Rex Stout - The Twisted Scarf

What I felt like doing was go out for a walk, but I wasnt quite desperate enough for that, so I merely beat it down to the office, shutting the door from the hall behind me, went and sat at my desk with my feet up, leaned back and closed my eyes, and took some deep breaths.

I had made two mistakes. When Bill McNab, garden editor of the Gazette, had suggested to Nero Wolfe that the members of the Manhattan Flower Club be invited to drop in some afternoon to look at the orchids, I should have fought it. And when the date had been set and the invitations sent, and Wolfe had arranged that Fritz and Saul should do the receiving at the front door and I should stay up in the plant rooms with him and Theodore, mingling with the guests, if I had had an ounce of brains I would have put my foot down. But I hadnt, and as a result I had been up there a good hour and a half, grinning around and acting pleased and happy. No, sir, thats not a brasso, its a laelio. No, madam, I doubt if you could grow that miltonia in a living room so sorry. Quite all right, madam your sleeve happened to hook it itll bloom again next year.

It wouldnt have been so bad if there had been something for the eyes. It was understood that the Manhattan Flower Club was choosy about who it took in, but obviously its standards were totally different from mine. The men were just men, okay as men go, but the women! It was a darned good thing they had picked on flowers to love, because flowers dont have to love back. I didnt object to their being alive and well, since after all Ive got a mother too, and three aunts, and I fully appreciate them, but it would have been a relief to spot just one who could have made my grin start farther down than the front of my teeth.

There had in fact been one just one. I had got a glimpse of her at the other end of the crowded aisle as I went through the door from the cool room into the moderate room, after showing a couple of guys what a bale of osmundine looked like in the potting room. From ten paces off she looked absolutely promising, and when I had maneuvered close enough to make her an offer to answer questions if she had any, there was simply no doubt about it, and the first quick slanting glance she gave me said plainly that she could tell the difference between a flower and a man, but she just smiled and shook her head and moved on by with her companions, an older female and two males. Later I had made another try and got another brushoff, and still later, too long later, feeling that the damn grin might freeze on me for good if I didnt take a recess, I had gone AWOL by worming my way through to the far end of the warm room and sidling on out.

All the way down the three flights of stairs new guests were coming up, though it was then four oclock. Nero Wolfes old brownstone house on West Thirty-fifth Street had seen no such throng as that within my memory, which is long and good. One flight down I stopped off at my bedroom for a pack of cigarettes, and another flight down I detoured to make sure the door of Wolfes bedroom was locked. In the main hall downstairs I halted a moment to watch Fritz Brenner, busy at the door with both departures and arrivals, and to see Paul Panzer emerge from the front room, which was being used as a cloakroom, with someones hat and top-coat. Then, as aforesaid, I entered the office, shutting the door from the hall behind me, went and sat at my desk with my feet up, leaned back and closed my eyes, and took some deep breaths.

I had been there eight or ten minutes, and getting relaxed and a little less bitter, when the door opened and she came in. Her companions were not along. By the time she had closed the door and turned to me I had got to my feet, with a friendly leer, and had begun, I was just sitting here thinking

The look on her face stopped me. There was nothing wrong with it basically, but something had got it out of kilter. She headed for me, got halfway, jerked to a stop, sank into one of the yellow chairs, and squeaked, Could I have a drink?

Upstairs her voice had not squeaked at all. I had liked it.

Scotch? I asked her. Rye, bourbon, gin

She just fluttered a hand. I went to the cupboard and got a hooker of Old Woody. Her hand was shaking as she took the glass, but she didnt spill any, and she got it down in two swallows, as if it had been milk, which wasnt very ladylike. She shuddered all over and shut her eyes. In a minute she opened them again and said hoarsely, the squeak gone, Did I need that!

More?

She shook her head. Her bright brown eyes were moist, from the whisky, as she gave me a full straight look with her head tilted up. Youre Archie Goodwin, she stated.

I nodded. And youre the Queen of Egypt?

Im a baboon, she declared. I dont know how they ever taught me to talk. She looked around for something to put the glass on, and I moved a step and reached for it. Look at my hand shake, she complained. Im all to pieces.

She kept her hand out, looking at it, so I took it in mine and gave it some friendly but gentle pressure. You do seem a little upset, I conceded. I doubt if your hand usually feels clammy. When I saw you upstairs

She jerked the hand away and blurted, I want to see Nero Wolfe. I want to see him right away, before I change my mind. She was gazing up at me, with the moist brown eyes. My God, Im in a fix now all right! Im one scared baboon! Ive made up my mind, Im going to get Nero Wolfe to get me out of this somehow why shouldnt he? He did a job for Dazy Perrit, didnt he? Then Im through. Ill get a job at Macys or marry a truck driver! I want to see Nero Wolfe!

I told her it couldnt be done until the party was over.

She looked around. Are people coming in here?

I told her no.

May I have another drink, please?

I told her she should give the first one time to settle, and instead of arguing she arose and got the glass from the corner of Wolfes desk, went to the cupboard, and helped herself. I sat down and frowned at her. Her line sounded fairly screwy for a member of the Manhattan Flower Club, or even for a daughter of one. She came back to her chair, sat, and met my eyes. Looking at her straight like that could have been a nice way to pass the time if there had been any chance for a meeting of minds, but it was easy to see that what her mind was fighting with was connected with me only accidentally.

I could tell you, she said, hoarse again.

Many people have, I said modestly.

Im going to.

Good. Shoot.

Im afraid Ill change my mind and I dont want to.

Okay. Ready, go.

Im a crook.

It doesnt show, I objected. What do you do, cheat at canasta?

I didnt say Im a cheat. She cleared her throat for the hoarseness. I said Im a crook. Remind me someday to tell you the story of my life, how my husband got killed in the war and I broke through the gate. Dont I sound interesting?

You sure do. Whats your line, orchid-stealing?

No. I wouldnt be small and I wouldnt be dirty thats what I thought, but once you start its not so easy. You meet people and you get involved. You cant go it alone. Two years ago four of us took over a hundred grand from a certain rich woman with a rich husband. I can tell you about that one, even names, because she couldnt move anyhow.

I nodded. Blackmailers customers seldom can. What

Im not a blackmailer! Her eyes were blazing.

Excuse me. Mr. Wolfe often says I jump to conclusions.

You did that time. She was still indignant. A blackmailers not a crook, hes a snake! Not that it really matters. Whats wrong with being a crook is the other crooks they make it dirty whether you like it or not. Ive been up to my knees in it. It makes a coward of you too thats the worst. I had a friend once as close as a crook ever comes to having a friend and a man killed her, strangled her, and if I had told what I knew about it they could have caught him, but I was afraid to go to the cops, so hes still loose. And she was my friend! Thats getting down toward the bottom. Isnt it?