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Rex Stout

Not Quite Dead Enough

Chapter 1

We swooped down and hit the concrete alongside the Potomac at 1:20 p. m. on a raw Monday in early March.

I didn’t know whether I would be staying in Washington or hopping a plane for Detroit or Africa, so I checked my bags at the parcel room at the airport and went out front and flagged a taxi. For twenty minutes I sat back and watched the driver fight his way through two million government employees, in uniforms and in civies, on wheels and on foot, and for another twenty minutes, after entering a building, I showed credentials and waited and let myself be led through corridors, and finally was ushered into a big room with a big desk.

It was the first time I had ever seen the top mackaroo of United States Army Intelligence. He was in uniform and had two chins and a pair of eyes that wasted neither time nor space. I was perfectly willing to shake hands, but he just said to sit down, glanced at a paper on top of a pile and told me in a dry brittle voice that my name was Archie Goodwin.

I nodded noncommittally. For all I knew, it was a military secret.

He inquired acidly, “What the hell is the matter with Nero Wolfe?”

“Search me, sir. Why, is he sick?”

“You worked for him for ten years. As his chief assistant in the detective business. Didn’t you?”

“All of that. Yes, sir. But I never found out what was the matter with him. However, if you want some good guesses—”

“You seem to have done pretty well with that mess down in Georgia, Major Goodwin. ”

“Much obliged, sir. Speaking of Nero Wolfe—”

“I am about to. ” He shoved the papers aside. “That’s why I sent for you. Is he crazy?”

“That’s one theory. ” I looked judicious and crossed my legs, remembered who I was now, and uncrossed them.

“He’s a great man, I grant that, but you know what it was that made the Australian wild dog so wild. Assistant is not the word for it. I was a combination accelerator and brake. I may mention that my pay was roughly three times what it is at the moment. Of course if I were made a colonel—”

“How long have you been a major?”

“Three days. ”

He pronounced a certain word, just one word, very snappy.

“Yes, sir,” I said.

He nodded curtly, to signify that that was settled for good, and went on. “We need Nero Wolfe. Not necessarily in uniform, but we need him. I don’t know whether he deserves his reputation—”

“He does,” I declared. “I hate to admit it, but he does. ”

“Very well. That seems to be the prevailing opinion. And we need him, and we’ve tried to get him. He has been seen by Captain Cross and by Colonel Ryder, and he refused to call on General Fife. I have a report here—”

“They handled him wrong. ” I grinned. “He wouldn’t call on the King of China even if there was one. I doubt if he’s been outdoors since I left, two months ago. The only thing he has got is brains, and the only way to go is to take things to him: facts, problems, people—”