Not Quite Dead Enough (The Rex Stout Library)

“Right,” I said cheerfully. “You sure have a memory for faces. My eye’s bothering me again.”

“That’s too bad, sir.” She seemed perfectly affable, but the door showed no inclination to exercise its hinges. “As I told you, I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“Not in this bum light you can’t. Nice little place you’ve got here. Are these your own things, or do you rent it furnished? Some of them must be yours. It just looks like you.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. It’s the woman’s touch, of course.”

“Yeah. I never saw a more attractive door. I’ll tell you what. I could say, Sergeant Bruce, I wish to come in and have a little talk with you. Or I could simply push and enter. Let’s compromise. You propel the door and I’ll propel me.”

She nearly laughed, but it didn’t get beyond a sort of a chuckle. Anyhow the door swung open and she invited me nicely, “Come in, Major.” Also she closed it. The foyer was about the size of a suitcase. At a gesture I preceded her into a room which wasn’t like her at all because it wasn’t like anybody. Pure month-to-month-or-reduction-on-a-lease. Two windows. A couch and three chairs. Door to kitchenette and door to bedroom. A glance gave me that, and when I turned she was there and smiling at me. It was absolutely a female smile, and at any previous moment I would have considered it a big step forward, but something had come between us if logic was worth its salt. Still I kept it on a friendly basis.

I asked her, “Remember that carton you were packing your things in at the office? I need one exactly that size, and if you’re through with it I’d like to make an offer.”

She was good. She was very good. The way the smile went and her lips parted a little and her eyes widened-it was just what you would expect if I had said something fairly silly and unquestionably cuckoo.

Then she smiled again and said, “I can get one for you wholesale.”

I shook my head. “Your mistake. You didn’t say sir

. The idea is this. I won’t be happy until I see that carton, and I’m hell-bent for happiness. Either you trot it out or I tour the place. You can save me trouble and both of us time.”

“Is that an official command, sir? Are you here as my superior officer or as-yourself?”

“Any way you like it. Whichever you prefer. Take it going and coming and call it both, but get the carton.”