The Rubber Band by Rex Stout

so through General Delivery. She can notify me on the telephone what branch.”
    “Shall we go out the back way onto Thirty-fourth Street?”
    “I was about to suggest it. When you are free again, return here. Tonight.”
    Wolfe moved his eyes. “Is there anything of value in your luggage at the hotel. Miss Lindquist?”
    She was standing up. She shook her head. “Not much. No.”
    “Have you any money?”
    “I have thirty-eight dollars and my ticket home.”
    “Good. Opulence. Good night. Miss Lindquist. Sleep well.”
    Clara Fox was up too. She went to the other woman and put her hands on her shoulders and kissed her on the mouth. “Good night, Hilda. It’s rotten, but … keep your chin up.”
    Hilda Lindquist said in a loud voice, “Good night, everybody,” and turned and followed Saul Panzer out of the room. In a few seconds I could hear their footsteps on the stairs leading down to the basement, where a door opened onto the court in the rear. We were all looking at Wolfe, who was opening a bottle of beer. I was thinking, the old lummox certainly fancies he’s putting on a hot number, I suppose he’ll send Miss Fox to board with his mother in Buda Pesth. It looked to me like he was stepping off over his head.
    He looked at Mike Walsh. “Now, sir, your turn. I note your symptoms of disapproval, but we are doing the best we can. In the kitchen is a man named Fred Durkin, whom you have seen. Within his capacity, he is worthy of your trust and mine. I would suggest—”
    “I don’t want any Durkin.” Walsh was on his feet again. “I don’t want anything from you at all. I’ll just be going.”
    “But Mr. Walsh.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “Believe me, it will not pay to be headstrong. I am not by nature an alarmist, but there are certain features of this affair—”
    “So I notice.” Walsh stepped up to the desk. “The features is what I don’t like about it.” He looked at Clara Fox, then at me, then at Wolfe, letting us know what the features were. “I may be past me prime, but I’m not in a box yet. What kind of a shenanigan would ye like to try on an old man, huh? I’m to go out and hide, am I? Do I get to ask a question or two?”
    “That’s three.” Wolfe sighed. “Go ahead.”
    Walsh whirled on me. “You, Goodwin’s your name? Was it you that answered the phone yesterday, the call that came for Harlan Scovil?”
    “No.” I grinned at him. “I wasn’t here.”
    “Where was you?”
    “At the office of the Seaboard Products Corporation, where Miss Fox works.”
    “Ha! Was you indeed. You wasn’t here. I suppose it couldn’t have been you that phoned here to Harlan.”
    “Sure it could have, but it wasn’t. Listen, Mr. Walsh—”
    “I’ve listened enough. I’ve been listening to this Clara Fox for a year and looking at her pretty face, and I had no reason to doubt her maybe, and this is what’s come out of it, I’ve helped lead my old friend Harlan Scovil into an ambush to his death. My old friend Harlan.” He stopped abrupdy, and shut his lips tight, and looked around at us while a big fat tear suddenly popped out of each of his eyes and rolled on down, leaving a mark across his wrinkles. He went on, “I ate a meal with you. A meal and three drinks. Maybe I’d like to puke it up someday. Or maybe you’re all square shooters, I don’t know, but I know somebody ain’t, and I’m going to find out who it is. What’s this about them being after Miss Fox for stealing money? I can find out about that too. And if I want anything collected from this English Marquis nobleman, I can collect it myself. Good night to ye all.” He turned and headed for the door.
    Wolfe snapped, “Get him, Archie.”
    Remembering the gun on his hip, I went and folded myself around him and locked him. He let out a snarl and tried some twisting and unloosed a couple of kicks at my shins, but in four seconds he had sense enough to see it was no go. He quivered a little and then stood