Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe by Three at Wolfe's Door Page B

wait for her, he had beat it to Al’s diner at the corner of Tenth Avenue, which was popular with hackies.
    She shook her head. “I don’t—” she began, and let it hang. She glanced around. “Why not here? It shouldn’t take very long—I just want you to help me win a bet.” She moved, descended two steps, and sat on the landing, swaying a little as she bent. “Have a seat.”
    We were still on Wolfe’s premises, but he rarely used the outdoors part, and after she paid me I could slip a buck under the door for rent. I sat down beside her, not crowding. I had often sat there watching the neighborhood kids at stoop ball.
    â€œDo I pay in advance?” she asked.
    â€œNo, thanks, I’ll trust you. What’s the bet about?”
    â€œWell …” She was squinting at me in the dim light. “I had an argument with a friend of mine. She said there were ninety-three women cab drivers in New York, and she thought it was dangerous because sometimes things happen in cabs that it takes a man to handle, and I said things like that can happen anywhere just as well as in cabs, and we had an argument, and she bet me fifty dollars she could prove that something dangerous could happen in a cab that couldn’t happen anywhere else. She thought up some things, but I made her admit they could happen other places too, and then she said what if a woman cab driver left her empty cab to go into a building for something, and when she came back there was a dead woman in the cab? She claimed that won the bet, and the trouble was I didn’t know enough about what you’re supposed to do when you find a dead body. That’s what I want you to tell me. I’m sure she’s wrong. And I’ll pay you the fifty dollars.”
    I was squinting back at her. “You don’t look it,” I stated.
    â€œI don’t look what?”
    â€œLoony. Two things. First, the same thing could happen if she were driving a private car instead of a cab, and why didn’t you tell her that? Second, where’s the danger? She merely finds a phone and notifies the police. It would be a nuisance, but you said dangerous.”
    â€œOh. Of course.” She bit her lip. “I left something out. It’s not her cab. She has a friend who is a cab driver, and she wanted to see what driving a cab was like, and her friend let her take it. So she can’t notify the police because her friend broke some law when she let her take the cab, and she broke one too, driving acab without a license, so it wouldn’t have been the same if she had been driving a private car. And the only way I can win the bet is to prove that it wouldn’t be dangerous. She doesn’t know how the dead woman got in the cab or anything about it. All she has to do is get the body out of the cab, but that might be dangerous unless she did it just right, and that’s what I want you to tell me so I won’t make some awful mistake—I mean when I tell my friend why it wouldn’t be dangerous. Things like where would she go to—to take it out of the cab, and would she have to wait until late at night, and how would she make sure there was no traces left in the cab.” She bit her lip again, and her fingers were curled to make fists. “Things like that.”
    â€œI see.” I had stopped squinting. “What’s your name?”
    She shook her head. “You don’t have to know. I’m just consulting you.” She stuck her fingers in the pocket of her jacket, a grayish number with pointed lapels that had seen wear, came out with a purse, and opened it.
    I reached to snap it shut. “That can wait. I certainly wouldn’t take your money without knowing your name. Of course you can make one up.”
    â€œWhy should I?” She gestured. “All right. My name is Mira Holt. Mira with an I.” She opened the purse again.
    â€œHold it,” I told her.