breath, rubbed his brow with a palm, and said, “Could I have a drink?” I rose and said certainly, name it, because that was quicker than ringing for Fritz, and he said gin on the rocks with lemon peel, and I went to the kitchen. Fritz shaved slivers of lemon peel while I got the gin and a glass and a bowl of ice cubes. When I re-entered the office the red leather chair was empty; Ballou was over by the globe, slowly twirling it with a fingertip. As I put the tray on the stand he came, sat, put one ice cube in the glass, poured gin, twisted two pieces of lemon peel and dropped them in, and stirred.
When I was back in my chair he was still stirring. Finally he picked up the glass, took two medium sips, and put it down.
“Yes,” he said. “You have made it clear.”
Wolfe opened his eyes and grunted.
“Obviously,” Ballou said, “I’m in a trap. I can’t check a single thing you have said. I did want a drink, I always have one as soon as I get home, but what I had to have was a little time to consider. I have decided that the probability is that the facts are as you have given them, partly because I don’t see what you could possibly expect to gain by inventing them. The only alternative is to walk out, and I can’t risk it. I have a question: when did Miss Kerr ' when did that man, Cather, first learn my name?”
Wolfe turned. “Do we know, Archie?”
“No, sir.” To Ballou: “I can find out, if it’s important.”
“Could it have been as long as four months ago?”
“Certainly.”
“I would like to know. It may not be important now, but I would like to know.” He got the glass and took a sip. “I have nothing to say to your guess that I killed Miss Kerr except that I didn’t. Would a man in my position, of my standing ' No, that wouldn’t impress you. To me the idea is simply fantastic. You say you expect me to help you identify the man who killed her. If Cather didn’t, and if the facts are as you say, I certainly want to, but how?”
“First you,” Wolfe said. “Where were you Saturday morning?”
“I was at home all morning and until about three o’clock. We had guests for lunch.”
“If pressed, could you account for every half-hour from eight o’clock to noon?”
“I think so. There were phone calls.”
“Could your wife?”
“Why the devil should she?”
Wolfe shook his head. “Don’t start that. You have held your poise admirably; don’t spoil it. I don’t drag your wife in, circumstances do. Did she know of your association with Miss Kerr?”
“No.”
“How sure are you?”
“Completely. I have taken great precautions.”
Wolfe frowned. “You see how difficult it is. It may be highly desirable for Mr. Goodwin or me to see your wife, but with what excuse, without involving you'It must be managed somehow, and Mr. Goodwin -“
“It will not be managed! You will not see my wife!”
“Your poise. As you said, you’re in a trap; don’t thrash about. If it wasn’t you or your wife, who was it'I must have a fact, a hint, a name. You spent many intimate hours with her. You may have to spend hours with me. She told you of places she went and people she knew. Tell me.”
A muscle on Ballou’s neck was twitching. “I insist, I insist, that my wife is not to be disturbed. You expect to be paid, naturally. I never ‘thrash about.’ How much?”
Wolfe nodded. “Naturally for you. Men with money always assume there is no other medium of exchange. I am engaged on behalf of Mr. Cather, and you can’t hire me or pay me. I am coercing you, certainly, but only to get information. We shall disturb your wife only if it is requisite. From you I want all the facts, all -“
The phone rang. I turned and got it. “Nero Wolfe’s -“
“Saul, Archie. I’m -“
“Hold it.” I put it down and moved, to the hall and on to the kitchen, and took the phone.
“We have company. Okay, shoot.”
“You’re going to have more company. I’m licked. I have met my match. Julie Jaquette. I would give a week’s pay to know if you could have handled her. The trouble is partly that Nero Wolfe’s a celebrity, so she says, but mostly it’s the orchids. If he will show her his orchids she’ll tell him all about Isabel Kerr. She won’t tell me a damn thing. Nothing.”
“Well, well. It might have taken me a whole ten minutes.”
“Go soak it. I said a week’s pay. She -“
“Where are you?”
“A booth on Christopher Street. The one at the Ten Little Indians had a line waiting. She’s working. She’ll be off until eight and then from nine-ten to ten-fifteen.”
“Then it’s simple. Bring her at nine-ten.”
“Like hell it’s simple.” It clicked and he was gone.
I don’t expect you to believe me when I report the first words I heard as I re-entered the office, but you have a right to know why we got about as little from Avery Ballou as Saul had got from Julie Jaquette. The words, uttered by Ballou, were, “Rudyard Kipling.” As I crossed to my desk my head kept turning to have my eyes on him. As I sat, Wolfe asked him, “The poems?”
“Mostly the poems,” Ballou said, “but some of the stories too. And Robert Service and Jack London. A little of some others, but of those three, Kipling and Service and London, I had complete sets there, bound in leather. There’s something I have wanted to ask about, but haven’t, and you would know. Can they get my fingerprints from those bindings'The leather isn’t smooth, it’s rippled.”
Wolfe’s head turned. “Archie?”
“Probably not,” I told Ballou, “from rippled leather, but your prints must be on other surfaces there. Are they on file anywhere?”