Over My Dead Body

The room I entered was at least five times as big as the ante-room and six times as prosperous. I realized that in my one swift glance as I started to where Nat Driscoll stood at the corner of a large and elegant desk, telling him, "If you sneaked her out while I was coming in here, the cops will have her inside of a minute."

With one hand gripping the edge of the desk hard enough to bleach the knuckles, he said, "Unh." He looked as bewildered and terrified as a corpulent uncle who had been inveigled into taking a ride on the Ziparoo at Coney Island.

I looked around. "Where is she?"

He said, "Unh."

There were two doors besides the one I had entered by. I trotted across and opened one, and saw only gleaming tiles and a washbowl and sittery. I closed that and went and opened the other one, and looked into a small room with filing cabinets, a bookcase, and a de luxe secretary's desk. The secretary sat there staring at me with big round blue eyes, and a more glittering stare was bestowed on me from a chair in a corner occupied by Carla Lovchen.

She didn't say anything, just goggled at me. My elbow was grabbed from behind, and I was agreeably surprised to find that Nat Driscoll could grip like that. I pulled away, and we were both inside the small room, and I shut the door.

I demanded, "What did you figure on doing? Keeping her here till after the funeral?"

Carla asked in a low, tense voice, without altering her stare, "Where's Neya?"

"She's all right. For a while, anyhow. You were tailed to this building-"

"Tailed?"

"Shadowed. Followed by policemen. There are a dozen of them downstairs now, covering all the elevators and exits."

Driscoll dropped on to a chair and groaned. The blue-eyed secretary inquired in a cool, business-like tone:

"Are you Archie Goodwin of Nero Wolfe's office?"

"I am. Pleased to meet you." I met Carla's stare. "Did you kill Rudolph Faber?"

"No." A shiver ran over her, and she controlled it and sat rigid again.

Driscoll mumbled at me, "You mean Ludlow. Percy Ludlow."

"Do I? I don't." I fired at the secretary, "What time did Driscoll get here this morning?"

"Ask him," she said icily.

"I'm asking you. Let me tell you folks something. I may not be your best and dearest friend, but I'm quite a pal compared to the guys downstairs I mentioned. Otherwise I would have brought them up here. That can be done at any moment. What time did Driscoll get here this morning?"

"About half past eleven."

"That was his first appearance here to-day?"

"Yes."

"What time did he leave?"

"He didn't leave at all. He had some lunch brought in on account of Miss Lovchen."

"She got here at eleven-twenty."

"Yes." The secretary was getting no warmer. "How did you know that? How did you know she was here?"

"Intuition. I'm an intuitive genius." I shifted to Driscoll. "So you didn't kill Faber, huh?"

He stammered, "You mean. you must mean Ludlow-"

"I mean Rudolph Faber. A little before noon to-day he was found in the apartment occupied by Neya Tormic and Carla Lovchen lying on the floor, dead. Stabbed. Miss Tormic and I went there looking for Miss Lovchen, and found him."

The secretary looked impressed. Driscoll's eyes widened and his mouth stood open. I snapped at Carla:

"He was there when you went there. Either alive or dead, or alive and then dead."

"I didn't-I wasn't there-"

"Can it. What do you think this is-hide and seek? They were tailing you. You went in there at eleven-five and came out again at eleven-fifteen. Faber was there."

She shivered again. "I didn't kill him."

"Was he there?"

She shook her head and took a deep, jerky breath. "I'm not. going to say anything. I am going away, away from America." She clasped her hands at me. "Pliz, you must help me! Mr Driscoll would help me! Oh, you must, you must-"

Driscoll demanded in an improved voice, "You say Faber was there in her apartment stabbed to death?"

"Yes."

"And she had just been there?"

"She left there about thirty minutes before the body was found."

"Good God." He stared at her. The secretary was staring at her, too.

I said briskly, "She says she didn't do it. I don't know. The immediate point is that Nero Wolfe wants to see her before the cops get hold of her. What were you going to do-help her get away?"

Driscoll nodded. Then he shook his head. "I don't know. Good God-she didn't tell me about Faber. She said. " He flung out his hands. "Damn it, she appealed to me! She swore she had nothing to do with-Ludlow-but she didn't need to! She has been damn fine with me down there-that fencing-greatest pleasure I ever had in my life-she has been damn fine and understanding! She is a very fine young woman! I would be proud to have her for a sister, and I've told her so! Or daughter! Daughter would be better! She came here and appealed to me to help her get away from trouble; and, by God, I was doing it; and I didn't consult any lawyer either! And, by God, I'll still do it! Do you realize that she appealed to me? I don't care if her apartment was as full of dead bodies as the morgue, that young woman is no damn murderess!"

"I understand," said the secretary with ice still in her voice-box, "that it is perfectly legal to help anyone go anywhere they want to, provided they have not commited a crime."

"I don't give a damn," Driscoll declared, "whether it's legal or not! To hell with legal!"

"Okay." I pushed a palm at him. "Don't yell so loud. The point-"

"I want you to understand-"

"Pipe down! I understand everything. You're a hero. Skip it. Here's the way it stands. You can't go ahead and send her on a world cruise, because to begin with you don't stand a chance of getting her out of here and away, and to end with I won't let you. Nero Wolfe wants to see her. Whatever Nero Wolfe wants he gets, or he has a tantrum and I get fired. I have no idea whether she's a very fine young woman or a murderess or what, but I do know that the next thing on her programme is a talk with Nero Wolfe, and I'm in charge of the programme."

"I suppose," said the secretary crushingly, "that you stand a chance of getting her out of here."

"Chance is right," I agreed grimly. "May I use your phone?"

She pushed it across the desk and I asked the ante-room employee to get me a number. In a moment I had the co

"Hallo. Hotel Alexander? Let me talk to Ernie Flint, the house detective."

In two minutes I had him.

"Hallo, Ernie? Archie Goodwin. That's right. How's about things? Fine, thanks, everything rosy. I'm studying to be a detective. Not on your life. Say, listen, I'm pulling a stunt and I want you to do me a favour. Send a bellboy in uniform over to the Maidstone Building, Room 3259. Wait, get this: a small one, about five foot three, and not a fat one. With a cap on, don't forget the cap. With a dark complexion if you've got one like that. Yep, dark hair and eyes. Good. Have him bring a parcel with him containing all his own clothes, everything, including hat. Right. Oh, not long. He can be back there within an hour, only you'll have to give him another uniform. Oh, no. Just a stunt I'm pulling. I'm playing a trick on a feller. I'll describe it when I see you. Make it snappy, will you, Ernie?"

I rang off, took the expense roll from my pocket, peeled off a ten, and tendered it to the secretary. "Here, run down to the nearest store and get a pair of black, low-heeled oxfords that will fit her. Like what a bellboy might wear. Step on it."

She looked critically at Carla's feet. "Five?"

Carla nodded. Driscoll told the secretary:

"Give him back that money." He got out his wallet and produced a twenty-dollar bill. "Here. Get a good pair."

She took it, handed me mine, and went. She may have been chilly, but she wasn't a goof.