Final Deduction

"He told me what to do. I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to do exactly what he said. I don't need you for that. What I need you for, I want my husband back. Alive. I know they may have killed him already, I know that, but-" Her chin had started to work, and she pressed her lips together to stop it. She went on, "If they have, then I'll want you to find them if the police and the FBI don't. But on the phone yesterday that man said he was all right, and I believe him. I must believe him!"

She was on the edge of the chair. "But don't kidnapers often kill after they get the money? So they can't be traced or recognized? Don't they?"

"That has happened."

"Yes. That's what I need you for. Doing what he said, getting the money to them, I'll do that myself, there's nothing you can do about that. I've told my banker I'm coming to get the money this afternoon, and I'll do-"

"Half a million dollars?"

"Yes. And I'll do exactly what that man said, but that's all I can do, and I want him back. I want to be sure I'll get him back. That's what I need you for."

Wolfe grunted. "Madam. You can't possibly mean that. You are not a nincompoop. How could I conceivably proceed? The only contact with that punster or an accomplice will be your delivery of the money, and you refuse to tell me anything about it. Pfui. You can't possibly mean it."

"But I do. I do! That's why I came to you! Is there anything you can't do? Aren't you a genius? How did you get your reputation?" She took a checkfold from her bag and slipped a pen from a loop. "Will ten thousand do for a retainer?"

She had a touch of genius herself, or it was her lucky day, asking him if there was anything he couldn't do and waving a check at him. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and cupped the ends of the chair arms with his hands. I expected to see his lips start moving in and out, but they didn't; evidently this one was too tough for any help from the lip routine. Mrs Vail opened the checkfold on the stand at her elbow, wrote, tore the check from the fold, got up and put it on Wolfe's desk, and returned to the chair. She started to say something, and I pushed a palm at her. A minute passed, another, and two or three more, before Wolfe opened his eyes, said, "Your notebook, Archie," and straightened up.

I got my notebook and pen. But instead of starting to dictate he closed his eyes again. In a minute he opened them and turned to Mrs Vail.

"The wording is important," he said. "It would help to know how he uses words. You will tell me exactly what he said on the phone."

"No, I won't." She was emphatic. "You would try to do something, some kind of trick. You'd have Archie Goodwin do something. I know he's clever and you may be a genius, but I'm not going to risk that. I told that man I would do exactly what he told me to, and do it alone, and I'm not going to tell you. What wording is important? Wording of what?"

Wolfe's shoulders went up an eighth of an inch and down again. "Very well. His voice. Did you recognize it?"

She stared. "Recognize it? Of course not!"

"Had you any thought, any suspicion, that you had ever heard it before?"

"No."

"Was he verbose, or concise?"

"Concise. He just told me what to do."

"Rough or smooth?"

She considered. "Neither one. He was just-matter-of-fact."

"No bluster, no bullying?"

"No. He said this would be my one chance and my husband's one chance, but he wasn't bullying. He just said it."

"His grammar? Did he make sentences?"

She flared. "I wasn't thinking of grammar! Of course he made sentences!"

"Few people do. I'll rephrase it: Is he an educated man? `Educated' in the vulgar sense, as it is commonly used."

She considered again. "I said he wasn't rough. He wasn't vulgar. Yes, I suppose he is educated." She gestured impatiently. "Isn't this wasting time? You're not enough of a genius to guess who he is or where he is from how he talked. Are you?"

Wolfe shook his head. "That would be thaumaturgy, not genius. When and where did you last see your husband?"

"Saturday morning, at our house. He left to drive to the country, to our place near Katonah, to see about things. I didn't go along because I wasn't feeling well. He phoned Sunday morning and said he might not be back until late evening. When he hadn't come at midnight I phoned, and the caretaker told me he had left a little after eight o'clock. I wasn't really worried, not really, because sometimes he takes a notion to drive around at night, just anywhere, but yesterday morning I was worried, but I didn't want to start calling people, and then the mail came with that thing."

"Was he alone when he left your place in the country?"

"Yes. I asked the caretaker."

"What is your secretary's name?"

"My secretary? You jump around. Her name is Dinah Utley."

"How long has she been with you?"

"Seven years. Why?"

"I must speak with her. You will please phone and tell her to come here at once."