The Mother Hunt Read Online Free

women, which I had to drag out of her, with whom Dick might possibly have played house in April 1961, and an assortment of names, mostly men, who might know more about Dick’s personal diversions than his widow did. Three of those were marked as the most promising: Leo Bingham, television producer; Willis King, literary agent; and Julian Haft, publisher, the head of Parthenon Press. That’s enough samples.
    I was having my conference with Mrs. Dowd and Miss Foltz in the kitchen because talking comes easier to people in a room where they are used to talking. When I told them I needed some help Mrs. Dowd narrowed her eyes at me and Miss Foltz looked skeptical.
    “It’s about the baby,” I said and took another sip of milk. “Mrs. Valdon took me upstairs for a look at it. To me it looks too fat and kind of greasy, and its nose is just a blob, but of course I’m a man.”
    Miss Foltz folded her arms. Mrs. Dowd said, “It’s a good enough baby.”
    “I suppose so. Apparently whoever left it in the vestibule had the idea that Mrs. Valdon might keep it. Whether she does or not, naturally she wants to know where it came from, so she has hired a detective to findout. His name is Nero Wolfe. You may have heard of him.”
    “Is he on TV?” Miss Folte inquired.
    “Don’t be silly,” Mrs. Dowd told her. “How could he be? He’s real.” To me: “Certainly I’ve heard of him, and you too. Your picture was in the paper about a year ago. I forget your first name—no, I don’t. Archie. Archie Goodwin. I should have remembered when Mrs. Valdon said Goodwin. I have a good memory for names
and
faces.”
    “You sure have.” I sipped milk. “Here’s why I need help. In a case like this, what would a detective think of first? He would think there must be some reason why the baby was left at this house instead of some other house, and what could the reason be? Well, one good reason could be that someone who lives here wants that baby to live here too. So Mr. Wolfe asked Mrs. Valdon who lives here besides her, and she said Mrs. Vera Dowd and Miss Marie Folte, and he asked her if one of them could have had a baby about four months ago, and she said—”
    They both interrupted. I raised a hand, palm out. “Now you see,” I said, not raising my voice. “You see why I need help. I merely tell you a detective asked a natural and normal question, and you fly off the handle. Try being detectives yourselves once. Of course Mrs. Valdon said that neither of you could have had a baby four months ago, and the next question was, did either of you have a relative, maybe a sister, who might have had a baby she couldn’t keep? That’s harder to answer. I’d have to dig. I’d have to find your relatives and friends and ask a lot of questions, and that would take time and cost money, but I’d get the answer, that’s sure.”
    “You can get the answer right now,” Mrs. Dowd said.
    I nodded. “I know I can, and I want it. The point is, I don’t want you to hold it against Mrs. Valdon that she asked you to have a talk with me. When you hire a detective you have to let him detect. She either had to let me do this or fire Nero Wolfe. If one of you knows where the baby came from and you want it to be provided for, just say so. Mrs. Valdon may not keep it herself, but she’ll see that it gets a good home, and nobody will know anything you don’t want them to know. The alternative is that I’ll have to start digging, seeing your relatives and friends, and finding out—”
    “You don’t have to see
my
relatives and friends,” Mrs. Dowd said emphatically.
    “Mine either,” Miss Foltz declared.
    I knew I didn’t. Of course you can’t always get a definite answer just by watching a face, but sometimes you can, and I had it. Neither of those faces had behind it the problem: to consider the offer from Mrs. Valdon, or to let me start digging. I told them so. As I finished the glass of milk I discussed faces with them, and I told them