Too Many Clients

"No, thanks." I sat on the couch, four feet away, twisted around to face her. "I don't suppose the champagne's what you came here for. Is it?" "No. I came to get my umbrella." "Yellow with a red plastic handle?" "No. Gray with a black handle." "It's there in a drawer, but you'll have to manage without it for a while. If and when the police get interested in this place they won't like it if things have been taken away. How did it get here?" Too Many Clients 113 "I need a refill." She was off of the couch and on her feet in one smooth movement. "Can't I bring you some?" "No, thanks." "You, Fred?" "No, one's enough of this stuff." She crossed to the kitchen door and on through. I asked Fred, "Did she try to buy you off or talk you off?" He shook his head. "She didn't try anything. She gave me a look and saw I'm twice as big as she is, and she said, *I don't know you, do I? What's your name?' She's a damn cool specimen if you ask me. Do you know what she asked me after we got talking? She asked me if I thought this would be a good place to have meetings of the Parent-Teachers Association. Believe me, if I was a woman and I had keys to this place and I came and found a stranger--" Mrs. Hough had reappeared, with a full glass. She came and resumed her place on the couch without spilling a drop, lifted the glass, said, "Faith, hope, and charity," and took a sip. She adjusted her legs. "I left it here," she said. "Two weeks ago Friday, three weeks this coming Friday. It was raining. Torn Yeager had told me he knew a place that was different, worth seeing, he said, and he gave me keys and told me how to get in. When I came, this is what I found." She waved a hand. "You have to admit it's different. But there was no one here but him, and he had ideas I didn't like. He didn't actually assault me, say nothing but good of the dead, but he was pretty difficult, and I was glad to get away without my umbrella but with everything else." fi 114 Rex Stout She took a sip. "And when I read about his death, about his body being found in a hole in the street, this street, you can imagine. I wasn't worried about being suspected of having something to do with his death, that wasn't it, but I knew how clever they are at tracing things, and if the umbrella was traced to me, and this room described in the papers--well . . ." She gestured. "My husband, my friends, everyone who knows me--and if it got bad enough my husband might even lose his job. But this place wasn't mentioned in the papers yesterday, and when it wasn't mentioned again today I thought they probably didn't know about it, and I decided to come and see and perhaps I could get my umbrella. So here I am." She took a sip. "And you say I can't have it and talk about going to see Nero Wolfe. It would be fun to see Nero Wolfe, I wouldn't mind that, but I want my umbrella, and I have an idea. You say it's here in a drawer?" "Right." "Then you take it, and tonight take me to the Flamingo and we'll dance. Not just a turn, we'll dance till they close, and then you might feel like letting me have the umbrella. That may sound conceited, but I don't mean it that way, I just think you might, and it won't hurt to find out, and anyhow you'll have the umbrella." "Yeah." The curve of her lips really caught the eye. "And it won't be here. I appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Hough, but I'll be working tonight. Speaking of working, why would your husband lose his job? Does he work for Continental Plastic Products?" "No. He's an assistant professor at NYU. A wife Too Many Clients 115 of a faculty member getting involved in a thing like this--even if I'm not really involved . . ." There was a click in my skull. It wasn't a hunch; you never know where a hunch comes from; it was the word "professor" that flipped a switch. "What's he professor of?" I asked. "English literature." She took a sip. "You're changing the subject. We can go to the Flamingo tomorrow night. You won't be losing anything except a few hours if you don't like me, because you'll have the umbrella." She looked at her wrist watch. "It's nearly half past one. Have you had lunch?" "No." "Take me to lunch and maybe you'll melt a little." I was listening with only one ear. Teacher of literature. Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts, Robert Browning. I would have given ten to one, which would have been a sucker's bet, but a detective has as much right to look on the bright side as anyone else. I stood up. "You're getting on my nerves, Mrs. Hough. It would be no strain at all to call you Di. I haven't seen anyone for quite a while that I would rather take to lunch or dance with, melting would be a pleasure, but I have to go. Nero Wolfe will still want to see you, but that can wait. Just one question: Where were you Sunday night from seven o'clock on?" "No." Her eyes widened. "You can't mean that." "Sorry, but I do. If you want to have another conference with yourself, I'll wait while you go to fill your glass again." "You really mean it." She emptied the glass, taking her time. "I didn't go to the kitchen to have 116 Rex Stout a conference with myself. Sunday night I was at home, at our apartment, with my husband. Seven o'clock on? We went to a restaurant in the Village a little after six for dinner, and got home after eight--around half past eight. My husband worked at some papers, and I read and watched television, and I went to bed around midnight, and stayed there, really I did. I seldom get up in the middle of the night and go and shoot a man and drop his body in a hole." "It's a bad habit," I agreed. "Now Mr. Wolfe won't have to ask you that. I suppose you're in the phone book?" I turned to Fred. "Don't let her talk you out of the umbrella. How's the room service here? Okay?" "No complaints. I'm beginning to feel at home. How much longer?" "A day or a week or a year. You never had it softer." "Hunh. You leaving her?" "Yeah, she might as well finish the bottle. I've got an errand." As I made for the elevator Dinah Hough left the couch and headed for the kitchen. She was in there when the elevator came and I entered. Down below Mr. and Mrs. Perez were still in their kitchen, and I poked my head in and told them that their only hope of steering clear of trouble was to sit tight, and blew. At the corner of 82nd and Columbus was a drugstore where I could have treated my stomach to a glass of milk, but I didn't stop. I had a date with an assistant professor of English literature, though he didn't know it. sl & L- Chapter 10