Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 41 Read Online Free Page B

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 forlunch 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