Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 19 by Murder by the Book Page B

seldom gay.”
    “I want to see ’em,” Helen Troy said loudly. “It’s human nature.”
    Fritz had entered, and I spoke to him. “Where are Mrs. Abrams and Mr. Wellman, Fritz? In the south room?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Will you please ask them to be good enough to come down here?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    He went. I inquired about drinks and got three orders.

Chapter 9

    B lanche Duke darned near ruined it.
    When Wellman and Mrs. Abrams were ushered in by Fritz, ten pairs of eyes were focused on them, though in two or three cases the focusing required a little effort. I arose, performed the introductions, and brought them to the two chairs I had placed, one on either side of me. Mrs. Abrams, in a black silk dress or maybe rayon, was tight-lipped and scared but dignified. Wellman, in the same gray suit or its twin, was trying to take in all their faces without seeming to. He sat straight, not touching the back of the chair. I had my mouth open to speak when Blanche beat me to it.
    “You folks need a drink. What’ll you have?”
    “No, thanks,” Wellman said politely. Mrs. Abrams shook her head.
    “Now listen,” Blanche insisted, “you’re in trouble. I’ve been in trouble all my life, and I know. Have a drink. Two jiggers of dry gin, one jigger of dry vermouth—”
    “Be quiet, Blanche,” Mrs. Adams snapped.
    “Go to hell,” Blanche snapped back. “This is social. You can’t get Corrigan to fire me, either, you old papoose.”
    I would have liked to toss her out a window. I cut in. “Did I mix that right, Blanche, or didn’t I?”
    “Sure you did.”
    “Call me Archie.”
    “Sure you did, Archie.”
    “Okay, and I’m doing this right too. I do everything right. Would I let Mrs. Abrams and Mr. Wellman go without drinks if they wanted them?”
    “Certainly not.”
    “Then that settles it.” I turned to my right, having promised Mrs. Abrams that Wellman would be called on first. “Mr. Wellman, I’ve been telling these ladies about the case that Mr. Wolfe and I are working on, and they’re interested, partly because they work in the office where Leonard Dykes worked. I told them you and Mrs. Abrams were upstairs waiting to see Mr. Wolfe, and I thought you might be willing to tell them something about your daughter Joan. I hope you don’t mind?”
    “I don’t mind.”
    “How old was Joan?”
    “She was twenty-six. Her birthday was November nineteenth.”
    “Was she your only child?”
    “Yes, the only one.”
    “Was she a good daughter?”
    “She was the best daughter a man ever had.”
    There was an astonishing interruption—at least, astonishing to me. It was Mrs. Abrams’ voice, not loud but clear. “She was no better than my Rachel.”
    Wellman smiled. I hadn’t seen him smile before. “Mrs. Abrams and I have had quite a talk. We’ve been comparing notes. It’s all right, we won’t fight about it. Her Rachel was a good daughter too.”
    “No, there’s nothing to fight about. What was Joangoing to do, get married or go on with her career, or what?”
    He was still a moment. “Well, I don’t know about that. I told you she graduated from Smith College with honors.”
    “Yes.”
    “There was a young fellow from Dartmouth we thought maybe she was going to hitch up with, but she was too young and had sense enough to know it. Here in New York—she was here working for those publishers nearly four years—she wrote us back in Peoria about different—”
    “Where’s Peoria?” Blanche Duke demanded.
    He frowned at her. “Peoria? That’s a city out in Illinois. She wrote us about different fellows she met, but it didn’t sound to us like she was ready to tie up. We got to thinking it was about time, anyway her mother did, but she thought she had a big future with those publishers. She was getting eighty dollars a week, pretty good for a girl of twenty-six, and Scholl told me just last August when I was here on a trip that they expected a great deal of her. I was thinking of