Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

Some day, I said to myself grimly, or rather to her but not audibly, matters will be so arranged that, whether you’re worth it or not, sir will be as far from your mind as-

“Archie!” It was a bellow.

“At ease,” I told her gruffly, and faded.

Wolfe and Tinkham were at the other end of the room, over by the corporal.

“Take me home,” Wolfe said.

There was never any dillydallying when Wolfe had decided to go home. The look on Tinkham’s face gave me the impression that he either had some questions he would like to ask, or that he had got no answers to some he had already asked, but all he did get was a request from Wolfe to inform General Fife that he would communicate with him in the morning.

There was a crowd down on the sidewalk, and a bigger one across the street. Any broken glass that had descended from the tenth floor two hours ago had been cleaned up. As we made our way through to where the car was parked, I heard a man tell a girl, “A big bomb exploded and killed eighty people and two generals.” That was a little surprising, but driving home, going up Varick Street, Wolfe said something that was much more so. From the back seat he told me plainly, “Go a little faster, Archie.” That flammed me. As I said, he never talked while undergoing the hazards of motorized movement, and him asking for more speed was about the same as a private asking for more K.P. Anyhow, I obliged.

He muttered under his breath, probably a prayer of thanks, as we stopped in front of the house, and then, as I opened my door and started to wriggle from behind the wheel, he spoke. “Don’t get out. You’re going somewhere.”

“Oh. I am.”

“Yes. Back downtown. General Fife said that place will be cleaned up tonight. They may start at any moment, and I want that suitcase. Get it and bring it here. Just the case. I don’t want the contents. Exactly as it is; don’t bend it or do any tampering with it.”

I had twisted around to glare at him. He had opened his door and was climbing out. “You mean,” I demanded, “Ryder’s suitcase?”

“I do.” He was on the sidewalk. “It’s important. Also it is doubly important that no one should see you taking it. Especially Lieutenant Lawson, Colonel Tinkham, General Fife, or Miss Bruce, but preferably no one.”

I seldom sputter, but I sputtered. “That suitcase-from under their noses-listen. Will you settle for the moon? Glad to get the moon for you. Do you realize-”