Rex Stout_Tecumseh Fox 02 by Bad for Business Page A

gaze. “Oh,” she said. “I simply don’t know. I guess I was afraid, but I don’t know what I was afraid of. Right after I phoned you I tumbled here on the sofa. If you think—what I’ve told you is exactly the way it was—but if you think—”
    “What do you want me to do?”
    “Why, I—all I can say is, when I phoned you, it was awful and I was stunned and felt helpless—I don’t know what you can do and of course there’s no reason why you should do anything—”
    Fox suddenly and surprisingly grinned. “Okay. You sound good to me.” He stepped to the table, got out his notebook and found a page, pulled the phone across, and dialed a number. After a moment he spoke:
    “Hello, Clem. ’Tec the Fox alias Fox the ’Tec. Greetings. Come out in the rain, please. No, but a little job that may be important. Come right away to 320 Grove Street apartment of Miss Amy Duncan, two flights up. I won’t be here, but she will. Examine her head. First, attend to her—I’m sure there’s no fracture. Second, determine if you are prepared to swear that she received a blow about three hours ago which knocked her cold. Third, take her to that hospital you try to boss and put her to bed. No, I didn’t. When I hit ladies they land in China. Right away? Good. Many thanks and I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    Fox shoved the phone back and turned. “So. That’s Doctor Clement Vail and he’ll be here within half an hour. Don’t tell anyone where you’re going. You’ll be in better shape to converse with cops tomorrow than you are tonight. Doctor Vail is handsome and sympathetic, but don’t tell anyone anything until you hear from me, which should be in the morning. This may be rough going, or there may be nothing to it as far as you’re concerned. Even if we wanted to pretend you weren’t there, which is rarely a good idea, we couldn’t, with all your taxi rides and leaving your bag behind. Is there a catch lock on that door at Tingley’s Titbits?”
    “But you—you’re not going there—”
    “Somebody has to. Don’t hold me up. Is the door locked?”
    “No—I think I didn’t even close it—it’s open—”
    “Good.”
    Fox picked up his coat and hat. Amy stammered:
    “I don’t know what to say—I mean, I had a nerve yesterday to ask you to help me, and now—”
    “Forget it. I love to shine my light. Also, this is my chance to make the P. & B. vice-president no better than a dim and trivial memory. By the way, though you’re minus your purse, apparently you’re not broke. There’s nine dollars and thirty cents on the table.”
    “I had some money here.”
    “Good for you. Remember, no talking until you hear from me. See you tomorrow.”
    He left her. Downstairs he found the janitor, to hand him a dollar and ask him to admit Dr. Vail. It was still raining, but his car was right in front. He had to make three turns to get to Seventh Avenue, where he headed north. If any of his friends or associates had been in the car, they would have felt a tingle of expectation at hearing him strike up the tune of the “Parade of the Wooden Soldiers.” “Lah-de-dah, dumdum, lah-de-dah, dum-dum,” as the Wethersill rolled uptown, with the windshield wiper for a metronome.
    In the neighborhood of the Tingley building the street was completely deserted, desolate in the driving rain. He parked squarely in front of the pedestrian entrance, unlocked the dash compartment and took out a pistol and a flashlight, slipping the former into his pocket and keeping the latter in his hand, and got out and darted across the sidewalk. But what he headed for was the dark tunnel of the cobbled drivewayfor trucks a little to the right of the entrance. The beam of the flashlight showed him that it was empty throughout its length, past the loading platform to the other end of the premises. He darted out again and up the two stone steps, found the door open as Amy had said, entered the building, and mounted the stairs, not needing