Too Many Cooks/Champagne for One by Rex Stout Read Free Book Online Page B

heaved a long deepshuddering sigh, and to keep the tears from coming to my eyes I spoke.
    “I understand Berin is going to make saucisse minuit for lunch to-morrow. Huh?”
    No score. I said, “How would you like to go back in an airplane? They have a landing field right here. Special service, on call, sixty bucks to New York, less than four hours.”
    Nothing doing. I said, “They had a train wreck over in Ohio last night. Freight. Over a hundred pigs killed.”
    He opened his eyes and started to sit up, but his hand slipped on the arm of the foreign chair and he slid back again. He declared, “You are dismissed from your job, to take effect upon our arrival at my house in New York. I
think
you are. It can be discussed after we get home.”
    That was more like it. I grinned at him. “That will suit me fine. I’m thinking of getting married anyhow. The little Berin girl. What do you think of her?”
    “Pfui.”
    “Go on and phooey. I suppose you think living with you for ten years has destroyed all my sentiment. I suppose you think I am no longer subject—”
    “Pfui!”
    “Very well. But last night in the club car it came to me. I don’t suppose you realize what a pippin she is, because you seem to be immune. And of course I haven’t spoken to her yet, because I couldn’t very well ask her to marry a—well, a detective. But I think if I can get into some other line of work and prove that I can make myself worthy of her—”
    “Archie.” He was sitting up now, and his tone was a menacing murmur. “You are lying. Look at me.”
    I gave him as good a gaze as I could manage, and I thought I had him. But then I saw his lids begin to droop, and I knew it was all off. So the best I could do was grin at him.
    “Confound you!” But he sounded relieved at that. “Do you realize what marriage means? Ninety percent of men over thirty are married, and look at them! Do you realize that if you had a wife she would insist on cooking for you? Do you know that all women believe that the function of food begins when it reaches the stomach? Have you any idea that a woman can ever—what’s that?”
    The knocking on the outer door of the suite had soundedtwice, the first time faintly, and I had ignored it because I didn’t want to interrupt him. Now I went out and through the inner hall and opened up. Whereupon I, who am seldom surprised, was close to astonished. There stood Dina Laszio.
    Her eyes looked larger than ever, but not quite so sleepy. She asked in a low voice, “May I come in? I wish to see Mr. Wolfe.”
    I stood back, she went past, and I shut the door. I indicated Wolfe’s room, “In there, please,” and she preceded me. The only perceptible expression on Wolfe’s face as he became aware of her was recognition.
    He inclined his head. “I am honored, madam. Forgive me for not rising; I permit myself that discourtesy. That chair around, Archie?”
    She was nervous. She looked around. “May I see you alone, Mr. Wolfe?”
    “I’m afraid not. Mr. Goodwin is my confidential assistant.”
    “But I …” She stayed on her feet. “It is hard to tell even you …”
    “Well, madam, if it is too hard …” Wolfe let it hang in the air.
    She swallowed, looked at me again, and took a step toward him. “But it would be harder … I must tell someone. I have heard much of you, of course … in the old days, from Marko … and I must tell someone, and there is no one but you to tell. Somebody is trying to poison my husband.”
    “Indeed.” Wolfe’s eyes narrowed faintly. “Be seated. Please. It’s easier to talk sitting down, don’t you think, Mrs. Laszio?”

3
    The swamp-woman lowered it into the chair I had placed. Needless to say, I leaned against the bedpost not as nonchalant as I looked. It sounded as if this might possibly be something that would help to pass the time, and justify my foresight in chucking my pistol and a couple of notebooks into my bag when I had packed.
    She said, “Of