Too Many Clients Read online

  Too Many Clients

  Rex Stout

  Too Many Clients Rex Stout Series: Nero Wolfe [34] Published: 1960 Tags: Vintage Mystery

  Vintage Mysteryttt

  SUMMARY:

  One oversexed executive, twenty beautiful suspects--Too Many Clients!. When Nero Wolfe's bank balance threatens to dip below sea level, Archie goes in search of a client--and stumbles across a murder mystery carrying either a very large fee, or a very long stretch in jail.

  Too Many ClientsRex StoutSeries: Nero Wolfe [34] Published: 1960 Tags: Vintage Mystery

  Vintage Mysteryttt

  SUMMARY:

  One oversexed executive, twenty beautiful suspects--Too Many Clients!. When Nero Wolfe's bank balance threatens to dip below sea level, Archie goes in search of a client--and stumbles across a murder mystery carrying either a very large fee, or a very long stretch in jail.

  The Rex Stout Library

  Ferde-Lance The League of Frightened Men The Rubber Band The Red Box Too Many Cooks Some Buried Caesar Over My Dead Body Where There's a Will Black Orchids Not Quite Dead Enough The Silent Speaker Too Many Women And Be a Villain The Second Confession Trouble in Triplicate In the Best Families Three Doors to Death Murder by the Book Curtains for Three Prisoner's Base Triple Jeopardy The Golden Spiders The Black Mountain Three Men Out Before Midnight Might As Well Be Dead Three Witnesses If Death Ever Slept Three for the Chair Champagne for One And Four to Go Plot It Yourself Too Many Clients Three at Wolfe's Door The Final Deduction Gambit Homicide Trinity The Mother Hunt A Right to Die Trio for Blunt Instruments The Doorbell Rang Death of a Doxy The Father Hunt Death of a Dude Please Pass the Guilt A Family Affair Death Tiroes Three The Hand in the Glove Double for Death Bad for Business The Broken Vase The Sound of Murdei Red Threads The Mountain Cat M REX STOUT Too Many Clients Introduction by Malcolm Forbes, Jr. BANTAM BOOKS NEW YORK � TORONTO � LONDON � SYDNEY � AUCKLAND [i| anerowolfe mystery This book is fiction. No resemblance is intended between any character herein and any person, living or dead; any such resemblance is purely coincidental. TOO MANY CLIENTS A Bantam Crime Line Book / published by arrangement with The Viking Press, Inc. PUBLISHING HISTORY Viking edition published October 1960 Bantam edition published March 1962 Bantam reissue edition / April 1994 crime line and the portrayal of a boxed "cl" are trademarks of Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. Copyright � 1960 by Rex Stout. Introduction copyright � 1994 by Malcolm Forbes, Jr. Cover art copyright � 1994 by Torn Hallman. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. For information address: The Viking Press, Penguin USA, 375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014. If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book." ISBN 0563254235 Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words "Bantam Books" and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in U.S. Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada. Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New York 10036. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA OPM 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 FR1;Introduction We are entering an era when the already considerable appeal of Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe mysteries will grow exponentially. This new age is symbolized by the microchip, which is extending the reach of the human brain the way machines extended the reach of human muscle during the industrial revolution. We will be reminded as never before that the source of all wealth and progress is the human brain, not material things. This has always been true, but the microchip will make it so plain that even the most obtuse will have to acknowledge it. In ages past, wealth was thought to lay in material things: armies, gold, jewels, land, and, until a little over a century ago, slaves. You can't touch and feel software the way you can a slab of steel or a bar of silver. Yet in the hands of daring entrepreneurs these pieces of plastic can create riches beyond the imaginings of even the greediest Croesus. They enabled a poor southerner, Sam Walton, to storm and humble the seemingly impregnable corporate fortresses of Sears, K Mart, and others. The secret of Wal-Mart's success was using sophisticated inventory software that enabled it to respond immediately to marketplace changes and to simplify magnificently the layers of middlemen between stores and suppliers. vi Introduction The information age will change our lives as dramatically as did the machine age. This era is emasculating centralized bureaucracies, giving unprecedented powers to countless millions of individuals. It will also make possible a cultural renaissance. The coarsening of American life over the past half-century will begin to be reversed. With highdefinition, interactive television on countless thousands of channels, we will be able to nurture interests--music, books, collecting, movies, golfing, carpentry, etc.--in a way that is utterly impossible with today's boob tube, where viewers are reduced to couch potatoes watching channels that can achieve profit-sized audiences only by appealing to the lowest common denominator. What does all this have to do with obese, orchidloving misogynist Nero Wolfe and milk-drinking, smart-alecky Archie Goodwin? More than you might imagine. What better symbol of the power of the mind, of intellectual capital, than Nero Wolfe? Centuries ago his corpulence would have made his stay on earth a short one. He couldn't hunt or physically joust with his foes. Today, increasingly, mind matters more than matter. Wolfe's ability to fight crime with his intellect will be less "fictional" in the information age. And as technology empowers individuals, readers will better appreciate Wolfe's determination to make the universe revolve around him and his unalterable daily schedule instead of around the agendas of others. The time of topdown, military-style corporations, schools, and governments is coming to a close. But Wolfe's continued appeal will be based on more than his intellect. He is cultivated. He has taste. He is educated. He has standards; perhaps not always "politically correct" but deeply felt. His misogyny Introduction vii may offend some, yet most women will appreciate his impeccable manners and his unwillingness to behave like a dirty old man. In short, Wolfe has character and integrity. And as these virtues enjoy a revival--which they will, thanks in no small part to a high technology that shatters the passivityinducing, take-it-or-leave-it dominance of network TV--his popularity will grow. He stands as a rebuke to today's moral relativism. Similarly, the Wolfe mysteries will enjoy renewed appreciation for their refusal to pander to baser instincts such as sex and violence. Rex Stout treats the reader as an intelligent being rather than a lustful lout longing for erotic stimulation or thirsting for blood. We will admire as never before the superdetective's disdain for vulgarity. Wolfe, of course, has flaws. Humanizing qualities include his moods--he can go into a funk like the rest of us--and the need for money to maintain his extraordinary life-style. But while he may sometimes stoop to our level, he still manages to awe and inspire us. His girth comes not from potato chips and other junk foods but from a fine appreciation of what a superb chef can create. His obesity softens his snobbery. (And why some brewery hasn't tempted Wolfe to help give it an upscale image remains a mystery.) Despite his shortcomings, both his mind and, yes, his discipline enable him to perform superhuman deeds. Archie Goodwin? He displays another side of intellectual capital--street smarts, or good common sense. How would Nero Wolfe, in this age of the microchip, react to personal computers? One might think he would contemptuously dismiss these contraptions. But that would be underestimating our hero. He would rightly observe that they are still viii Int
roduction not very "user-friendly." Contrary to expectation, though, he would quickly grasp how useful their information prowess can be. Archie would make full use of them as well, although he wouldn't employ them with Wolfe's verve and imagination. Too Many Clients highlights some of the special characteristics of a Rex Stout mystery: Money. "There was nothing wrong with his long, bony face and broad forehead, but he simply didn't have the air of a man who might make a sizable contribution to Nero Wolfe's bank balance. . . . With no prospect of a fat fee in sight, it was beginning to look as if a trip to the safe deposit box might be called for before the Fourth of July." Eye for telling detail. "Another point against him was that he had no hat. Ninety-eight percent of men who can pay big fees wear hats. . . . The tops of his sox, gray with little red dots, were down nearly to his shoes." (This book was written before John IF. Kennedy went hatless to his inauguration. His topless example soon made hats old hat.) Food. "When we are at table in the dining room for lunch or dinner, any attention of business is taboo. . . . Wolfe feels strongly that when a man is feeding, nothing should interfere with his concentration on his palate." One can't imagine many writers today writing a book like Too Many Clients--about the murder of a high-powered, sex-crazed business executive-- with Stout's nonprurient, critical detachment. As the high-tech era unfolds, the stock of Stout, Wolfe, and Goodwin will reach new highs. --Malcolm Forbes, Jr. Too Many Clients FR1;Chapter 1 When he had got deposited in the red leather chair I went to my desk, whirled my chair to face him, sat, and regarded him politely but without enthusiasm. It was only partly that his $39.95 suit didn't fit and needed pressing and his $3.00 shirt was on its second or third day; it was more him than his clothes. There was nothing wrong with his long bony face and broad forehead, but he simply didn't have the air of a man who might make a sizable contribution to Nero Wolfe's bank balance. Which at that moment, that Monday afternoon in early May, was down to $14,194.62, after deducting the checks I had just drawn and put on Wolfe's desk for him to sign. That may look fairly respectable, but. What with the weekly wages of Theodore Horstmann, the orchid valet, Fritz Brenner, chef and house steward, and me, the handy man; and with grocery bills, including such items as the fresh caviar which Wolfe sometimes stirred into his coddled eggs at breakfast; and with the various needs of the orchids in the plant rooms up on the roof of the old brownstone, not to mention new 2 Rex Stout additions to the collection; and with this and that and these and those, the minimum monthly outgo of that establishment averaged more than five grand. Also, the June 15 income-tax installment would be due in five weeks. So, with no prospect of a fat fee in sight, it was beginning to look as if a trip to the safe-deposit box might be called for before the Fourth of July. Therefore, when the doorbell had rung and, going to the hall for a look through the one-way glass of the front door, I had seen an adult male stranger with no sample case, it had seemed fitting to open the door wide and give him a cordial eye. He had said, "This is Nero Wolfe's house, isn't it?" and I had said yes but Mr. Wolfe wouldn't be available until six o'clock, and he had said, "I know, he's up in the plant rooms from four to six, but I want to see Archie Goodwin. You're Mr. Goodwin?" I had admitted it and asked him what about, and he had said he wanted to consult me professionally. By then I had sized him up, or thought I had, and it didn't look very promising, but time could be wasted with him as well as without him, so I had taken him to the office. Another point against him was that he had no hat. Ninety-eight per cent of men who can pay big fees wear hats. Leaning back in the red leather chair with his chin lowered and his intelligent gray eyes aimed at me, he spoke. "I'll have to tell you who I am, of course." I shook my head. "Not unless it's material." "It is." He crossed his legs. The tops of his socks, gray with little red dots, were down nearly to his shoes. "Else there was no use coming. I want to consult you in the strictest confidence." Too Many Clients 3 I nodded. "Naturally. But this is Nero Wolfe's office, and I work for him. If you get a bill it will be from him." "I know." Apparently that was a triviality. His eyes were intelligent. "I expect a bill and I'll pay it. I can speak in assured confidence?" "Certainly. Unless you're loaded with something too heavy for me to hold, like murder or treason." He smiled. "Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out. Treason doth never prosper. I am loaded with neither. None of my crimes is statutory. Then in confidence, Mr. Goodwin, my name is Yeager, Thomas G. Yeager. You may possibly have seen or heard it, though I am no celebrity. I live at Three-forty East Sixty-eighth Street. My firm, of which I am executive vice-president, is Continental Plastic Products, with offices in the Empire State Building." I did not blink. Continental Plastic Products might be a giant with three or four floors, or it might have two small rooms with the only phone on the executive vice-president's desk. Even so, I knew that block of East 68th Street, and it was no slum, far from it. This character might wear a $39.95 suit because he didn't give a damn and didn't have to. I know a chairman of the board of a billion-dollar corporation, one of the 2 per cent, who never gets his shoes shined and shaves three times a week. I had my notebook and was writing in it. Yeager was saying, "My phone number is not listed. It's Chisholm five, three-two-three-two. I came at a time when I knew Wolfe would be busy, to see you, because there's no point in explaining it to him since he would merely assign you to it. I think I am being 4 Rex Stout followed, and I want to make sure, and if I am I want to know who is following me." "That's kindergarten stuff." I tossed the notebook on my desk. "Any reputable agency will handle that for you at ten dollars an hour. Mr. Wolfe has a different approach to the fee question." "I know he has. That's unimportant." He waved it away. "But it's vitally important to find out if I'm being followed, and quickly, and especially who it is. What agency at ten dollars an hour would have a man as good as you?" "That's not the point. Even if I'm only half as good as I think I am it would still be a pity to waste me on spotting a tail. And what if there's no tail to spot? How long would it take to convince you? Say ten days, twelve hours a day, at a hundred dollars an hour. Twelve thousand bucks plus expenses. Even if you--" "It wouldn't be ten days." He had lifted his chin. "I'm sure it wouldn't. And it wouldn't be twelve hours a day. If you'll let me explain, Mr. Goodwin. I think I am being followed only at certain times, or that I will be. Specifically, I suspect that I shall be followed when I leave my house this evening at seven o'clock to go crosstown, across the park, to an address on Eighty-second Street. One-fifty-six West Eighty-second Street. Perhaps the best plan would be for you to be at my house when I leave, but of course I shall leave the tactics to you. I don't want to be followed to that address. I don't want it known that I have any connection with it. If I am not followed, that would end it for today, and I would call on you again only when I intend to go there again." "When would that be?" Too Many Clients 5 "I can't say definitely. Possibly later in the week, perhaps some day next week. I could notify you a day in advance." "How will you go, your car or a taxi?" "Taxi." "Which is more important to you, not to be followed to that address, or to know whether you're followed or not, or to identify the tail if you have one?" "They're all important." "Well." I screwed my lips. "I admit it's a little special. I mentioned a hundred dollars an hour, but that's for routine. The shoe would have to fit the foot, with Mr. Wolfe doing the fitting and you the footing." He smiled. "There will be no difficulty about that. Then I'll expect you around seven. A little before?" "Probably." I got my notebook. "Will the tail be someone you know?" "I don't know. It might be." "Man or woman?" "I couldn't say. I don't know." "An operative or a do-it-yourself?" "I don't know. It could be either." "Spotting him will be simple. Then what? If he's an operative I might recognize him, but that wouldn't help much. Of course I can pull him off whether I recognize him or not, but I can't squeeze his client's name out of him." "But you can pull him off?" "Sure. How much would the client's name be worth to you? It might come high." "I don't think . . ." He hesitated. "I don't believe I would care to do that." 6 Rex Stout That didn't seem to fit, but I skipped it. "If it's someone on his own, of course I'll
pull him off, and what else? Do you want him to know he's been spotted?" He considered it for three seconds. "I think not. Better not, I think." "Then I can't snap a picture of him. I can only give you a description." "That will suffice." "Okay." I dropped the notebook on my desk. "Your address on Sixty-eighth Street, that's not an apartment building, is it?" "No, it's a house. My house." "Then I shouldn't enter it and I shouldn't get too near it. If it's an operative he would probably recognize me. This is how it will be. At seven o'clock on the dot you will leave the house, walk to Second Avenue--don't cross it--and turn left. About thirty paces from the corner is a lunchroom, and in front--" "How do you happen to know that?" "There aren't many blocks in Manhattan I don't know. In front of the lunchroom, either at the curb or double-parked, a blue and yellow taxi will be standing with the driver in it and the flag down. The driver will have a big square face and big ears. You will say to him, 'You need a shave,' and he will say, 'My face is tender.' To make sure, when you get in look at his name on the card. It will be Albert Goller." I spelled it. "Do you want to write it down?" "No." "Then don't forget it. Give him the address on West Eighty-second Street and sit back and relax. That's all for you. Whatever the driver does, he'll Too Many Clients 7 know what he's doing. Don't keep looking back; that might make it a little harder." He was smiling. "It didn't take you long to set the stage, did it?" "I haven't got long." I glanced up at the clock on the wall. "It's nearly five." I stood up. "I'll be seeing you, but you won't be seeing me." "Wonderful," he said, leaving the chair. "Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts. I knew you would be the man for it." He moved and offered a hand. "Don't bother to show me out, I know the way." I went along, as always for some years, ever since the day a visitor left the door unlatched, sneaked back in, and hid behind the couch in the front room, and during the night went through everything in the office he could open. At the door I asked him what the name of the hackie would be, and he told me. Returning, I went on past the door of the office to the kitchen, got a glass from the shelf and a carton of milk from the refrigerator. Fritz, at the center table mincing shallots, gave me a look and spoke. "That is an insult. I pull your nose. My shad roe aux fines herbes is a dish for a king." "Yeah, but I'm not a king." I poured milk. "Also I'm leaving soon on an errand and I don't know when I'll be back." "Ah? A personal errand." "No." I took a sip. "I'll not only answer your question, I'll ask it for you. Having noticed that we haven't had a client worth a damn for nearly six weeks, you want to know if we have one now, and I don't blame you. It's possible but not likely. It looks 8 Rex Stout like more peanuts." I took. a sip. "You may have to invent a dish for a king made of peanut butter." "Not impossible, Archie. The problem would be to crack the oil. Not vinegar; it would take too much. Perhaps lime juice, with or without a drop or two of onion juice. I'll try it tomorrow." I told him to let me know how he made out, took the milk to the office, got at the phone at my desk, dialed the number of the Gazette, and got Lon Cohen. He said he was too busy to spare time for anything but a front-page lead or an invitation to a poker game. I said I was out of both items at the moment but would put them on back order, and meanwhile I would hold the line while he went to the morgue to see if they had anything on Thomas G. Yeager, executive vice-president of Continental Plastic Products, residing at 340 East 68th Street. He said he knew the name, they probably had a file on him, and he would send for it and call back. In ten minutes he did so. Continental Plastic Products was one of the big ones; its main plant was in Cleveland, and its sales and executive offices were in the Empire State Building. Thomas G. Yeager had been its executive vice-president for five years and was in the saddle. He was married and had a daughter, Anne, unmarried, and a son, Thomas G. Junior, married. He was a member of ... I told Lon that was all I needed, thanked him, hung up, and buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone. After a wait Wolfe's voice came, gruff of course. "Yes?" "Sorry to interrupt. A man named Yeager came. He wants to know if he is being tailed and by whom. He expects to be soaked and doesn't mind because Too Many Clients 9 no one but me is good enough. I have checked on him and he can stand it, and I might as well earn a couple of weeks' pay. I'll be gone when you come down. His name and address are in my notebook. I'll be back before bedtime." "And tomorrow? How long will it last?" "It won't. If it does we'll get Saul or Fred. I'll explain later. It's just a chore." "Very well." He hung up, and I took the phone and dialed a number that would get me Al Goller. H J Chapter 2 I FT^^^0 nours later, at twenty minutes past seven, I | I was sitting in a taxi parked on 67th Street JL between Second and Third Avenues, twisted around for a view through the rear window. If Yeager had left his house at 7:00 sharp, he should have been in Al Goller's cab by 7:04, and Al should have turned the corner onto 67th Street by 7:06. But it was 7:20, and no sign of him. It was useless trying to guess what the hitch was, so I did. By 7:30 I had a collection of a dozen guesses, both plain and fancy. At 7:35 I was too annoyed to bother to guess. At 7:40 I told Mike Collins, the hackie, who was no stranger, "Nuts. I'll take a look," got out, and walked to the corner. Al was still there in his cab in front of the lunchroom. When the light showed green I crossed the avenue, went on to the cab, and asked Al, ''Where is he?" He yawned. "All I know is where he isn't." "I'll ring him. If he comes while I'm inside, have trouble starting your engine until I come out and go. Give me time to get back to Mike." He nodded and started another yawn, and I went into the lunchroom, found the phone booth in 12 Rex Stout the rear, and dialed CH5-3232. After four rings I had a male voice in my ear. "Mrs. Yeager's residence."