The Mother Hunt Read Online Free Page B

lower hall, on my way out, I picked up the small suitcase which she had helped me pack.
    At that time of day getting a taxi in that part of town is like expecting to draw a ten to an eight, nine, jack, and queen, and it was only twenty-four short blocks and four long ones, and the suitcase was light. Anyway I’m a walker. I wanted to make it before Wolfe got down to the office, and did; it was 5:54 when I mounted the stoop of the old brownstone, used my key, entered, went to the office, put the suitcase on my chair, and unpacked. By the time the sound of the elevator came, all the items were spread out on Wolfe’s desk, just about covering it, and when he walked in I was at my desk, busy with papers. When he stopped and let out a growl I swiveled.
    “What the devil is this?” he demanded.
    I arose and pointed. “Sweater. Hat. Overalls. T-shirt. Undershirt. Blanket. Booties. Rubber pants. Diaper. You have to hand it to her for keeping the diaper. The maid wasn’t there and she didn’t get a nurse until the next day. She must have washed it herself. There are no laundry marks or store labels. The sweater, hat, overalls, and booties have brand labels, but I doubt if they will help. There’s something about one item that might possibly help. If you don’t spot it yourself it may not be worth mentioning.”
    He went to his made-to-order chair and sat. “The maid and the cook?”
    “We had a conference. They’re out. Do you want it verbatim?”
    “Not if you’re satisfied.”
    “I am. Of course if we draw nothing but blanks we can check on them.”
    “What else?”
    “First, there is a live baby. I saw it. She didn’t just dream it. There’s nothing unusual about the vestibule; the door has no lock and it’s only four steps up, anyone could pop in and out; trying to find someone who saw somebody doing so seventeen days ago after dark would be a waste of my time and the client’s money. I didn’t include the cleaning woman in the conference because if the baby was hers it would be a different color, and I didn’t include the nurse because she was hired through an agency the next day. There’s a fine Tekke rug in the nursery, which was a spare bedroom. You are aware that I know about rugs from you, and about pictures from Miss Rowan. There’s a Renoir in the living room, and I think a Cézanne. The client uses Follansbee gin. I am in bad with her because I forgot she’s an Armstead and used a little profanity. She’ll sleep it off.”
    “Why the profanity?”
    “She jiggled my arm and I spilled gin on my pants.”
    He eyed me. “You had better report verbatim.”
    “Not necessary. I’m satisfied.”
    “No doubt. Have you any suggestions?”
    “Yes, sir. It looks pretty hopeless. If we get nowhere in a couple of weeks you can tell her you have discovered that it’s my baby, I put it in the vestibule, and if she’ll marry me she can keep it. As for the mother, I can simply—”
    “Shut up.”
    I hadn’t decided how to handle the mother question anyway. He picked up the sweater and inspected it. I sat, leaned back, crossed my legs, and looked on. He didn’t turn the sweater inside out, so this was just a once-over and he would go back to it. He put it down and picked up the hat. When he got to the overalls Iwatched his face but saw no sign that he had noticed anything, and I swiveled and reached to the rack of phone books for the Manhattan Yellow Pages, formerly the Red Book. I found what I was after, under Children’s & Infants’ Wear—Whol. & Mfrs., which filled four and a half pages. I started a hand for the phone, but drew it back. He might spot it the second time around and should have the chance without a tip from me. I got up and went to the hall and up two flights to my room, and at the phone on my bedstand I dialed the number, but got what was to be expected at that time of day, no answer. I tried another number, a woman I knew who was the mother of three young ones, and got her, but