Archie Meets Nero Wolfe (6 page)

“What I can’t get is why Wolfe seems so casual about the whole business,” Cather said. “If it was my kid, I would want faster action than this, and I’d probably call in the cops, too.”

“As you should be aware by now, Mr. Wolfe always knows what he’s doing, Orrie,” Panzer snapped. “Other than my having a fairly brief conversation with the man, Wolfe is the only one of us so far who’s talked to Williamson, and he has the best sense of the degree of urgency.” I tended to side with Cather in this instance, but I was by far the low man in the pecking order, so I contented myself with watching the scenery as we headed east on the big island, leaving the city behind.

Saul Panzer did not exaggerate in describing the Williamson estate. We passed through an entrance of opened iron gates hinged to brick pillars that were capped by frosted electric globes the size of basketballs. The paved road passed over a small stone bridge, beneath which ran what I assumed to be the bridle path.

After we had driven about a quarter mile along a lane lined with flower beds, the house came into view—brick and stone, its width the length of a football field, three full stories, with gables on the top floor and a porte-cochere entrance under which arriving guests in their swank automobiles could disembark without rain or snow falling upon their wealthy and well-tended noggins.

We tumbled out, and before Saul could rap on its polished brass knocker, the elaborate dark wood front door swung inward, revealing a lean, bald uniformed man, obviously Waverly, the butler.

“Ah yes, sir, Mr. Panzer, greetings once again. Mr. Williamson is expecting all you gentlemen. Please come in,” he said in a British accent or a reasonable facsimile thereof. We followed him through a vaulted, chandeliered entry hall big enough to hold a first-class dance band and into a paneled, windowless room with indirect lighting that turned out to be Burke Williamson’s study. “He will be with you shortly,” Waverly said, executing a crisp about-face and walking out.

“Quite the joint,” Fred Durkin observed, eyeballing the rosewood paneling, the floor-to-ceiling bookcases, the fireplace, and the chromium bar built into the far wall. “I could get used to this.”

“As if you’d ever get the chance,” Orrie Cather snorted. “This is hardly your kind of a place to—”

He got interrupted by the entry of our host. Burke Williamson, who I put at somewhere between forty and forty-five, had the look of wealth about him, from his well-barbered brown hair with a tinge of gray to his herringbone suit and his polished wing-tip shoes. His face, however, bore the lines of strain.

“Gentlemen, thank you all for coming,” he said in a deep voice like that of a radio announcer. “Please sit down. May I get anyone a drink?”

We all declined, taking chairs while Williamson remained on his feet. “I met Mr. Panzer earlier today, of course, and as you all know, I visited Mr. Wolfe yesterday. I understand you want to interview everyone on the staff, although I can’t for the life of me imagine why. No one who works here is capable of this ...
thing
.”

“Very likely you are correct,” Panzer said with a nod, “but one of them may have seen or heard something that could help us find your son, something they’re not even aware is a clue. Have you gotten a call from the kidnapper yet?”

Williamson swallowed hard, working to keep his composure. “No, and this waiting ... this damned waiting, has been hard on me, even harder on my wife. I keep expecting the phone to ring.” He lit a cigarette with a shaky hand.

Panzer, whose diplomacy impressed me, said a few words of commiseration to Williamson, then he introduced all of us.

The hotel magnate nodded grimly. “I’ve told all the staff they would be interviewed—that is precisely the word I used,
interviewed—
because I did not want them to feel they were being interrogated. I hope each of you understands and appreciates that distinction.”

It became Panzer’s turn to nod. “We do, sir, and all of us will try our very best to make the conversations with your staff cordial and without confrontation. However, I know you want us to do everything we can to find your son, and that, not the possibility of offending a member of your household staff, should be our top priority—and yours as well.”

“You are correct,” Williamson said tightly, biting his lower lip. “I do not know what your specific assignments are, but Waverly can direct each of you to the proper individual.” He pushed a buzzer on his desk, and within seconds, the butler appeared in the doorway, standing at attention.

“These gentlemen will need to be directed, Waverly.” Then he turned to us. “Now if you all will excuse me, I must go upstairs to my wife,” he said as the others filed out behind the butler.

“Mr. Goodwin and I are to talk to both of you,” Panzer said quietly but firmly.

Williamson spun around, eyebrows raised. “Lillian and me? But why?”

“Mr. Wolfe requested that we interview everyone here.”

Our host clearly was peeved but sighed in resignation. “Do you want us together or separately?” he asked Panzer.

“Separately would be preferable, sir.”

“All right, you can start with me, then, right now. Let’s get it over with.” He dropped into the upholstered chair behind his ornate desk as his padded shoulders sagged.

“Were you here when your son disappeared?”

“No, no,” he snapped. “I already told Wolfe that. I had gone to Manhattan, to my office in the Olympus Hotels headquarters on Fifth Avenue. Charles drove me to the village depot about three miles from here and I took the 7:35 commuter train into Penn Station.”

“You also told Mr. Wolfe that the telephone company out here does not have the ability to trace calls, I believe.”

“As a director of the local company, I am sorry to concede that is true,” the hotelier said grimly, shaking his head. “If I have anything to say about it, and I believe I will, that condition will soon change, however. You must understand that we have only had dial instruments in this area for a little more than a year now.”

“How many telephones do you have here?” Panzer asked.

Williamson frowned and looked at the ceiling. “Let’s see ... counting one each in the greenhouse, the stables, and the kitchen downstairs ... we have seven—no, eight.”

“All of them on the same number?”

“Certainly not! Each one of these instruments is on a separate outside line. It is my way of trying to promote greater telephone usage by getting people to have more than one line in their homes. In fact, a local newspaper some months back did a feature on all our phone lines here, which I encouraged. And I—” He stopped and looked sharply at Panzer. “Just why are you so curious about our telephone arrangements?”

Panzer squared his narrow shoulders, as if preparing for an argument. “It is possible, isn’t it, that the call that brought Miss Moore inside from the yard could have been made from elsewhere in the house or on the grounds?”

“Possible, yes. Probable, not at all! Not at all! As I told you before, sir, no one in my employ here is capable of this ... this ... Williamson exhaled loudly and slapped a palm down on his desk as if to complete the sentence.

“Mr. Wolfe expects us to explore every avenue,” Panzer said in a quiet but firm tone. “You hired him because he is widely known to be thorough, and he expects those of us who work for him to be thorough as well.”

“Yes, of course,” Williamson said in a whisper. “Sorry, but my nerves are raw.”

Panzer nodded. “Certainly understandable. Have there been any previous attempts to kidnap your son?”

“None, although my wife and I would be irresponsible if we did not make every effort to protect Tommie,” he said as his voice started to crack. “He has been driven to and from school each day, and he never plays out in the yard alone, except for ... He didn’t have to finish the sentence.

“Do you have any theories as to how Tommie disappeared from the grounds here?”

Williamson scowled. “We are again going over ground I already covered with Nero Wolfe. No, I am completely baffled as to what happened.”

“Are the front gates to the property always kept open?” I asked.

“Yes. There is no reason to keep them shut. We have a lot of deliveries—tradesmen, grocers, and the like. And Tommie never plays in front of the house.”

“Have you, or anyone on your staff, noticed anyone on the grounds or in the neighborhood who appears to have no business being there?”

“No, I haven’t seen or heard of anybody unusual or out of place hanging around. Other than the boy who delivered the ransom note, of course.”

“Thank you, sir,” Panzer said. “May we talk to Mrs. Williamson now?”

“I’ll go up and get her,” Williamson replied, rising with effort and walking stiffly out.

“Too many darn phone lines in this place,” I said after he had left. “Not only is Williamson a hotel baron, he seems to be a telephone tycoon as well.”

“And a tycoon who’s determined to show off the product,” Panzer said.

“So, like me, you figure it’s an inside job?”

“Sure seems that way,” he answered, scratching his oversized nose. “But maybe the other guys will come up with something to point us in a different direction.” He didn’t sound convinced, though.

“Well, I think—” I stopped because a tall, elegant woman in a mauve housecoat had entered the room. She reminded me of many of the ladies I used to see at our country club back home where I caddied as a kid. I could see how she would look regal atop a horse.

“I am Lillian Williamson,” she said in a quietly cultured tone as we both rose and introduced ourselves. “Please sit.” She took a chair and clasped well-tended hands in her lap.

Panzer thanked her for seeing us and asked if she had any thoughts at all about who might have kidnapped her son.

“None whatever,” she said, starting to tear up.

“Does your son have a lot of close friends at school?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Not terribly close. Oh, there have been a couple of boys here to play once or twice after school. In each case, a parent or chauffeur came along as well. We’re all pretty protective of our children around here.”

“Has Tommie gone to any classmates’ houses as well?”

“Yes, yes he has, on a few occasions. Each time, he was taken by Charles—that’s Charles Bell, our chauffeur, who stayed there while he played and then brought him back home.”

“And Mr. Bell drives him to and from the school every day also, correct?” Panzer asked.

“Yes. Tommie’s school, MeadesGate Academy, is about six miles from here, a ten- or fifteen-minute drive,” she said, studying her hands.

“What does the boy’s nanny, Sylvia Moore, do while he’s in school all day?” Panzer asked.

“She is very useful here in so many ways,” Lillian Williamson said. “She acts as my unofficial social secretary. I am involved in numerous charities and fund-raising events, both here and in the city, and that entails a great deal of correspondence. Sylvia is not only wonderful with Tommie, helping him with his schoolwork and such, but she also takes shorthand and is an excellent typist. She has done as many as forty letters a day for me.”

“You are very fortunate to have such a versatile individual in your employ,” Panzer said.

“Yes, I am, and she also is a valued companion. As you may be aware, I ride a great deal, both competitively and simply for enjoyment. We have a bridle path on the property. Often Sylvia rides with me. She is wonderful company, and an excellent sounding board for ideas I have involving the various charities it is my privilege to work with.”

“Where were you when your son disappeared?” I asked.

She looked down again, as if studying her lap. “I was up in my room on the second floor, talking on the telephone to my cochairman of a benefit ball we are planning at the Plaza Hotel. Burke had already left for his office, and Sylvia called up to me loudly from downstairs that Tommie had ... was ... gone.” She put her head in her hands and began sobbing.

We sat in silence for close to a minute. Lillian Williamson looked up and took a deep breath, then another, sniffling. “Please forgive me, gentlemen,” she said, composing herself.

“Nothing whatever to forgive,” Panzer said. “We appreciate your taking time to see us. Is it correct to assume that you have no suspicions involving anyone in your employ?”

“That is absolutely correct, Mr. Panzer. I trust them all, completely and without reservation. And I simply cannot understand who could have telephoned Sylvia and then not been on the wire when she came inside. It is all so horrible.”

We both agreed, and Panzer then asked Mrs. Williamson if we could talk to Sylvia Moore.

“I will get her for you,” she answered, standing and leaving with the grace of one who gave the appearance of being fully in control of her emotions, although we knew otherwise.

About five minutes later, a slim and attractive blond woman with a heart-shaped face tiptoed into the room. She looked younger than her twenty-six years.

I flashed what I hoped was a winning smile. “Miss Moore?”

That drew a nod but no smile in return.

“Please sit down,” Panzer said. “You will recall meeting me briefly yesterday.”

“Yes, sir, I do,” she said, backing cautiously up to a chair, perching on its front few inches, and looking as if she was ready to bolt out through the doorway at the first opportunity.

“This is my colleague, Mr. Goodwin. We are here at the request of Mr. Williamson, and we have a few questions we’d like to ask you.”

“Are you policemen?”

“Private investigators. And I assure you that we want exactly what you want: the safe return home of Tommie Williamson.”

“Oh yes, oh yes!” She blinked her red-rimmed baby blues and looked like she hadn’t slept well.

Panzer leaned forward, elbows on knees and expression earnest. “First, it would be helpful to know something of the routine in this house. Yesterday morning, Tommie disappeared from the backyard before he was to leave for school. Is it common for him to be outside in the morning?”

She cleared her throat before speaking and kneaded a handkerchief in both hands. “Yes, very common. His mother likes him to get some exercise and fresh air after breakfast, assuming the weather is good. He doesn’t get another chance to be outside until his noon break at school, when the students get some recess time after lunch.”