Some Buried Caesar

Chapter 3

Well, as the Emperor of India would say, that tore it. The children didn’t appear to be shocked any, but I goggled at our host, and I could see by the sudden tilt to Wolfe’s head that he was enjoying one of his real and rare surprises. He also betrayed it by repeating what he had already been told, which was equally rare.

“Eat that bull, Mr. Pratt?” he demanded.

Pratt nodded again. “I am. Perhaps you noticed a pit we have started to dig down by the lane. That’s for a barbecue which will occur Thursday afternoon. Three days from now. I have invited a hundred guests, mostly from New York. My niece and nephew and their friend Miss Rowan have come for it. The bull will be butchered tomorrow. No local man will undertake it, and I’m getting one from Albany.”

“Remarkable.” Wolfe’s head was still tilted. “I suppose an animal of that size would furnish 7 or 800 pounds of edible tissue. At $45,000 on the hoof, that would make it around $60 a pound. Of course you’ll use only the more desirable cuts and a great deal will be wasted. Another way to calculate: if you serve a hundred guests the portions will be $450 each.”

“It sounds terrible that way.” Pratt reached for his glass, saw it was empty, and yelled for Bert. “But consider how little you can get for $45,000 in newspaper display or any other form of advertising. The radio would eat it up at a gulp, and what do you get for it? Nobody knows. But I know what I’ll get out of this. Do you go in for psychology?”

“I…” Wolfe choked and said firmly, “No.”

“You ought to. Look here. Do you realize what a stir it will make that the senior grand champion Guernsey bull of the United States is being barbecued and served in chunks and slices to a gathering of epicures? And by whom? By Tom Pratt of the famous pratterias! Let alone the publicity, do you know what the result will be? For weeks and months every customer that eats a roast beef sandwich in a pratteria will have a sneaking unconscious feeling that he’s chewing a piece of Hickory Caesar Grindon! That’s what I mean when I say psychology.”

“You spoke of epicures.”

“There’ll be some. Mostly the barbecue guests will be friends and acquaintances and of course the press, but I’m going to run in a few epicures.” Pratt jerked up. “By the way, I’ve heard you’re one. Will you still be in Crowfield? Maybe you’d like to run out and join us. Thursday at one o’clock.”

“Thank you, sir. I don’t suppose Caesar’s championship qualities include succulence, but it would be an experience.”

“Certainly it would. I’ll be phoning my agency in New York this evening. Can I say you’ll be here? For the press.”

“You may say so, of course. The judging of orchids will be Wednesday afternoon, and I shall probably have left for home. But you may say so. By the way, about this bull. I am only curious: you feel no compunction at slaughtering a beast of established nobility?”

“Why should I?” Pratt waved a hand. “They say this Caesar bull has so many A R daughters, that’s the point they harp on. Do you know what A R means? Advanced Register. What a cow has to do to get on the Advanced Register is to produce a daily average of so much milk and so much butterfat over a period of one year. Well, there are over 40,000 A R Guernsey cows in this country, and only 51 of them are Caesar’s daughters. Does that sound as if I was getting ready to barbecue the breed out of existence? To hear that bunch over at Crowfield talk you might think I was. I’ve had over forty telegrams today howling threats and bloody murder. That’s that fellow Bennett; he’s sicked his members on me.”

“Their viewpoint, of course, is valid to them.”

“Sure, and mine is to me. - Hey, you want a drink there, Mr. Goodwin. How about you, Miss Rowan? Oh, Bert! Bert!”

When Greasy-face appeared I let him proceed with his function, which I must admit he performed promptly and well. Three highballs were a notch above my ordinary indulgence, but after the blowout and smashup, and the pasture exercise, I felt a little extra would be not amiss. A little fed up with the champion bull, I moved to a chair closer to the champion niece and began to murmur at her. She graciously took it, and after a little I observed the blonde slanting one at me from the corner of her eye, so I tossed her a grin between murmurs. I could have expanded easily, but my prospect was not in fact at all rosy, since what I had to do before twilight was get Wolfe and the luggage and plants to Crowfield, outride him into a hotel and a room thereof, unpack, find forage he would swallow without gagging, discuss the matter of my inability to restrain the car from crashing into a tree and get it settled once and for all, and probably sit for a couple of hours and listen to him sigh. I was preparing to remark to the niece that it was after five o’clock and if she was going to drive us to Crowfield we had better get started, when I heard a climax being reached by my employer. Pratt was inviting him to stay for dinner and he was accepting. I scowled at him, hoping vindictively that the food would be terrible, for it would only complicate matters and make him almost too much for one man to handle if we got to our destination long after dark. He saw me scowling and let his lids cover half his eyes, and I pretended he wasn’t there and concentrated on the niece again. I had decided she was all right, wholesome and quite intelligent, but she looked too darned strong. I mean a girl is a girl and an athlete is an athlete, though of course there are borderline cases.

In reply to an invitation from Caroline I was explaining that I would love to take her on at tennis if I hadn’t twisted my wrist negotiating the fence, which was a lie, when the second attacking party arrived. Its personnel, as it suddenly made an appearance at the end of the terrace, left it uncertain at first whether it was another attack or not. In front was an extremely presentable number, I would say 22 or 3, wearing a belted linen thing and no hat, with yellowish brown eyes and warm trembly lips and such a chin. Behind her was a tall slender guy, not much younger than me, in brown slacks and pull-over, and backing him up was an individual who should not have been there, since the proper environment for that type is bounded by 42nd and 96th Streets on the south and north, and Lexington Avenue and Broadway on the east and west. In their habitat they don’t look bad, in fact they help a lot in maintaining the tone, but out in the country like that, still wearing a Crawnley town suit including vest and a custom-made shirt and a Monteith tie, they jar.

The atmosphere they created was immediate and full of sparks. Our host’s mouth fell open. Jimmy stood up with his face red. Caroline exclaimed something. Lily Rowan twisted her neck to see and showed a crease in her brow. The girl got as far as the table which was littered with empty glasses, let her yellowish brown eyes go around, and said:

“We should have telephoned. Shouldn’t we?” That met denial. Greetings crossed one another through the atmosphere. It appeared that the bird in the Crawnley suit was a stranger to the Pratts, since he had to be introduced as Mr. Bronson. Wolfe and I had our names called, and learned that the girl was Nancy Osgood and the tall slender guy was her brother Clyde. Once more the clarion was sounded for poor Bert, whereupon there seemed to be an increase in the general embarrassment. Miss Osgood protested that they didn’t want to intrude, they really couldn’t stay, they had been to the fair and had only stopped in on their way home, on an impulse. Clyde Osgood, who had a pair of binoculars dangling on a strap around his neck, gazed down at Pratt in a fairly provocative manner and addressed him:

“We just got chased away from your pasture by Monte McMillan. We were only taking a look at your bull.”

Pratt nodded sort of unconcerned, but I could see his temples were tight. “That darned bull’s causing a lot of trouble.” He glanced at the sister, and back at the brother again. “It’s nice of you children to drop in like this. Unexpected pleasure. I saw your father over at Crowfield today.”

“Yeah. He saw you too.” All at once Clyde stopped talking, and began to turn, slow but sure, as if something had gripped him and was wheeling him on a pivot. He took four steps and was confronting the canvas swing, looking down straight at Lily Rowan.

“How are you?” he demanded.

“I’m fine.” She held her head tilted back to see him. “Just fine. You all right?”

“Yeah, I’m great.”

“Good.” Lily yawned.

That simple exchange seemed to have an effect on Jimmy Pratt, for he took on added color, though as near as I could tell his eyes were aimed at Nancy Osgood, who was passing a remark to Caroline. Caroline was insisting that they stay for a drink. Mr. Bronson, looking a little weary, as if the day at the fair had been too much for him, had sat down. Clyde abruptly turned away from the swing, crossed back over, and got onto the edge of the chair next to Pratt’s.

“Look here,” he said.

“Well, my boy?”

“We stopped in to see you, my sister and I.”

“I think that was a good idea. Now that I’ve built this place here… we’re neighbors again, aren’t we.”

Clyde frowned. He looked to me like a spoiled kid, with a mouth that didn’t quite go shut, and moving as if he expected things to get out of his way. He said, “Neighbors? I suppose so. Technically, anyhow. I wanted to speak to you about that bull. I know why you’re doing it… I guess everyone around here does. You’re doing it just to be offensive to my father - you keep out of this, Nancy, I’m handling this -”

His sister had a hand on his shoulder. “But Clyde, that’s no way -”

“Let me alone.” He shook her off and went after Pratt again. “You think you can get his goat by sneering at him, by butchering a bull that could top any of his in show competition. I’ll hand it to you for one thing, you picked a good one. Hickory Caesar Grindon is a hard bull to put down. I say that not only on account of his record, but because I know cattle… or I used to. I wanted my father to buy Caesar in 1931, when he was only a promising junior. And you think you’re going to butcher him?”

“That’s my intention. But where you got the idea that I’m doing it deliberately to offend your father - nonsense. I’m doing it as an advertisement for my business.”

“You are like hell. I know all about it… from the beginning. It’s just another of your cheap efforts to make my father look cheap - you keep out of this, Sis!”

“You’re wrong, my boy.” Pratt sounded tolerant. “I don’t do anything cheap… I can afford not to. Let me tell you something. I understand the best bull your father’s got is getting pretty old. Well, if your father came to me and asked for that bull I bought, I’d be strongly inclined to let him have him as a gift. I certainly would.”

“No doubt! A gift!” Clyde was nearly overcome with scorn. “Now I’ll tell you. There was a lot of talk over at Crowfield today. Of course, as a member of the Guernsey League, my father was in on it. He was sure that the plan Bennett arranged with Cullen and McMillan wouldn’t work… he said he knew you since you were a boy and you wouldn’t turn loose. My sister Nancy got the idea of coming here to try to persuade you, and I agreed to come along. On the way we met Bennett and Darth and Cullen going back, and they told us what had happened. I came on anyhow, though it didn’t look like there was much chance of talking you out of it. Now I’d like to make a bet with you. Do you ever do any betting?”

“I’m not a gambler.” Pratt chuckled. “I’m not exactly a confirmed gambler, but I don’t mind an occasional friendly wager. I won a nice chunk on the 1936 election.”

“Would you care to try a little bet with me? Say $10,000?”

“On what?”

They got interrupted. A voice sounded, “Oh, there you are,” and Monte McMillan was coming across the terrace. He sounded a little relieved. He approached Pratt: “They were fooling around the fence on the other side, and I told them they might as well go on, and I wasn’t sure where they got to. Not that I would suspect the Osgood youngsters of stealing a bull…”

Pratt grunted. “Sit down and have a drink. Bert! Bert!” He turned to Clyde: “What is it you want to bet about, my boy?”

Clyde leaned forward at him. “I’ll bet you $10,000 you don’t barbecue Hickory Caesar Grindon.”

His sister Nancy exclaimed, “Clyde!” Wolfe’s eyes went half shut. The others made sounds, and even Lily Rowan showed some interest. McMillan, who had started to sit down, stopped himself at an angle and held it a second, and then slowly sank.

Pratt asked quietly, “What’s going to stop me?”

Clyde turned the palms of his hands up. “It’s either a bet or it isn’t. That’s all.”

“$10,000 even that we don’t barbecue Hickory Caesar Grindon.”

“Right.”

“Within what time?”

“Say this week.”

“I ought to warn you I’ve consulted a lawyer. There’s no legal way of stopping it, if I own him, no matter how much of a champion he is.”

Clyde merely shrugged. The look on his face was one I’ve often seen in a poker game.

“Well.” Pratt leaned back and got his thumbs in his armpits. “This is mighty interesting. What about it, McMillan? Can they get that bull out of that pasture in spite of us?”

The stockman muttered, “I don’t know who would be doing it. If there’s any funny business… if we had him in a barn…”

“I haven’t got a barn.” Pratt eyed Clyde. “One thing. What do we do, put up now? Checks?”

Clyde flushed. “My check would be rubber. You know that, damn it. If I lose I’ll pay.”

“You’re proposing a gentleman’s bet? With me?”

“All right, call it that. A gentleman’s bet.”

“By God. My boy, I’m flattered. I really am. But I can’t afford to do much flattering when $10,000 is involved. I’m afraid I couldn’t bet unless I had some sort of inkling of where you would get hold of that amount.”

Clyde got halfway out of his chair, and my feet came back automatically for a spring, but his sister pulled him back. She tried to pull him away, too, with urgent remarks about leaving, but he shook himself loose and even gave her a shove. He glared at Pratt with his jaw clamped:

“You damn trash, you say that to an Osgood! All right, I’ll take some of your money, since that’s all there is to you! If my father phones you to guarantee my side, does that make it a gentleman’s bet?”

“Then you really do want to bet.”

“I do.”

“$10,000 even on the proposition as these people here have heard it.”

“I do.”

“All right. If your father guarantees it, it’s a bet.”

Clyde turned and started off without even a glance around for good-bye. His friend Bronson put down his drink and followed him. They had to wait at the edge of the terrace for Nancy, who, flustered as she was, managed a darn good exit under the circumstances. As she got away Monte McMillan stood up and remarked to Pratt:

“I’ve known that Osgood boy since he was a baby. I guess I’d better go and tell him not to do anything foolish.”

He tramped off after them.

Lily Rowan said hopefully, “It sounds to me as if there’s going to be dirty work at the crossroads.” She patted the space beside her which Jimmy Pratt had vacated. “Come and sit here, Escamillo, and tell me what’s going to happen.”

I lifted the form, strolled gracefully over, deposited it, acquired her left hand, and studied the palm. “It’s like this,” I told her. “You will be very happy for a while, then you will take a long journey under water and will meet a bald-headed man sitting on some seaweed who you will think is William Beebe but who will begin talking to you in Russian. Not understanding Russian, you will take it for granted that you get the idea, but will discover to your horror that he was talking about something else. Give me the other hand to compare.”

Jimmy Pratt, meanwhile, was haranguing his uncle. “… and you sit there and let him call you trash! I’d have liked to smack him! I would have smacked him -”

“Now, Jimmy.” Pratt waved a hand. He chuckled. “You wouldn’t smack an Osgood, would you? Take it easy, son. By the way, since you seem to be feeling belligerent, maybe you’d like to help out a little with that bull. I’m afraid we’ll have to keep an eye on him all night. How about a little sentry duty?”

“Well, sir…” Jimmy looked uncomfortable. “The fact is… I’ve already told you… I don’t approve of that. It seems to me a bull like that… a champion and so on…”

“You wouldn’t like to help us guard him?”

“I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me out of that, Uncle Tom.”

“All right. I guess we can manage somehow. - What’s your feeling about it, Mr. Wolfe? Haven’t I got a right to eat my own bull?”

Wolfe obliged with a philosophical lecture on written and unwritten law, degrees of moral turpitude, and the extravagant enthusiasms of bovine genetics. It sounded quite instructive and elevated the tone of the gathering to a plane high above such petty things as smacking an Osgood or eating beefsteak or winning a $10,000 bet. When he had finished, he turned to me with a suggestion: since he had accepted Mr. Pratt’s kind invitation to dine there, a change of linen would be desirable, and the luggage was still in our car out by the roadside. Jimmy offered his services, but Caroline insisted it was her job, since it was she who had contracted to drive us to Crowfield, so I followed her from the terrace, across a wide lawn, around some shrubbery and flower beds, and down a path which took us to the graveled space in front of the garage, where a big sedan was parked near the yellow convertible. I stooped to peer under the trees to where I had caught a glimpse of a high long mound of freshly dug soil, with picks and shovels leaning against it. I had noticed it previously, as we drove by in the convertible after escaping from the pasture, but had not then realized its significance.

“Pit for the barbecue?” I inquired.

Caroline nodded. “I think it’s pretty awful, but I couldn’t very well refuse uncle’s invitation to come up for it. Get in.”

When she had swung the sedan around and had headed down the drive I said, “I ask this because it’s none of my business. I’m interested in human nature. Which is it, advertising, or a Bronx cheer for Father Osgood?”

“I don’t know. I’m thinking about something.”

So I held myself aloof. The sedan emerged onto the highway and turned left, and in half a minute was swinging around the curve which I had seen from the other direction during my survey of the surroundings after the accident. In the other half of the minute she had arrived at the scene, spun the wheel with her strong wrists, done a U, and pulled up directly behind the relic. I got out. The angle of the low evening sun made long soft shadows with trees and telephone poles on the green of the pasture. Across its expanse, on the other side, I could see the top third of Monte McMillan above the fence, his face turned our way, and moving along this side of the boulder, with slow imperial tread, looking bigger than ever, was the bull. I had to admit he was a beaut, now that I could take an impersonal view.

There were two suitcases, two bags, the sprayer, and the crates of plants. After I got them all transferred I locked the car up again, took another glance at the bull who was soon to be served at 450 bucks a portion, and climbed in beside Miss Pratt. Still aloof, I didn’t say anything, but sat quietly and waited for the spirit to move her. After a minute she moved, but only to turn her head to look at me.

“I want to tell you what I was thinking about.”

I nodded politely.

“Lily Rowan.”

I nodded again. “She calls me Escamillo. She told me that you and she are going to the fair tomorrow, and suggested that she and I might have lunch together.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her I couldn’t on account of my table manners. I don’t like hitch-lunchers.”

Caroline snorted. “She wasn’t trying to hitch. She would pay the check. She’s rich. Very. Maybe millions, I don’t know, anyway plenty. She’s a vampire. She’s dangerous.”

“You mean she bites you in the neck?”

“I mean what I say. I used to think the talk about some women being dangerous, you know, really dangerous, was romantic hooey, but it isn’t. Lily Rowan is one. If she wasn’t too lazy to make much of an effort there’s no telling how many men she might ruin, but I know of at least three she has played the devil with. You saw Clyde Osgood today. Not that Clyde was ever one of nature’s noblemen, but he was doing all right. He’s just my age, 26. The Osgoods have owned this county for generations, they still have a couple of thousand acres, and after Clyde finished at college he buckled in and handled things for his father, who was away most of the time doing politics and things. People around here say he was really showing some sense. Then during a trip to New York two years ago he met Lily Rowan, and she took a fancy to him and got a spell of energy at the same time. She did worse than bite him in the neck. She swallowed him. Then last spring she spit him out again. That may not be very elegant, but can you describe the activities of a toad with elegance? Clyde hasn’t returned to the country; he hangs around New York and tries to see her or tries not to see her. I don’t know what he’s doing up here now. Maybe he knew she was coming.”

She stopped. I remarked, “And that’s what you were thinking about.”

“No, that only leads up to it.” She frowned at me. “You’re a detective. That’s your business, isn’t it?”

“Yep. 24 hour service.”

“And you… you keep things confidential?”

“Sure, when they are confidential.”

“Well, this is. Lily Rowan is after my brother Jimmy.”

I raised the brows. “And?”

“She mustn’t get him. She hasn’t got him… yet. I would have supposed Jimmy had too much sense, but apparently that has nothing to do with it. Also I thought he was in love with Nan Osgood; I thought that last winter. A month or so ago Lily Rowan started after him. And even Jimmy… even Jimmy will fall for it! How the devil does she do it? Damn her!”

“I couldn’t say. I could ask her.”

“This isn’t a joke. She’ll ruin him.”

“I don’t regard it as a job. You asked a silly question. And her being up here… you invited her just to help things along a little and have it over with?”

“I invited her because I thought that seeing her like this… out here in the country… might bring him to. But it hasn’t.”

“He still laps it up.”

“Yes.”

I hunched my shoulders. “Well, granted that I’m a good detective, there doesn’t seem to be anything to detect. It seems to be what my employer calls a natural process, and there’s no way of stopping it except to send your brother to Australia for a pair of shoestrings or cut her throat.”

“I could do that, cut her throat. I could murder her. But maybe there is a way. That’s what I was thinking about. She said something about you today while you were upstairs. Something that gave me an idea.”

“What did she say?”

“I can’t tell you. I couldn’t say it.”

“Was it… well, personal?”

“Very personal.”

“What was it?”

“I tell you I won’t repeat it. But that, and other things, and her asking you to have lunch with her… I believe you could take her away from Jimmy. Provided you don’t try. She likes to do the trying, when she gets energy enough. Something about you has attracted her; I knew that when she called you Escamillo.”

“Go on.”

“That’s all. Except… of course… I don’t mean to ask a favor of you. There’s no reason why you should do me a favor, even as great a one as this. It’s a matter of business. When you send me a bill I’ll pay it, only if it’s very big I might have to pay in installments.”

“I see. First I act coy, then I let her ruin me, then I send you a bill -”

“I tell you this isn’t a joke. It’s anything but a joke. Will you do it?”

I screwed up my lips, regarding her. Then I got out a cigarette, offered her one which was refused, and lit up.

“Look,” I said, “I think it’s a joke. Let’s say she goes ahead and ruins him. In my opinion, if he’s worth the powder to blow him to hell, he’ll soon get unruined. No man was ever taken to hell by a woman unless he already had a ticket in his pocket, or at least had been fooling around with timetables. God bless you, you say you want to hire me to pull her off. I couldn’t take an outside job even if I wanted to, because I work for Nero Wolfe on salary. But since you want to make it strictly a matter of business, I’ll do this for you: I’ll eat lunch with her tomorrow, provided you’ll pay the check. That will be $2, for which, inclusive, I’ll make you a detailed report of progress.”

She said briefly, “It isn’t a joke. I’ll give you the $2 when we get back to the house,” and stepped on the starter.

It surely wouldn’t have been too much to expect that I might have had a little peace and quiet during the hour that remained before dinnertime, but no such luck. I had unloaded the crates of plants and taken them upstairs to the bathroom, and had carted up the two suitcases, and my final journey was with the two bags. Entering the room with them and hearing a noise in the bathroom, I put the bags down and crossed to the open door and saw Wolfe there, with the lids of the crates lifted so he could inspect the orchids to see if they would require spraying. I said the plants looked to me to be in good shape, and he acknowledged the fact. Then I said that since our shirts and ties were in the suitcases, likewise toilet articles, I presumed it would be unnecessary to open the bags, though I had brought them up. Not looking at me, he murmured casually but distinctly:

“It would be well, I think, to unpack.”

I started. “The whole works?”

“Yes.”

“You mean take everything out?”

“Yes.”

“And put it back in again after dinner?”

“No. We shall sleep here tonight.”

I started to improvise a cutting remark, because I am methodical by temperament and like to see plans carried out when they have been made, but then I reflected that after all this place unquestionably had it all over any hotel room they were likely to be saving for us in Crowfield, with the town overflowing with exposition visitors. On the other hand it was always bad policy to feed his conceit by displaying approval, so without comment I returned to the bedroom and began operations on the big suitcase. Pretty soon he waddled in, removed his coat and vest and dropped them on one of the beds, and started to unbutton his shirt.

I inquired pleasantly, “How did you coerce Pratt into having us as house guests? Just turn on the old charm?”

“There was no coercion. Technically we are not guests. Mr. Pratt was eager to adopt my suggestion.”

“Oh.” I whirled on him with my hands full of socks and handkerchiefs. “You made a suggestion?”

“I did. I’m being perfectly frank about it, Archie; I could let it appear that the suggestion originated with Mr. Pratt, but it didn’t; I offered it. Knowing of his difficulty, it seemed a decent thing to do, after his generous hospitality. He approved at once, and proposed a commission to me, and I accepted.”

“I see.” I was still holding the haberdashery. “What kind of a commission, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Not a very lucrative one. Nor very difficult. Surveillance.”

“I thought so.” I crossed and opened a drawer of the bureau and arranged the socks and handkerchiefs inside. Then I stood and watched him struggle out of his shirt and heard the seams protesting. “I suspected it the minute you told me to unpack. Okay. That’s a new one. Pasture patrol. Bodyguard for a bull. I sincerely trust you’ll enjoy a good night’s sleep, sir, having this lovely room all to yourself.”

“Don’t take a tone with me, Archie. It will be dull, that’s all, for a man as fidgety -”

“Dull?” I waved a hand. “Don’t you believe it. Dull, out there alone in the night, sharing my secrets with the stars? You don’t know me. And glowing with satisfaction because just by being there I’ll be making it possible for you to snooze in that excellent bed in this big airy room. And then the dawn! Mr. Wolfe, how I love the dawn!”

“You won’t see the dawn.”

“The hell I won’t. Who’ll bump me off, Clyde? Or will the bull get me?”

“Neither. I have made arrangements with Mr. Pratt and Mr. McMillan. The man called Dave will be on guard while we are dining. At 8:30 you will relieve him, and at 1 o’clock you will be relieved by Mr. McMillan. You often go to bed that late at home. You had better waken me by knocking when you come in. I am not accustomed to my room being entered at night.”

“Okay.” I resumed with the suitcase, and laid out a fresh shirt for him. “But darned if I’ll lug that shotgun around. I’ll take that up with McMillan. Incidentally, I’ve accepted a commission too. For the firm. Not a very lucrative one. The fee has already been paid, two bucks, but it’ll be eaten up by expenses. The client is Miss Caroline Pratt.”

Wolfe muttered, “Jabber.”

“Not at all. She paid me two bucks to save her brother from a fate worse than death. Boy, is it fun being a detective! Up half the night chaperoning a bull, only to be laid waste by a blonde the next day at lunch. Look, we’ll have to send a telegram to Fritz; here’s a button off.”