The Black Mountain Read Free Page B

mention that the Police Department will be glad to help.
    Wolfe ignored the sarcasm, thanked him politely, and headed for the door.
    On the way downtown in the cab I remarked that I had been pleased to note that no one had pronounced the name of Sue Dondero. Wolfe, on the edge of the seat,
    gripping the strap, set to jump for his life, made no reply.
    Though I must say, I added, there were enough of them without her. They’re not going to like it much. By noon tomorrow there’ll be thirty-five dicks, five to a candidate, working on that list. I mention it merely for your consideration, in case you are thinking of telling me to have all seven of them in the office at eleven in the morning.
    Shut up, he muttered.
    Usually I react to that command vocally, but that time I thought it just as well to obey.
    When we rolled to the curb in front the old brownstone on West Thirty-fifth Street I paid the driver, got out and held the door for Wolfe, mounted the seven steps to the stoop, and opened the door with my key. After Wolfe had crossed the threshold I closed the door and put the chain bolt on, and when I turned Fritz was there and was telling Wolfe, There’s a lady to see you, sir.
    It popped into my mind that it would save me a lot of trouble if they were going to drop in without being invited, but Fritz was adding, It’s your daughter,
    Mrs. Britton. There was a faint suggestion of reproach in Fritz’s tone. For years he had disapproved of Wolfe’s attitude toward his adopted daughter. A dark-haired Balkan girl with an accent, she had appeared out of the blue one day long ago and proceeded to get Wolfe involved in an operation that had been no help to the bank account. When it was all over she had announced that she didn’t intend to return to her native land, but neither did she intend to take any advantage of the fact that she had in her possession a paper, dated in Zagreb years before, establishing her as the adopted daughter of Nero Wolfe. She had made good on both intentions, having got a job with a Fifth Avenue travel agency, and having, within a year, married its owner, one William R. Britton. No friction had developed between Mr. and Mrs. Britton and Mr. Wolfe, because for friction you must have contact, and there had been none. Twice a year, on her birthday and on New Year’s Day, Wolfe sent her a bushel of orchids from his choicest plants, but that was all, except that he had gone to the funeral when Britton died of a heart attack in 1950. That was what Fritz disapproved of. He thought any man, even Nero Wolfe, should invite his daughter, even an adopted one, to dinner once in a while. When he expressed that opinion to me, as he did occasionally, I told him that he knew damn well that Caria found Wolfe as irritating as he found her, so what was the use'
    I followed Wolfe into the office. Caria was in the red leather chair. As we entered she got up to face us and said indignantly, I’ve been waiting here over two hours!
    Wolfe went and took her hand and bowed over it. At least you had a comfortable chair, he said courteously, and went to the one behind his desk, the only one in the world he thoroughly approved of, and sat. Caria offered me a hand with her mind elsewhere, and I took it without bowing.
    Fritz didn’t know where you were, she told Wolfe.
    No, he agreed.
    But he said you knew about Marko.
    Yes.
    I heard it on the radio. I was going to go to the restaurant to see Leo, then I thought I would go to the police, and then I decided to come here. I suppose you were surprised, but I wasn’t. She sounded bitter. She looked bitter too, but I had to admit it didn’t make her any less attractive. With her dark eyes flashing, she might still have been the young Balkan damsel who had bounded in on me years before.
    Wolfe’s eyes had narrowed at her. If you are saying that you came here and waited two hours for me on account of Marko’s death, I must ask why. Were you attached to him'
    Yes.
    Wolfe shut his