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Triple Jeopardy A NERO WOLFE THREESOME BY REX STOUT

THE VIKING PRESS NEW YORK COPYRIGHT 1951, 1952 BY REX STOUT Acknowledgment is made to the American Magazine, in which these short novels originally appeared. The magazine title for "The Squirt and the Monkey" was "See No Evil"; for "Home to Roost," "Nero Wolfe and the Communist Killer."

PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. m

Home to Roost

The Cop-Killer

The Squirt and the Monkey

121

My nephew Arthur was the romantic type," said Mrs. Benjamin Rackell with the least possible movement of her thin tight lips. "He thought being a Communist was romantic." Nero Wolfe, behind his desk in his outsized chair that thought nothing of his seventh of a ton, scowled at her. I, at my own desk with a notebook and pen, permitted myself a private grin, not unsympathetic. Wolfe was controlling himself under severe provocation. The appointment for Mr. Rackell to call at Wolfe's office on the ground floor of his old brownstone house on West Thirty-fifth Street, at six p.m., had been made by phone by a secretary in the office of the Rackell Importing Company, and nothing had been said about a wife coming along. And the wife, no treat as a spectacle to begin with, was an interrupter and a cliche" tosser, enough to make Wolfe scowl at any man, let alone a woman. "But," he objected, not too caustic, "you say that he was not a Communist, that, on the contrary, he was acting for the FBI when he joined the Communist party." He would have loved to tell her to get lost. But his house had five stories, counting the basement and the plant rooms full of orchids on the roof, and there was Fritz the chef and Theodore the botanist and me, Archie Goodwin, the fairly confidential assistant, with nothing to carry the load but his income as a private detective; and the Rackell check for three thousand bucks, offered as a retainer, was under a paperweight on his desk. // "That's just it," Mrs. Rackell said impatiently. "Isn't it romantic to work for the FBI? But that wasn't why he did it; he did it to serve his country, and that's why they killed him. His being the romantic type had nothing to do with it." Wolfe made a face and undertook to bypass her. His eyes went to Rackell. She wouldprobably have called her husband the stubby type, with his short arms and legs, but he was no runt. His trunk was long and broad and his head long and narrow. His eyes pointed down at the corners, and so did his mouth, making him look mournful. Wolfe asked him, "Have you spoken with the FBI, Mr. Rackell?" But the wife answered. "No, he hasn't," she said. "I went myself yesterday, and I never heard anything to equal it. They wouldn't tell me a single thing. They wouldn't even admit Arthur was working for them as a spy for his country! They said it was a matter for the New York police and I should talk to them--as if I hadn't!" "I told you, Pauline," Rackell said mildly but not timidly, "that the FBI won't tell people things. And the police won't either, not when it's murder, and especially when the Communists come into it. That's why I insisted on coming to Nero Wolfe to find out what's going on. If the FBI doesn't want it known that Arthur was with them, even if it means not getting his murderer, what else can you expect?" "I expect justice!" Mrs. Rackell declared, her lips actually moving visibly. I gave it a line to itself in the notebook. Wolfe was frowning at Rackell. "There seems to be some confusion. I understood that you want a murder investigated. Now you say you came to me to find out what's going on. If you mean you want me to investigate the police and the FBI, that's too big a bite." "I didn't say that," Rackell protested. "No, but clear it up. What do you want?" Rackell's down-pointing eyes looked even mournfuller. "We want facts," he declared. "I think the police and the FBI are quite capable of sacrificing the rights of a private

citizen to what they consider the public interest. Our nephew was murdered, and my wife had a right to ask them what line they're proceeding on, and they wouldn't tell her. I don't intend to just let it go at that. Is this a democracy or isn't it? I'm not-"

"No!" the wife snapped. "It's not a democracy, it's a republic."

"I suggest," said Wolfe, exasperated, "that I recapitulate to see if I have it straight. I'll combine what I have read in the papers with what you have told me." He focused on the wife, probably figuring that she would be less apt to cut in if he held her eye. "Arthur Rackell, your husband's orphaned nephew, was a fairly efficient employee of his importing business, drawing a good salary, living at your home here in New York, on Sixty-eighth Street. Some three years ago you noted that he was taking a radically leftist position in discussions of political and social questions, and you remonstrated without effect. As time passed he became more leftist and more outspoken, until his opinions and arguments were identical with the Communist line. You, both you and your husband, argued with him and entreated him, but--"

"I did," Mrs. Rackell snapped. "My husband didn't."

"Now, Pauline," Rackell protested. "I argued with him some." He looked at Wolfe. "I didn't entreat him because I didn't think I had a right to. I don't believe in entreating people about their convictions. I was paying him a salary and I didn't want him to think he had to--" The importer fluttered a hand. "I liked Arthur, and he was my brother's son."

"In any case," Wolfe went on brusquely, still at the wife, "he did not change. He stubbornly adhered to the Communist position. He applauded the Communist attack in Korea and denounced the action of the United Nations. You finally found it insufferable and gave him an ultimatum: either he would abandon his outrageous--"

"Not an ultimatum," Mrs. Rackell corrected. "My husband refused to permit it. I merely--"

Wolfe outspoke her. "At least you made it plain that you

had had enough and he was no longer welcome in your home. You must have made it fairly strong, since he was moved to disclose an extremely tight secret: that he had been persuaded by the FBI, back in nineteen forty-eight, to join the Communist party for the purpose of espionage. No easy admonition would have dragged that out of him, surely."

"I didn't say it was easy. I told him�" She stopped, and the thin lips really did tighten. She relaxed them enough to let words out. "I think he thought he would lose his job, and he was well paid. Much more than he earned, the amount of work he did."

Wolfe nodded. "Anyhow, he told you his secret, and you promised to keep it, becoming a confederate. Privately admiring him, with others you had to pretend to maintain your condemnation. You told your husband and no one else. That was about a week ago, you say?"

"Yes."

"And Saturday evening, three days ago, your nephew was murdered. Now to that. You have added little to what the papers have carried, but let's see. He left the apartment, your home, and took a taxi to Chezar's restaurant, where he had a dinner engagement. He had invited three women and two men to dine with him, and they were all there when he arrived, in the bar. When your nephew came they went with him to the table he had reserved and had cocktails. He took a small metal box from�"

"Gold."

"Gold is a metal, madam. He took it from a pocket, his side coat pocket, put it on the table, and left it there while he conferred with the waiter. There was conversation. When plates and rolls and butter were brought, the pillbox got pushed around. It was on the table altogether some ten or twelve minutes. When hors d'oeuvres were served, your nephew started to eat, remembered the pillbox, found it behind the basket of rolls, got from it a vitamin capsule, swallowed the capsule with a sip of water, and began on his hors d'oeuvres. Six or seven minutes later he suddenly cried out, 6

sprang to his feet, overturning his chair, made convulsive gestures, became rigid, collapsed and crumpled to the floor, and died. A doctor arrived shortly, but he was already dead. It has been found that two other capsules in the metal box, similar in appearance to the one he took, contained what they were supposed to and were harmless; but your nephew had swallowed potassium cyanide. He was murdered by replacing a vitamin capsule with a capsule filled with poison."

"Certainly. That's what-"

"I'll go on, please. You were and are convinced that the substitution was made by one of his dinner companions who is a Communist and who learned that your nephew was acting for the FBI, and you so informed Inspector Cramer of the police. You were not satisfied with his acceptance of that information, especially in a subsequent talk with him yesterday morning, Monday, and went yourself to the office of the FBI, saw a Mr. Anstrey, and found him noncommittal. He took the position that a homicide in Manhattan is the business of the New York police. Exasperated, you went to Inspector Cramer's office, were unable to see him, talked with a sergeant named Stebbins, came away further exasperated, regarded with favor your husband's suggestion, made this morning, that I be consulted, and here you are. Have I left out anything important?"

"One little point." Rackell cleared his throat. "Our telling Inspector Cramer about Arthur's joining the Communist party for the FBI--that was in confidence. Of course this talk with you is confidential too, naturally, since we're your clients."

Wolfe shook his head. "Not yet. You want to hire me to investigate the death of your nephew?"

"Yes. Certainly."

"Then you should know that while no one excels me in discretion I will not work under restrictions."

"That's fair enough."

"Good. I'll let you know tomorrow, probably by noon." Wolfe reached to push the paperweight aside and pick up the

check. "Shall I keep this meanwhile and return it if I can't take the job?"

Rackell frowned, perplexed. His wife snapped, "Why on earth couldn't you take it?"

"I don't know, madam. I hope to. I need the money. But I'll have to look into it a little--discreetly, of course. I'll let you know tomorrow at the latest." He extended a hand with the check. "Unless you prefer to take this and try elsewhere."

They didn't like it, especially her. She even left the red leather chair to take the check, her lips tight, but after some give-and-take with her husband they decided to let it ride, and she put the check back on the desk. They wanted to give us more details, especially about their nephew's five dinner guests, but Wolfe said that could wait, and they left, none too pleased. As I let them out at the front door Rackell gave me a polite thank-you nod, but she didn't even know I was there.

Returning to the office, I got the check and put it in the safe and then stood to regard Wolfe. His nose was twitching. He looked as if he had an oyster with horseradish on it in his mouth, a combination he detests.

"It can't be helped," I told him. "It takes all kinds to make a clientele. What are we going to look into a little?"

He sighed. "Get Mr. Wengert of the FBI. You want to see him, this evening if possible. I'll talk."

"It's nearly seven o'clock."

"Try."

I went to the phone on my desk, dialed RE 2-3500, talked to a stranger and to a man I had met a couple of times, and reported to Wolfe, "Not available. Tomorrow morning."

"Make an appointment."

I did so and hung up.

Wolfe sat scowling at me. He spoke. "I'll give you instructions after dinner. Have we got the Gazette of the past three days?"

"Sure."

"Let me have them, please. Confound it." He sighed again. "Saturday, and tomorrow's Wednesday. Like a warmed-over 8

meal." He came erect and his face brightened. "I wonder how Fritz is making out with that fish."

He left his chair and headed for the hall and the kitchen.

Wednesday morning all the air in Manhattan was conditioned --the wrong way. It was no place for penguins. On my way to Foley Square my jacket was beside me on the seat of the taxi, but when I had paid the driver and got out I put it on. Sweat or no sweat, I had to show the world that a private detective can be tough enough to take it.

When, after some waiting, I got admitted to Wengert's big corner room I found him in his shirt sleeves with his tie and collar loosened. He got up to shake hands and invited me to sit. We exchanged remarks.

"I haven't seen you," I told him, "since you got elevated here. Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. I notice you've got brass in your voice, but I guess that can't be helped. Mr. Wolfe sends his regards."

"Give him mine." His voice warmed up a little, just perceptibly. "I'll never forget how he came through on that mercury thing." He glanced at the watch on his wrist. "What can I do for you, Goodwin?"

Back a few years, when we had been in G2 together, it had been Archie, but then he hadn't had a corner room with five phones on his desk. I crossed my legs to show there was no rush.

"Not a thing," I told him. "Mr. Wolfe just wants to clear. Yesterday a man and wife named Rackell came to see him. They want him to investigate the death of their nephew, Arthur Rackell. Do you know about it, or do you want to call someone in? Mrs. Rackell has talked with a Mr. Anstrey."

"I know. Go ahead."

"Then I won't have to draw pictures. Our bank says that

Rackell rates seven figures west of the decimal point, and we would like to earn a fee by tagging a murderer, but our country right or wrong. We would hate to torpedo the ship of state in this bad weather. The Rackells came to Mr. Wolfe because they think the FBI and the NYPD regard the death of Arthur as a regrettable but minor incident. They say he was killed by a Commie who discovered that he was an FBI plant. Before we proceed on that theory Mr. Wolfe wants to clear with you. Of course you may not want to say, even under the rug to us, that he was yours. May you?"

"It's hotter than yesterday," Wengert stated.

"Yeah. Would you care to make any sign at all, for instance a wink?"

"No."

"Then I'll try something more general. There has been nothing in the papers about the Commie angle, not a word, so there has been no mention of the FBI. Is the FBI working on the murder, officially or otherwise?"

"Much hotter," he said.

"It sure is. How about the others, the five dinner guests? Of course they're our meat. Any suggestions, requests, or orders? Any strings you wouldn't want us to trip on?"

"The humidity, too."

"Absolutely. I realize that you would like to tell us to lay off on general principles, but you're afraid there might be a headline tomorrow, fbi warns nero wolfe to keep hands off of rackell murder. Besides, if you give us a stop sign you'll have to say why or we'll keep going. Just to clean it up, is there any question I might ask that would take your mind off the weather?"

"No." He stood up. "It was nice to see you for old time's sake, and you can still give Wolfe my regards, but tell him to go climb a tree. Some nerve. Sending you here with that bull about wanting to clear! Why didn't he ask me to send him up the files? Come again when I'm not here."

I was on my way, but before I reached the door I turned. "The radio said this morning it would hit ninety-five," I told him and went.

There are always taxis at Foley Square. I removed my jacket, climbed into one, and gave an address on West Twentieth Street. When we got there my shirt was stuck to the back of the seat. I pulled loose, paid, got out, put on the jacket, and went into a building. The headquarters of the Homicide Squad, Manhattan West, was much more familiar to me than the United States Courthouse. So were the inmates, one in particular, the one sitting at a dingy little desk in a dingy little room to which I was escorted. They have never let me roam loose in that building since the day I took a snapshot of a piece of paper they were saving, though they couldn't prove it.

Sergeant Purley Stebbins was big and strong but not handsome. His rusty old swivel chair squeaked and groaned as he leaned back.

"Oh, hell," I said, sitting, "I forgot. I meant to bring a can of oil for that chair my next trip here." I cocked my head. "What are you glaring about? Is my face dirty?"

"It don't have to be dirty." He went on glaring. "Goddam it, why did they have to pick Nero Wolfe?"

I considered a moment, maybe two seconds. "I am glad to know," I said pleasantly, "that the cops and the feds are collaborating so closely. Citizens can sleep sound. Wengert must have phoned the minute I left. What did he say?"

"He spoke to the Inspector. What do you want?"

"Maybe I should speak to the Inspector."

"He's busy. So the Rackells have hired Wolfe?"

I lifted my nose. "Mr. and Mrs. Rackell have asked Mr. Wolfe to investigate the death of their nephew. Before he starts to whiz through it like a cyclone he wants to know whether he will be cramping the style of those responsible for the national security. I've seen Wengert, and the heat has got him. He's not interested. I am now seeing you because of the Commie angle, which has not appeared in the papers. If it is against the public interest for us to take the job, tell me why. I know you and Cramer think it's against the public interest for us to eat, let alone detect, but that's not enough. We would need facts."

"Uh-huh," Purley growled. "We give 'em to you and Wolfe decides he can use 'em better than we can. Nuts. I'll tell you one fact: this one has got stingers. Lay off."

I nodded sympathetically. "That's probably good advice. I'll tell Mr. Wolfe." I arose. "We would like you to sign a statement covering the substance of this interview. Three copies, one--"

"Go somewhere," he rasped. "On out. Beat it."

I thought he was getting careless, but my escort, a paunchy old veteran with a pushed-in nose, was waiting in the hall. As I strode to the front and the entrance he waddled along behind.

It was past eleven by the time I got back to the office, so Wolfe had finished his two hours in the plant rooms and was behind his desk, with beer. It would have been impossible for anything with life in it to look less like a cyclone.

"Well?" he muttered at me.

I sat. "We deposit the check. Wengert sends his regards. Purley doesn't. They both think you sent me merely to get the dope for free and they sneer at the idea of our caring for the public welfare. Wengert phoned Cramer the minute I left. Not a peep from either one. We only know what we see in the papers."

He grunted. "Get Mr. Rackell."

So we had a case.

aaa

(-"INHERE were two open questions about the seven people cJL gathered in the office after dinner that Wednesday evening: were any of them Commies, and was one of them a murderer? I make it seven, including our clients, not to seem prejudiced.

I had given them the eye as they arrived and gathered and now, as I sat at my desk with them all in sight, I was placing no bets. There had been a time, years back, when I had had the notion that no murderer, man or woman, could stand ex

posed to view and hot let it show somewhere if you had good enough eyes, but now I knew better. However, I was using my eyes.

The one nearest me was a lanky middle-aged guy named Ormond Leddegard. He may have been expert at handling labor-management relations, which was how he made a living, but he was a fumbler with his fingers. Getting out a pack of cigarettes, and matches, and lighting up, he was all thumbs, and that would have put him low on the list if it hadn't been for the possibility that he was being subtle. If I could figure that thumbs wouldn't have been up to the job of sneaking a pillbox from a cluttered table, making a substitution, and returning the box without detection, so could he. Of course that little point could be easily settled by having a good man, say Saul Panzer, spend a couple of days interviewing a dozen or so of his friends and acquaintances.

Next to him, with her legs crossed just right to be photographed from any angle, was Fifi Goheen. The leg-crossing technique was automatic, from an old habit. Seven or eight years ago she had been the Deb of the Year and no magazine would have dared to go to press without a shot of her; then it became all a memory; and now she was a front-page item as a murder suspect. She hadn't married. It was said that a hundred males, lured by the attractions, opening their mouths for the big proposition, had seen the hard glint in her lovely dark eyes and lost their tongues. So she was still Miss Fifi Goheen, living with Pop and Mom on Park Avenue.

Beyond her in the arc facing Wolfe's desk was Benjamin Rackell, whose check had been deposited in our bank that afternoon, with his long narrow face more mournful even than the day before. At his right was a specimen who was a female anatomically but otherwise a what-is-it. Her name was Delia Devlin, and her age was beside the point. She was a resident buyer of novelties for out-of-town stores. There are ten thousand of her in midtown New York any weekday, and they're all being imposed on. You see it in their faces. The problem is to find out who it is that's imposing on them, and some day I may tackle it. Aside from that there was nothing

visibly wrong with Delia Devlin, except her ears were too big.

Next to her was a celebrity--though of course they were all celebrities for the time being, you might say ex officio. Henry Jameson Heath, now crowding fifty, had inherited money in his youth, quite a pile, but very few people in his financial bracket were speaking to him. There was no telling whether he had contributed dough to the Communist party or cause, or if so how much, but there was no secret about his being one of the chief providers and collectors of bail for the Commies who had been indicted. He had recently been indicted too, for contempt of Congress, and was probably headed for a modest stretch. He wore an old seersucker suit that was too small for him, had a round pudgy face, and couldn't look at you without staring.

Beyond Heath, at the end of the arc, was Carol Berk, the only one toward whom I had a personal attitude worth mentioning. Whenever we have a flock of guests I handle the seating, and if there is one who seems worthy of study I put her in the chair nearest mine. I had done so with this Carol Berk, but while I was in the hall admitting Leddegard, who had come last, she had switched on me, and I resented it. I felt that she deserved attention. Checking on her, along with the others, that afternoon with Lon Cohen of die Gazette, I had learned that she was supposed to be free-lancing as a TV contact specialist but no one actually claimed her, that she had a reputation as an extremely fast mover, and that there were six different versions of why she had left Hollywood three years ago. Added to diat was the question whether it was a pleasure to look at her or not. In cases where it's a quick no, the big majority, or a quick yes, the small minority, that settles it and what the hell; but the borderline numbers take application and sound judgment. I had listed Carol Berk as one when, crossing the doorsill, she had darted a sidewise glance at me with brown eyes that were dead dull from the front. Now, in the chair she had changed to, she was a good five paces away.

Mrs. Benjamin Rackell, her lips tighter than ever, was in the red leather chair at the end of Wolfe's desk.

Wolfe's gaze swept the arc. "I won't thank you for coming," he rumbled at them, "because it would be impertinent. You are here at the request of Mr. and Mrs. Rackell. Whether you came to oblige them or because you thought it unwise not to is immaterial."

Also, it seemed to me, it was close to immaterial whether they were there or not. Apparently, since he had sent me to Foley Square and Homicide to clear, Wolfe was proceeding on the Rackell theory that Arthur had got it because a Commie or Commies had discovered that he was an FBI plant. But that theory had not been published, and Wolfe couldn't blurt it out. You don't disclose the identity of FBI undercover men, even dead ones, if you make your living as a private detective and want to keep your license. And if by any chance Arthur had fed his aunt one with a worm in it, if he had actually had no more connection with the FBI than me with the DAR--no, that was one to steer clear of.

So not only could Wolfe not come to the point, he couldn't even let out a hint of what the point was. How could he talk at all?

He talked. "I don't know," he said, "whether the police have made it clear to you how you stand. They don't like it that I'm taking a hand in this. The entrance to my house has been under surveillance since this morning, when they learned that Mr. and Mrs. Rackell had consulted me. One or more of you were probably followed here this evening. But Mr. Rackell may properly hire me, I may properly work for him, and you may properly give me information if you feel like it."

"We don't know whether we do or not." Leddegard shifted in his chair, stretching his lanky legs. "At least I don't. I came as a courtesy to people in bereavement."

"It is appreciated," Wolfe assured him. "Now for how you stand. I talked with Mr. and Mrs. Rackell yesterday, and with Mrs. Rackell again this afternoon. It is characteristic of the newspapers to focus attention on you five people; it's obvious and dramatic, and, after all, you were there when Arthur

Rackell swallowed poison and died. But beyond the obvious, why you? Have the police been candid?"

"That's a damn silly question," Heath declared. He had a flat but aggressive baritone. "The police are never candid."

"I knew a candid cop once," Fifi Goheen said helpfully.

"It seems to me," Carol Berk told Wolfe, "that you're being dramatic too, getting us down here. It would have taken a sleight-of-hand artist to get the pillbox from his pocket and switch a capsule and put it back, without being seen. And while the box was on the table it was right under our eyes."

Wolfe grunted. "You were all staring at it? For twelve minutes straight?"

"She didn't say we were staring at it," Leddegard blurted offensively.

"Pfui." Wolfe was disgusted. "A lummox could have managed it. Reaching for something�a roll, a cocktail glassdropping the hand onto the box, checking glances while withdrawing the hand, changing capsules beneath the table, returning the box with another casual unnoticeable gesture. I would undertake it myself with thin inducement, and I'm not Houdini."

"Tell me something," Leddegard demanded. "I may be thick, but why did it have to be done at the restaurant? Why not before?"

Wolfe nodded. "That's not excluded, certainly. You five people were not the only ones intimate enough with Arthur Rackell to know about his pink vitamin capsules and that he took three a day, one before each meal. Nor did you have a monopoly of opportunity. However�" His glance went left. "Mrs. Rackell, will you repeat what you told me this afternoon? About Saturday evening?"

She had been keeping her eyes at Wolfe but now moved her head to take the others in. Judging from her expression as she went down the line, apparently she was convinced not that one of them was a Commie and a murderer, but that they all were�excluding her husband, of course.

She returned to Wolfe. "My husband and Arthur had spent the afternoon getting an important shipment released, 16

1 got home a little before six. They went to their rooms to a shower and change. While Arthur was in the shower cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Kremp, went to his room to 'things out for him, shirt and socks and underwear--she's that; she's been doing it for years. The articles he had from his pockets were on the bureau, and she looked in pillbox and saw it was empty, and she got three capsules the bottle in a drawer--it held a hundred and was half -and put them in the box. She did that too, every day. is a competent woman, but she's extremely sentimental." "And she had no reason," Wolfe inquired, "for wishing 11 nephew dead?" "Certainly not!"

"She has of course told the police?" "Of course."

"Was there anyone in the apartment other than you four r�*-you, your husband, your nephew, and Mrs. Kremp?"

"No. No one. The maid was away. My husband and I were jjlgping to the country for the weekend."

"After Mrs. Kremp put the capsules in the box, and before jffyour nephew came from the shower to dress--did you enter your nephew's room during that period?" '< "No. I didn't enter it at all." v "Did you, Mr. Rackell?" > "I did not." He sounded as mournful as he looked.

Wolfe's eyes went left to right, from Carol Berk at one end to Leddegard at the other. "Then we have Arthur Rackell bathed and dressed, the pillbox in his pocket. The police are not confiding in me, but I read newspapers. Leaving the apartment, he went down in the elevator and out to the sidewalk, and the doorman got a taxi for him. He was alone in the taxi, and it took him straight to the restaurant. The capsules left in the bottle have been examined and had not been tampered with. There we are. Are you prepared to impeach Mrs. Kremp, or Mr. or Mrs. Rackell? Can you support the assumption that one of them murdered Arthur Rackell?"

"It's not inconceivable," Delia Devlin murmured.

"No," Wolfe conceded. "Nor is it inconceivable that he

chose that moment and method to kill himself, nor even that a capsule of poison got into the bottle by accident. But I exclude them as too improbable for consideration, and so will everyone else, including the police. The inquiring mind is rarely blessed with a certainty; it must make shift with assumptions; and I am assuming, on the evidence, that when Arthur arrived at the restaurant the capsules in the box in his pocket were innocent. I invite you to challenge it. If you can't the substitution was made at the restaurant, and you see how you stand. The police are after you, and so am I. One of you? Or all of you? I intend to find out."

"You're scaring me stiff," Fifi Goheen said. "I'm frail and I may collapse." She stood up. "Come on, Leddy, I'll buy you a drink."

Leddegard reached for her elbow and gave it a little shake. "Hold it, Fee," he told her gruffly. "This guy has been known to do flips. Let's see. Sit down."

"Blah. You are scared. You've got a reputation." She jerked her arm loose and took two quick steps to the edge of Wolfe's desk. Her voice rose a little. "I don't like the atmosphere here. You're too fat to look at. Orchids, for God's sake!" Her hand darted to the bowl of Miltonias, and with a flip of the wrist she sent it skidding along the slick surface and off to the floor.

There was some commotion. Mrs. Rackell jerked her feet back, away from the tumbling bowl. Carol Berk said something. Leddegard left his chair and started for Fifi, but she whirled away to Henry Jameson Heath, pressed her palms to his cheeks, and bent to him. She implored him, "Hank, I love you! Do you love me? Take me somewhere and buy me a drink."

Delia Devlin sprang up, hauled off, and smacked Fifi on the side of the head. It was not merely a tap, and Fifi, off balance, nearly toppled. Heath came upright and was between them. Delia stood, glaring and panting. They held the tableau long enough for a take, then Fifi broke it up by addressing Delia past Heath's shoulder.

"That won't help any, Del. Can he help it when he's with 18

|if he wishes it was me? Can I help it? This only makes it e. If he'll buy a new suit and quit bailing out Commies 1 out of jail, I may make him happy." She touched i's cheek with her fingertips. "Say when, Hank." She ved around him to the desk and told Wolfe, "Look, you The a drink."

was there, retrieving the bowl. The water wouldn't hurt � rug. Taking her arm firmly, I escorted her across to the by the big globe, which Fritz and I had outfitted, and t her to name it. She said Scotch on the rocks, and I made ample. The others, invited, stated their preferences, and ol Berk came to help me. Rackell, who had been between and Fifi, decided to move and went to Carol's chair, so we had finished serving she took his.

IThroughout the interlude two had neither moved nor oken--Mrs. Rackell and Wolfe. Now Wolfe sent his eyes

i left to right and back again.

"I trust," he said sourly, "that Miss Goheen has completed impromptu performance. I was trying to make it clear at you five people are in a fix. I'm not going to pester you Sut your positions and movements at the restaurant that !'%vening, what you saw or didn't see; if there was anything in to point or eliminate the police would have already acted [�.on it and I'm too far behind. I might spend a few hours dig: ging at you, trying to find a reason why one or more of you | Wanted Arthur Rackell dead, but the police have had four K days on that too, and I doubt if I could catch up. Since you jjs, were good enough to come here at Mrs. Rackell's request, I suppose you would be willing to answer some questions, but there doesn't seem to be any worth asking. Have you people been together at any time since Saturday evening?"

Glances were exchanged. Leddegard inquired, "Do you mean all five of us?" "Yes."

"No, we haven't."

"Then I should think you would want to talk. Go ahead. I'll drink some beer and eavesdrop. Of course at least one of

you will be on guard, but the others can speak freely. You might say something useful."

Carol Berk, now nearer me, let out a little snort. Fritz had brought a tray, and Wolfe opened a bottle, poured, waited for the foam to reach the right level, and drank. Nobody said a word.

Leddegard spoke. "It doesn't seem to work. Did you expect it to?"

"We ought to make it work," Fifi declared. "I think he's damn considerate even if he is fat, and we should help." Her head turned. "Carol, let's talk."

"Glad to," Carol agreed. "You start. Shoot."

"Well, how's this? We all knew Arthur was practically a commissar, I always called him comrade, and we knew his aunt and uncle hated it, and he was afraid he might lose his job and have to go on relief but he was so damn brave and honest he couldn't keep his mouth shut. We all knew that?" Ur course.

"Did you know this too? He told me�a week ago today, I think it was. His aunt put it to him, reform or out on the street, and he told her he was secretly working for the FBI, spying on the Commies, but he wasn't. He thought the FBI was practically the Gestapo. I told him he shouldn't�"

"That's a lie!"

Mrs. Rackell didn't shout but she put lots of feeling in it. All eyes went to her. Her husband got up and put a hand on her shoulder. There were murmurs.

"That's an infamous lie," she said. "My nephew was a patriotic American. More than you are, all of you. All of you!" She left her chair. "I've had enough of this. I shouldn't have come. Come, Ben, we're going."

She marched out. Rackell muttered to Wolfe, "A shock for her�a real shock�I'll phone you�" and trotted after her. I went to the hall to let them out, but she had already opened the door and was on the stoop, and Rackell followed. I shut the door and went back to the office.

They were buzzing. Fifi had started them talking, all right. Wolfe was refilling his glass, watching the foam rise. I crossed 20

to Fifi and took her glass and went to the table to replenish it, thinking she had earned a little service. She was the center of the buzzing, supplying the details of her revelation. She was sure Arthur had not been stringing her; he had told her in strict confidence, at a place and time she declined to specify, that he had told his aunt a barefaced lie--that he was working for the FBI and it must not be known. No, she hadn't told the police. She didn't like the police, especially a Lieutenant Rowcliff, who had questioned her three times and was a lout.

I looked and listened and tried to decide if Fifi was putting on an act. She was hard to tag. Was one of the others covering, and if so which one? I reached no conclusion and had no hunch. They were all interested and inquisitive, even Delia Devlin, though she didn't address Fifi directly.

The only one who knew I was there was Carol Berk, who sent me a slanting glance and saw me catch it. I raised a brow at her. "What is it, a pitchout?"

"You name it." She smiled, the way she might smile at a panhandler, humane but superior. "Why, who's on base?"

I decided it right then, she was worth looking at, if for nothing else, to find out what she was keeping back. "They're loaded," I told her. "Five of you. It's against the rules. The umpire won't allow it. Mr. Wolfe is the umpire."

"He looks to me more like the backstop," she said indifferently.

I saw that it might be necessary, if events permitted, to find an opportunity to spend enough time with her to make it clear that I didn't like her.

All of a sudden Fifi Goheen let fly again. Returning from the bar with her second refill, she brought the bottle of Scotch along and poured a good three fingers in Wolfe's beer glass. She put the bottle on his desk, leaned over to stretch an arm and pat him on top of the head, straightened up, and grinned M him.

"Get high," she said urgently.

He glared at her.

"Do a flip," she commanded.

He glared.

"It's a damn shame," she declared. "The cops aren't speaking to you, and here you're buying the drinks and we're not even sociable. Why shouldn't we tell you what die cops have already found out? If they're any good they have. Take Miss Devlin here." She waved a hand. "Dozens of people will tell you that she would have got Hank Heath to make it legal long ago if Arthur hadn't told him something about her, God knows what. Any woman would kill a man for that. And--"

"Shut up, Fee!" Leddegard barked at her.

"Let her rave," Delia Devlin said, white-faced.

Fifi ignored them. "And Mr. Leddegard, who is a dear friend of mine, with him it's a question of his wife--don't be a fool, Leddy. Everybody knows it." Back to Wolfe. "She went to South America with Arthur a couple of years ago and caught a disease and died there. I have no idea why Mr. Leddegard waited so long to kill him."

She drained her glass and put it on the desk. "This Arthur Rackell," she said, "was quite a guy, of his kind. Carol Berk and I discovered only a month ago that he was driving double, by a little mischance I'd rather not describe. It was quite embarrassing. I don't know how she felt about it, you can ask her, but I know about me. All I needed was the poison, and all you need is to find out how I got it. I understand that potassium cyanide is used for a lot of things and is easy to get if you really want it. Then there's Hank Heath. He thought Arthur had me taped, which was true in a way, but would a man kill another man just to get a woman, even one as pure and beautiful as me? You can ask him. No, I'll ask him."

She wheeled. "Would you, Hank?" She wheeled again to Wolfe. "As you see, that was quite a dinner party Arthur got up, but he doesn't deserve all the credit. I dared him to. I wanted a good audience, one that would appreciate--hey, that hurts!"

Heath was beside her, gripping her arm. She jerked away and bumped into Delia Devlin, also out of her chair. Carol Berk said something, and so did Leddegard. Heath spoke to Wolfe. "This is a joke, and it's not funny."

Wolfe's brows went up. "It's not my joke, sir." "You asked us to come here." His voice was soft but very t, sour, and his glassy eyes looked about ready to pop out of his i' round pudgy face. "Miss Goheen has been making a fool of you, and there--"

"I have not!" Fifi was back, at his elbow. "I wouldn't dream of it," she told Wolfe. "You know, there's something about you, fat as you are." She reached to pick up the glass of beer and Scotch. "Open your mouth and I'll--hey! Where you going?"

She got no reply. Out of his chair and headed for the door, Wolfe kept on, turning left in the hall, toward the kitchen.

That ended the party. They made remarks, especially Leddegard and Heath, and I was sympathetic as I wrangled them into the hall and on to the front. I went out and stood on the |; stoop as they descended to the sidewalk and headed for Tenth Avenue, just to see, but by the time they had gone fifty paces no furtive figures had sneaked out of areaways along the line, so I thought what the hell and went back in. A glance in the office showed me it was empty, and I went on to the kitchen. Fritz was pouring something thick into a big stone jar. Wolfe stood watching him, a slice of sturgeon in one hand and a glass of beer in the other. His mouth was occupied.

I attacked head on. "I admit," I said, "that she was set to

I' toss it at you, but I was there to help wipe it off. What good

f; does it do to duck? There are at least eighty-six things you

I1, have to know before you can even start, and you had them

there and didn't even try. My vacation starts next Monday.

And what about your rule on not eating at bedtime?"

He swallowed. He drank beer, put the glass and the sturgeon on the table, reached to a shelf for a Bursatto melon, got I* a knife from the rack, cut the melon open, and began spooning the seeds onto a plate.

"The precise moment," he said. "Do you want some?" '� "Certainly not," I said coldly. The peach-colored meat was |[ so juicy there was a little pool in each half, and a breeze from I. the open window carried the smell to me. I reached for one

of the halves, got a spoon, scooped out a bite--and another . . .

Wolfe never talks business during meals, but this was not a meal. In the middle of his melon he remarked, "For us the past is impossible."

I darted my tongue to catch a drop of juice. "Oh. It is?"

"Yes. It would take an army. The police and the FBI have already had four days for it. The source of the poison. Mrs. Kremp. Mrs. Rackell's surmise of the motive. Mr. Heath is presumably a Communist, but what about the others? Anyone might be a Communist, just as anyone might have a hidden carcinoma."

He scooped a bite of melon and dealt with it. "What of the motives suggested by that fantastic female buffoon? Are any of them authentic, and if so which one or ones? That alone would need a regiment. As for the police and the FBI, we have nothing to bargain with. Are they all Communists? Were they all in on it? Must we expose not one murderer but five? All those questions and others would have to be answered. How long would it take?"

"A year ought to do it."

"I doubt it. The past is hopeless. There's too much of it."

I raised my shoulders and let them drop. "Okay, you don't have to rub it in. So we cross it off. Do I draw a check to Rack ell for his three grand tonight or wait till morning?"

"Have I asked you to draw a check?" No, sir.

He picked up the slice of sturgeon and took a bite. He never skimped on his chewing, and it took him a good four minutes to finish. Meanwhile I disposed of my melon.

"Archie," he said.

"Yes, sir."

"How does Mr. Heath feel about Miss Goheen?"

"Well." I considered. "There are different ways of putting it. I would say something like you would feel about a dish of stewed terrapin with sherry--within your sight and smell-- if you thought you knew how it would taste but had never had any."

He grunted. "Don't be fanciful. It's a serious question in a field where you are qualified as an expert and I'm not. Is his appetite deeply aroused? Would he take a risk for her?" i "I don't know how he is on risks, but I saw how he looked i at her and how he reacted when she touched him. Also I saw Delia Devlin, and so did you. I would say he would try crossing a high shaky bridge with a wind blowing, but not unless it had rails."

"That was the impression I got. We'll have to try it."

'Try what?"

"A shove. A dig in their ribs. If their past is too much for

us, their future isn't, or shouldn't be. We'll have to try it. If li it doesn't work we'll try again." He was scowling. "The best

I* I can give it is one chance in twenty. Confound it, it requires

the cooperation of Mrs. Rackell, so I'll have to see her again;

[that can't be helped."

He scooped a bite of melon. "You'll need some instructions. Hi finish this, and we'll go to the office."

He put the bite where it belonged and concentrated on his taste buds.

fcT didn't work out as scheduled. The program called for i getting Mrs. Rackell to the office at eleven o'clock the next morning, Thursday, but when I phoned a little before nine ' the maid said it was too early to disturb her. At ten she hadn't called back, and I tried again and got her. I explained that ; Wolfe had an important confidential question to put to her, '�� and she said she would be at the office not later than elevenj thirty. Shortly before eleven she phoned again to say that |ijshe had called her husband at his office, and it had been del-tided if the question was important and confidential they jfshould both be present to consider it. Her husband would free for an hour or so after lunch but had a four-o'clock ointment he would have to keep. We finally settled for : o'clock, and I called Rackell at his office and confirmed it.

Henry Jameson Heath was on the front page of the Gazette again that morning, not in connection with homicide. Once more he had refused to disclose the names of contributors to the fund for bail for the indicted Communists and apparently he was going to stick to it no matter how much contempt he rolled up. The day's installment on die Rackell murder was on page seven, and there wasn't enough meat in it to feed a cricket. As for me, after an hour at the phone, locating Saul Panzer and Fred Durkin and Orrie Cather and passing them the word, I might as well have gone to the ball game. Wolfe had given me plenty of instructions, but I couldn't act on them until and unless the clients agreed to string along.

Mrs. Rackell arrived first, at six on the dot. A minute later Wolfe came down from the plant rooms, and she started in on him. She had the idea that he was responsible for Fifi Goheen's slanderous lie about her dead nephew, since it had been uttered in his office, and what did he propose to do about it? Why didn't he have her arrested? Wolfe controlled himself fairly well, but his tone was beginning to get sharp when the doorbell rang and I beat it to the front to let Rackell in. He jogged past me to the office on his short legs, nodded at Wolfe, kissed his wife on the cheek, dropped onto a chair, wiped his long narrow face with a handkerchief, and asked wearily, "What is it? Did you get anywhere with them?"

"No." Wolfe was short. "Not to any conclusion."

"What's this important question?"

"It's blunt and simple. I need to know whether you want the truth enough to pay for it, and if so how much."

Rackell looked at his wife. "What's he talking about?"

"We haven't discussed it," Wolfe told him. "We've been considering a point your wife raised, which I regard as frivolous. This question of mine--perhaps I should call it a suggestion. I have one to offer."

"What?"

"First I'll give you the basis for it." Wolfe leaned back and half closed his eyes. "You heard me tell those five people yesterday why it is assumed that one of them substituted the 26

On that assumption, after further talk with them, another: that it is highly improbable that the substicould have been made, under the circumstances as lied, entirely unobserved. It would have required a ace of remarkable dexterity and uncommon luck, and not accept such a coincidence except on weighty eviC So, assuming that the substitution was made in the it, I also assume, for a test at least, that one of the i saw it and knows who did it. In short, that there was Seyewitness to the murder."

kell's mournful face did not light up with interest. His were puckered, making the droop at the corners more iced. "That may be," he conceded, "but what good I it do if he won't talk?" |fl propose to make him talk. Or her." "How?"

I Wolfe rubbed his chin with a thumb and forefinger. His moved to Mrs. Rackell and back to the husband. "This of thing," he said, "requires delicacy, discretion, and ice. I'll put it this way. I will not conspire to get a man iished for a crime he did not commit. It is true that all five those people may be Communists and therefore enemies this country, but that does not justify framing one of |em for murder. My purpose is clear and innocent--to ex the real murderer and bring him to account; and I suga devious method only because no other seems likely to i. Evidently the police, after five days on it, are up a B, and so is the FBI--if it is engaged, and you think it is. J?ivant to earn my fee, and I wouldn't mind the kudos." Packell was frowning. "I still don't know exactly what 1're suggesting."

"I know it; I've been long-winded. I didn't want you to isunderstand." Wolfe came forward in his chair and put his on the desk. "The eyewitness is obviously reluctant, suggest that you consent to provide twenty thousand dolEjpcs, to be paid only if my method succeeds. That will cover i|tty fee for the unusual service I will render and also any aordinary expense I may incur. Two things must be un

derstood: you approve the expenditure in your interest, and the express purpose is to catch the guilty person." He upturned his palms. "There it is."

"My God. Twenty thousand." Rackell shook his head. "That's a lot of money. You mean you want a check for that amount now?"

"No. To be paid if and when earned. An oral commitment will do. Mr. Goodwin hears us and has a good memory."

Rackell opened his mouth and closed it again. He looked at his wife. He looked back at Wolfe. "Look here," he said earnestly, "maybe I'm thickheaded. It sounds to me as if what this amounts to is bribing a witness. With my money."

"Don't be a fool, Ben," his wife said sharply.

"I think you misunderstand," Wolfe told him. "To bribe is to influence corruptly by some consideration. Anyone who receives any of your money through me will get it only as an inducement to tell the truth. Influence, yes. Corrupt, surely not. As for the amount, I don't wonder that you hesitate. It's quite a sum, but I wouldn't undertake it for less."

Rackell looked at his wife again. "What did you mean, Pauline, don't be a fool?"

"I meant you'd be a fool not to do it, of course." She felt so strongly about it that her lips moved. "It was you who wanted to come to Mr. Wolfe in the first place, and now when he really wants to do something you talk about bribing. If it's the money, I have plenty of my own and I'll pay--" She stopped abruptly, tightening her lips. "I'll pay half," she said. "That's fair enough; we'll each pay half." She went to Wolfe. "Who is it, that Goheen woman?"

Wolfe ignored her. He asked Rackell, "Well, sir? How about it?"

Rackell didn't like it. He avoided his wife's gaze, but he knew it was on him, and it was pressing. He even looked at me, as if my eye might somehow help, but I was deadpan. Then he returned to Wolfe.

"All right," he said.

"You accept the proposal as I made it?"

"Yes. Only I'll pay it. I'd rather not--I'd rather pay it my28 Self. You said to be paid if and when earned. Who decides 7 whether you've earned it or not?" ; "You do. I doubt if that will be a bone to pick."

"A question my wife asked--do you know who the eyewit� �ess is?"

"Your wife was witless to ask it. If I knew would I tell you? ?Or would you want me to? Now?"

Rackell shook his head. "No, I guess not. No, I can see that it's better just to let you--" He left it hanging. "Is there ; anything else you want to say about it?"

Wolfe said there wasn't. Rackell got up and stood there as 'if he would like to say something but didn't know what. I ' arose and moved toward the door. I didn't want to be rude to I\t client who had just bought a suggestion that would cost I him twenty grand, but now that he had okayed it I had a job M0 do and I wanted to get going. I still didn't know where | Wolfe thought he was headed for, but the sooner I got started if tin my instructions the sooner I would know. They finally j/

"Well?" I demanded. "Do I proceed?" "Yes."

"It's nearly half-past six. If I offer to buy her a meal--I lht if that's the right approach." � "You know the approaches to women, I don't." "Yeah." I sat at my desk and pulled the phone to me. "If ask me this stunt you've hatched is a swell approach to a 1 to the hoosegow. For both of us." : He grunted. I started dialing a number.

tew York can have pleasant summer evenings when it wants to, and that was one of them--warm but not hot not muggy. I paid the taxi driver when he rolled to the jfb at the address on Fifty-first Street east of Lexington, got

out, and took a look. In bright sunshine the old gray brick building would probably show signs of wear and tear, but now in twilight it wasn't too bad. Entering the vestibule, I scanned the tier of names on the wall panel. The one next to the top said devlin-berk. I pushed the button, shoved the door open when the click came, went in, glanced around for an elevator and saw none, and started to climb stairs. Three flights up a door stood open, and there waiting was Delia Devlin.

I told her hello, friendly but not profuse. She nodded, not so friendly, hugged the wall to let me pass, shut the door, and went by me to lead the way through an arch into a living room. I sent my eyes around with an expression of comradely interest. The chairs and couch were attractive and cool in summer slips. There were shelves of books. The windows were on the street, and there were three doors besides the arch, two of them standing open and one not quite closed.

She sat and invited me to. "I can't imagine," she said in a louder voice than seemed necessary, in spite of the street noises from the open windows, "what you want to ask me that's so mysterious."

Sitting, I regarded her. Only one corner lamp was on, and in the dim light she wasn't at all bad looking. With smaller ears she would have been a worthy specimen, with no glare on her.

"It's not mysterious," I protested. "As I said on the phone, it's private and confidential, that's all. Mr. Wolfe felt it would be an imposition to ask you to come to his office again, so he sent me. Miss Berk is out, is she?"

"Yes, she went to a show with a friend. Guys and Dolls."

"Fine. It's a good show. This really is confidential, Miss Devlin. So we're alone?"

"Certainly we are. What is it, anyhow?"

There were three things wrong. First, I had a hunch, and my batting average on hunches is high. Second, she was talking too loud. Third, her telling me where Carol Berk was, even naming the show, was off key.

"The reason it's so confidential," I said, "is simply that you

3�

ought to decide for yourself what you want to do. I doubt if I you realize what lengths other people may go to to help you decide. You say we're alone, but it wouldn't surprise me a j bit--"

I sprang up, marched across to the door that wasn't quite

(closed, thinking it the most likely, and jerked it open. Behind

me a little smothered shriek came from Delia Devlin. In front

of me, backed up against closet shelves piled with cartons and

I miscellany, was Carol Berk. One look at her satisfied me on

one point--what her eyes were like when something hap i pened that really aroused her.

I stepped back. Delia Devlin was at my elbow, jabbering. I gripped her arm hard enough to hurt a little and addressed Carol Berk as she emerged from the closet. "My God, do I look like that big a sap? Maybe your sidewise glance isn't as keen as you think--"

Delia was yapping at me. "You get out! Get out!" Carol stopped her. "Let him stay, Delia." She was calm and contemptuous. "He's only a crummy little stooge, trying to slip one over for his boss. I'll be back in an hour or so."

She moved. Delia, protesting, caught her arm, but she pulled loose and left through one of the open doors. There were sounds from the adjoining room, then she appeared again, with a thing on her head and a jacket and handbag, and passed through to the foyer. The outer door opened and then closed. I crossed to a window and stuck my head out and in a minute saw her emerge to the sidewalk and turn west. I went back to my chair and sat. The open closet door was unsightly, and I got up and closed it and then sat again. "Just forget it," I said cheerfully. "The closet was a bum idea anyhow; she would have stifled in there. Sit down and relax while I try to slip one over for my boss."

She stood. "I'm not interested in anything you have to say."

"Then you shouldn't have let me in. Certainly you : shouldn't have stuck Miss Berk in that closet. Let's get it ,-Over with. I merely want to find out whether you have any �Use for ten thousand dollars."

She gawked. "Whether I what?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you."

She went to a chair and sat, and I shifted position to be more comfortable facing her. "First I want to tell you a couple of things about murder investigations. In--"

"I've heard all I want to about murder."

"I know you have, but that's one of the things. When you get involved in one it's not a question of what or how much you want to hear. That's the one question nobody asks you. Until and unless the Rackell case is solved, with the answers all in, you'll be hearing about it the rest of your life. Face it, Miss Devlin."

She didn't say anything. She clasped her hands.

"The other thing about murder investigations. Someone gets murdered, and the cops go to work on it. Everybody that might possibly have a piece of useful information gets questioned. Say they question fifty different people. How many of the fifty answer every question truthfully? Maybe ten, maybe only four or five. Ask any experienced homicide man. They know it and they expect it, and that's why, when they think it's worth it, they go over the same questions with the same person again and again, after the truth. They often get it that way and they nearly always do with people who have cooked up a story, something they did or saw, with details. Of course you're not one of those. You haven't cooked up a detailed story. You have only answered a simple question 'No' instead of 'Yes.' They can't catch you--"

"What question? What do you mean?"

"I'm coming to it. I want--"

"Do you mean I lied? About what?"

I shook my head, not to call her a liar. "Wait till I get to it. You would of course show shocked surprise if I made the flat statement that Fifi Goheen murdered Arthur Rackell by changing his capsules at the restaurant that evening and that you saw her do it. Naturally you would, since the police have asked you if you saw anyone perform that action or any part of it, and you have answered no. Wouldn't you?"

She was frowning, concentrated. Her hands were still

clasped. "But you--you haven't made any such statement." "Right. I'd rather put it another way. Nero Wolfe has his own way of investigating and his own way of reaching conclusions. He has concluded that if he sends me to see you, to ask you to tell the police that you saw Fifi Goheen substituting the capsules, it will serve the interest of truth and justice. So he sent me, and I'm asking you. It will be embarrassing for you, but not so bad. As I explained, it won't be the first time they've had somebody suddenly remembering something. You can say you and Miss Goheen have been friends and you hated to come out with it, but now you see you have to. You can even say I came here and persuaded you to speak, if you want to, but you certainly shouldn't mention the ten thousand dollars. That--" "What ten thousand dollars?"

"I'm telling you. Mr. Wolfe has also concluded that it 'would not be reasonable to expect you to undergo such embarrassment without some consideration. He has made a suggestion to Mr. and Mrs. Rackell, and they have agreed to provide a certain sum of money. Ten thousand of it will , come to you, in appreciation of your cooperation in the cause �df justice. It will be given you in cash, in currency, within .'forty-eight hours after you have done your part--and we'll ave to discuss that, exactly what you'll tell the police. Speak for Nero Wolfe, I guarantee the payment within fortyIN^ght hours, or, if you want to, come down to his office fWith me now and he'll guarantee it himself. Don't ask me tfihat it was that made him conclude that Fifi Goheen did and that you saw her, because I don't know. Anyhow, if s's right, and he usually is, she'll only be getting what she

ves. You know that's true." f'I stopped. She sat motionless, staring at me. There wasn't light, and I couldn't tell anything from her eyes, but looked absolutely blank. As the seconds grew to a minute on I began to think I had literally stupefied her, and I '� her a nudge. PHave I made it plain?" fpYes," she mumbled, "you've made it plain."

Suddenly a shudder ran over her whole body, her head dropped forward, and her hands lifted to cover her face, her elbows on her knees. The shudder quit, and she froze like that. She held it so long that I decided another nudge was required, but before I got it out she straightened up and demanded, "What made you think I would do such a thing?"

"I don't think. Mr. Wolfe does the thinking. I'm just a crummy little stooge."

"You'd better go. Please go!"

I stood up and I hesitated. My feeling was that I had run through it smooth as silk, as instructed, but at that point I wasn't sure. Should I make a play of trying to crowd her into a yes or no, or leave it hanging? I couldn't stand there forever, debating it with her staring at me, so I told her, "I do think it's a good offer. The number's in the phone book."

She had nothing to tell my back as I walked to the foyer. I let myself out, descended the three flights, walked to Lexington, found a phone booth in a drugstore, and dialed the number I knew best. In a moment Wolfe's voice was in my ear.

"Okay," I said. "I'm in a booth. I just left her."

"In what mind?"

"I'm not sure. She had Carol Berk hid in a closet. After that had been attended to and we were alone I followed the script, and she was impressed. I'm so good at explaining things that she didn't have to ask questions. The light wasn't very good, but as far as I could tell the prospect of collecting ten grand wasn't absolutely repulsive to her, and neither was the idea of flipping Miss Goheen into the soup. She was torn. She told me to go, and I thought it wise to oblige. When I left she was in a clinch with herself."

"What is she going to do?"

"Don't quote me. But I told her we'd have to discuss exactly what she would tell the cops, so we'll hear from her if she decides to play. Do you want my guesses?"

"Yes."

"Well. On her spilling it to the cops, the one thing that would spoil it, forty to one against. That isn't how her mind will work. On her deciding to play ball with us, twenty to one

against. She's not tough enough. On her just keeping it to herself, fifteen to one against. On general principles. On her felling Miss Goheen, ten to one against. She hates her too much. On her telling Carol Berk, two to one against, but I wouldn't dig deep on that one either way. On her telling Mr. H, even money, no matter who is a Commie and who isn't. It would show him,how fine and big-hearted and noble she is. She could be, at that. It has been done. Is Saul there?"

"Yes. I never spent anybody's money, not even my own, on a slimmer chance."

"Especially your own. And incidentally sticking my neck out. You don't know the meaning of fear when it comes to sticking my neck out. Do we proceed?"

"What alternative is there?"

"None. Has Saul got his men there?"

"Yes."

"Tell him to step on it and meet me at the northeast corner of Sixty-ninth and Fifth Avenue. She could be phoning Heath right now."

"Very well. Then you'll come home?"

I said I would, hung up, and got out of the oven. Nothing would have been more appreciated right then than a large coke-and-lime with the ice brushing my lips, but it was possible that Delia was already phoning him and he was at home to get the call, so I marched on by the fountain and out. A taxi got me to the corner of Sixty-ninth and Fifth in six minutes. My watch said 9:42.

I strolled east on Sixty-ninth and stopped across the street from the canopied entrance of the towering tenement of which Henry Jameson Heath was a tenant. It was no casing problem for me, since Saul Panzer had been there in the afternoon to make a survey and spot foxholes. That was elaborate but desirable, because it was to be a very fancy tail, using three shifts of three men each, with Saul in charge of one, Fred Durkin of the second, and Orrie Cather of the third. Fifteen skins an hour that setup would cost, which was quite a disbursement on what Wolfe had admitted was a oneintwenty chance. Seeing no one but a uniformed doorman

in evidence around the canopy, I moseyed back to the corner.

A taxi pulled up, and three men got out. Two of them were just men whose names I knew and with whose records I was fairly familiar, but the third was Saul Panzer, the one guy I want within hearing the day I get hung on the face of a cliff with jet eagles zooming at me. With his saggy shoulders and his face all nose, he looks one-fifth as strong and hardy, and one-tenth as smart, as he really is. I shook hands with him, not having seen him for a week or so, and nodded to the other two.

"Is there anything to say?" I asked him.

"I don't think so. Mr. Wolfe filled me in."

"Okay, take it. You know the Homicide boys may be on him too?"

"Sure. We'll try not to trip on 'em."

"You know it's a long shot and the only bet we've got? So lose him quick, what do we care."

"We'll lose him or die."

"That's the spirit. That's what puts statues of private detectives in the park. See you on the witness stand."

I left them. My immediate and urgent objective was Madison Avenue for a coke-and-lime, but I went a block north to Seventieth Street. Sixty-ninth Street now belonged to Saul and his squad.

ittVr eleven o'clock the next morning, Friday, I sat in the uu office listening to the clank of Wolfe's elevator as it brought him down from the plant rooms.

There had been no cheep from Delia Devlin, but we hadn't wanted one anyway. What we wanted we had got, at least the first installment. At 12:42 Thursday night Saul had phoned that Heath had checked in at Sixty-ninth Street, arriving in a taxi, alone. That was all for the night. At 6:20 in the morning he had phoned that Fred Durkin and his two men had taken over and had been briefed on the terrain. And

at 10:23 Fred had phoned that Heath had left his tenement and taken a taxi to 719 East Fifty-first Street and entered the building. That was the gray brick house I had visited the day before. Fred said they had seen no sign of an official tail. They were deployed. I told him he was my favorite mick and still would be if he hung on, and buzzed Wolfe in the plant rooms to inform him.

Wolfe entered, got at his desk, looked over the morning mail, signed a couple of checks, dictated a letter of inquiry about sausage to a man in Wisconsin, and settled down with the crossword puzzle in the London Times. I carried on my routine neatly and normally, making it perfectly plain that I could be just as placid as him, no matter how tense and ticklish it got. I had just finished typing the envelope for the letter and was twirling it out of the machine when the doorbell rang. I went to the hall to answer it, took one look through the one-way glass panel, wheeled and returned to the office, and spoke.

. "I guess I'm through as a bookie. I said forty to one she wouldn't spill it. Wengert and Cramer want in. We can sneak out the back way and head for Mexico."

He finished putting in a letter, with precision, before he looked up. "Is this flummery?"

"No, sir. It's them."

"Indeed." His brows went up a trifle. "Bring them in."

I went out and to the door, turned the knob, and pulled it open. "Hello hello," I said brightly. "Mr. Wolfe was saying only a minute ago that he would like to see Mr. Cramer and Mr. Wengert, and here you are."

Bright as it was, it didn't go over so well because they stepped in with the first hello and were well along the hall by the time I finished. I shut the door and followed. Entering the office, it struck me as encouraging that Wengert and Wolfe were shaking hands, but then I remembered the District Attorney who always shook hands with the defendant before he opened up, to show there was no personal feeling. Cramer usually took the red leather chair at the end of

Wolfe's desk, but this time he let Wengert have it, and I moved up one of the yellow ones for him.

"I sent you my regards the other day by Goodwin," Wengert said. "I hope he remembered."

Wolfe inclined his head. "He did. Thank you."

"I didn't know then I'd be seeing you so soon."

"Nor did I."

"No, I suppose not." Wengert crossed his legs and leaned back. "Goodwin said you had taken on a job for Mr. and Mrs. Benjamin Rackell."

"That's right." Wolfe was casual. "To investigate the death of their nephew. They said he had been working for the FBI. It would have been impolitic to wander into your line of fire, so I sent Mr. Goodwin to see you."

"Let's cut the blah. You sent him to get information you could use."

Wolfe shrugged. "Confronted with omniscience, I bow. My motives are often obscure to myself, but you know all about them. Your advantage. If that was his errand, he failed. You told him nothing."

"Right. Our files are for us, not for private operators. My coming here tells you that we've got a hand in this case, but that's not for publication. If you didn't want to get into our line of fire you certainly stumbled. But officially it's a Manhattan homicide, so I'm here to listen." He nodded at Cramer. "Go ahead, Inspector."

Cramer had been holding in with difficulty. Holding in is a chronic problem with him, and it shows in various ways, chiefly by his big red face getting redder, with the color spreading lower on his thick muscular neck. He blurted at Wolfe, "Honest to God, I'm surprised! Not at Goodwin so much, but you! Subornation of perjury. Attempting to bribe a witness to give false testimony. I've known you to take some fat risks, but holy saints, this ain't risking it, it's yelling for it!"

Wolfe was frowning. "Are you saying that Mr. Goodwin and I have suborned perjury?"

"You've tried to!"

"Good heavens, that's a serious charge. You must have warrants. Serve them, by all means."

"Just give it to him, Inspector," Wengert advised.

Cramer's head jerked to me. "Did you go last evening to the apartment of Delia Devlin on Fifty-first Street?"

"It's hotter than yesterday," I stated.

"I asked you a question!"

"This is infantile," Wolfe told him. "You must know the legal procedure with suspected felons. We do."

"Just give it to him," Wengert repeated.

Cramer was glaring at Wolfe. "What you know about legal procedures. Okay. Yesterday you sent Goodwin to see Delia Devlin. In your name he offered her ten thousand dollars to testify falsely that she saw Fifi Goheen take the pillbox from the table, remove a capsule and replace it with another, and put the box back on the table. He said the money would be supplied by Mr. and Mrs. Rackell and would be handed her in currency after she had so testified. I shouldn't have said subornation of perjury, I should have said attempt. Now do I ask Goodwin some questions?"

"I'd like to ask him one myself." Wolfe's eyes moved. "Archie. Is what Mr. Cramer just said true?" l\o, sir.

"Then don't answer questions. A policeman has no right to make an inaccurate statement to a citizen about his actions and then order him to answer questions about it." He went to Cramer. "We could drag this out interminably. Why not resolve it sensibly and conclusively?" He came to me. "Archie, get Miss Devlin on the phone and ask her to come down here at once."

I turned and started to dial.

"Cut it, Goodwin," Wengert snapped. I went on dialing. Cramer, who can move when he wants to, left his chair and was by me, pushing down the button. I cocked my head to look up at him. He scowled down at me. I put it back in the cradle. He returned to his chair.

"Then we'll have to change the subject," Wolfe said dryly. "Surely your position is untenable. You want to bullyrag us

for what Mr. Goodwin, as my agent, said to Miss Devlin; the first thing to establish is what was actually said; and the only satisfactory way to establish it is to have them both here. Yet you not only didn't bring her with you, you are even determined that we shall not communicate with her. Obviously you don't want her to know what's going on. It's quite preposterous, but I draw no conclusion. It's hard to believe that the New York police and the FBI would conspire to bamboozle a citizen, even me."

Cramer was reddening up again.

Wengert cleared his throat. "Look, Wolfe," he said, not belligerently, "we're here to talk sense."

"Good. Why not start?"

"I am. The interest of the people and government of the United States is involved in this case. My job is to protect that interest. I know you and Goodwin can keep your mouths shut when you want to. I am now talking off the record. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"Goodwin?"

"Good here."

"See that you keep it good. Arthur Rackell told his aunt that he was working with the FBI. That was a lie. He was either a member of the Communist party or a fellow traveler, we're not sure which. We don't know who he told, besides his aunt, that he was with the FBI, but we're working on it and so are the police. He may have been killed by a Communist who heard it somehow and believed it. There were other motives, personal ones, but the Communist angle comes first until and unless it's ruled out. So you can see why we're in on it. The public interest is involved, not only of this city and state but the whole country. You see that?"

"I saw it," Wolfe muttered, "when I sent Mr. Goodwin to see you day before yesterday."

"We'll skip that." Wengert didn't want to offend. "The point is, what about you? I concede that all you're after is to catch the murderer and collect a fee. But we know you sent Goodwin to Miss Devlin yesterday to offer to pay her to say

4�

|she saw Miss Goheen in the act. We also know that you likely to pull such a stunt just for the hell of it. You i exactly what you were doing and why you were doing say you have regard for the public interest. All right, |inspector here represents it, and so do I, and we want you up for us. We confidently expect you to. What and : are you after, and where does that stunt get you?" A)lfe was regarding him sympathetically through half eyes. "You're not a nincompoop, Mr. Wengert." The ; moved. "Nor you, Mr. Cramer." il'TThat's something," Cramer growled. , "It is indeed, considering the average. But your coming to put this to me, either peremptorily or politely, was I considered. Shall I explain?" ; "If it's not too much bother."

"I'll be as brief as possible. Let us make a complex supposii--that I got Mr. and Mrs. Rackell's permission for an raordinary disbursement for a stated purpose; that I sent |r. Goodwin to see Miss Devlin; that he told her I had conluded that Miss Goheen had murdered Arthur Rackell and she had seen the act; that I suggested that she should inform i fine police of that fact; and that, as compensation for her I' -embarrassment and distress, I engaged to pay her a large sum of money which would be provided by Mr. and Mrs. Rackell." Wolfe upturned a palm. "Supposing I did that, it was not an attempt to suborn perjury, since it cannot be shown that I intended her to swear falsely, but certainly I was exposing myself to a claim for damages from Miss Goheen. That was a calculated risk I had to take, and whether the calculation was sound depended on the event. There was also a risk of being charged with obstruction of justice, and that too depended on the event. Should it prove to serve justice instead of obstructing it, and should Miss Goheen suffer no unmerited damage, I would be fully justified. I hope to be. I expect to be."

"Then you can--"

"If you please. But suppose, having done all that, I now admit it to you and tell you my calculations and intentions.

Then you'll either have to try to head me off or be in it with me. It would be jackassery for you to head me off--take my word for it; it would be unthinkable. But it would also be unthinkable for you to be in it, either actively or passively. Whatever the outcome may be, you cannot afford to be associated with an offer to pay a large sum of money to a person involved in a murder case for disclosing a fact, even an authentic one. Your positions forbid it. I'm a private citizen and can stand it; you can't. What the devil did you come here for? If I'm headed for defeat, opprobrium, and punishment, then I am. Why dash up here only to get yourselves confronted with unthinkable alternatives?"

Wolfe fluttered a hand. "Luckily, this is just talk. I was merely discussing a complex supposition. To return to reality, I will be glad to give you gentlemen any information that you may properly require--and Mr. Goodwin too, of course. So?"

They looked at each other. Cramer let out a snort. Wengert pulled at his ear and gazed at me, and I returned the gaze, open-faced and perfectly innocent. He found that not helpful and transferred to Wolfe.

"You called the turn," he said, "when you told Goodwin to phone Miss Devlin. I should have foreseen that. That was dumb." i

The phone rang, and I swiveled and got it. "Nero Wolfe's office, Archie Goodwin speaking."

"This is Rattner."

"Oh, hello. Keep it down, my ears are sensitive."

"Durkin sent me to phone so he could stay on the subject. The subject came out of the house at seven nineteen East Fifty-first Street at eleven forty-one. He was alone. He walked to Lexington and around the corner to a drugstore and is in there now in a phone booth. I'm across the street in a restaurant. Any instructions?"

"Not a thing, thank you. Give my love to the family."

"Right."

It clicked off, and I hung up and swiveled back to rejoin the party, but apparently it was over. They were on their 42

feet, and Wengert was turning to go. Cramer was saying, ". . . but it's not all off the record. I just want that understood."

He turned and followed Wengert out. I saw no point in dashing past them out to the door, since two grown men should be up to turning a knob and pulling, but I stepped to the hall to observe. When they were outside and the door closed I went back in and remarked to Wolfe, "Very neat. But what if they had let me phone her?"

He made a face. "Pfui. If they had got it from her they wouldn't have called on me. They would have sent for you, possibly with a warrant. That was one of the contingencies."

"They might have let me phone her anyway."

"Unlikely, since that would have disclosed their knowledge --to her and therefore to anyone--and betrayed their informant. But if they had, while she was on her way I would have proceeded with them, and they would have left before she arrived."

I put the yellow chair back in place. "All the same I'm glad they didn't and so are you. That was Rattner on the phone, reporting for Fred. Heath was with Miss Devlin an hour and four minutes. He left at eleven forty-one and was in a phone booth in a drugstore when Rattner called."

"Satisfactory." He picked up his pencil and bent over the crossword puzzle with a little sigh.

S"j*UNE twenty-first is supposed to be the longest day, but this QiJ year it was August third. It went on for weeks after Cramer and Wengert left. I spent it all in the office, and it was no fun. There was only one thing that could keep us floating, but there were a dozen that could sink us. They might lose him. Or he might handle it by phone--most unlikely, but not impossible. Or Wolfe might have it figured entirely wrong; he himself gave it one in twenty. Or Heath might meet him or her some place where they couldn't be nailed. Or a city or

federal employee might horn in and ruin it. Or and or and

or.

Five bucks an hour had been added to the outgo. If and when the call came that would start me moving, I didn't want to waste any precious minutes or even seconds finding transportation, so Herb Aronson had his taxi parked at the filling station at the corner of Eleventh Avenue, on us. Also he came to us for lunch and again, at seven in the even'ing, for dinner.

Every time the phone rang and I grabbed it, I wanted it and I didn't. It might be the starting gun, but on the other hand it might be the awful news that they had lost him. Keeping a tail on a guy in New York, especially if he has an important reason for wanting privacy, needs not only great skill but also plenty of luck. We were buying the skill, in Saul and Fred and Orrie, but you can't buy luck.

The luck held, and so did they. There were two more calls from Fred, via Rattner, before two o'clock, when he was relieved by Orrie Cather. One was to report that Heath, after calls at an optician's and a bookstore, had entered a restaurant on Forty-fifth Street and was lunching with two men, not known to me as described, and the other was to tell where Orrie could find him. There was still no sign of an official tail. During the afternoon and early evening there was a series of reports from Orrie. Heath and his companions left the restaurant at 2:52, taxied to the apartment house on Sixty-ninth Street where Heath lived, and entered. At 5:35 the two men emerged and walked off. At 7:03 Heath came out and took a taxi to Chezar's restaurant, where he met Delia Devlin and they dined. At 9:14 they left and taxied to the gray brick house on Fifty-first Street and went in. Heath was still in there at ten o'clock, the hour for Orrie to be relieved by Saul Panzer, and it was at the corner of Fifty-first and Lexington that Orrie and Saul connected.

By that time I would have been chewing on a railroad spike if I had had one, and Wolfe was working hard trying to be serene. Between nine-thirty and ten-thirty he made four trips to the bookshelves, trying different ones, setting a record.

I snarled at him, "What's the matter, restless?"

"Yes," he said placidly. "Are you?"

"Yes."

It came a little before eleven. The phone rang, and I got it. It was Bill Doyle.

He seemed to be panting. "I'm out of breath," he said, wasting some of it. "When he left there he got smart and started tricks. We let him spot Al and ditch him, you know how Saul works it, but even then we damn near lost him. He came to Eighty-sixth and Fifth and went in the park on foot. A woman was sitting on a bench with a collie on a leash, and he stopped and started talking to her. Saul thinks you'd better come."

"So do I. Describe the woman."

"I can't. I was keeping back and didn't get close enough."

"Where is Saul?"

"On the ground under a bush."

"Where are you?"

"Drugstore. Eighty-sixth and Madison."

"Be at the Eighty-sixth-Street park entrance. I'm coming."

I whirled and told Wolfe, "In Central Park. He met a woman with a dog. So long."

"Are you armed?"

"Certainly." I was at the door.

"They will be desperate."

"I already am."

I let myself out, ran down the stoop and to the corner. Herb was in his hack, listening to the radio. At sight of me on the lope he switched it off, and by the time I was in he had the engine started. I told him, "Eighty-sixth and Fifth," and we rolled.

We went up Eleventh Avenue instead of Tenth because with the staggered lights on Tenth you can't average better than twenty-five. On Eleventh you can make twelve or more blocks on a light if you sprint, and we sprinted. At Fifty-sixth we turned east, had fair luck crosstown, and turned left on Fifth Avenue. I told Herb to quit crawling, and he told me to get out and walk. When we reached Eighty-sixth Street I had

the door open before the wheels stopped, hopped out, and crossed the avenue to the park side.

Bill Doyle was there. He was the pale gaunt type, from reading too much about horses and believing it. I asked him, "Anything new?"

"No. I been here waiting."

"Can you show me Saul's bush without rousing the dog?"

"I can if he's still there. It's quite a ways."

"Within a hundred yards of them take to the grass. They mustn't hear our footsteps stopping. Let's go."

He entered the park by the paved path, and I trailed. The first thirty paces it was upgrade, curving right. Under a park light two young couples had stopped to have an argument, and we detoured around them. The path leveled and straightened under overhanging branches of trees. We passed another light. A man swinging a cane came striding from the opposite direction and on by. The path turned left, crossed an open space, and entered shrubbery. A little further on there was a fork, and Doyle stopped.

"They're down there a couple of hundred feet," he whispered, pointing to the left branch of the fork. "Or they were. Saul's over that way."

"Okay, I'll lead. Steer me by touch."

I stepped onto the grass and started alongside the right branch of the fork. It was uphill a little, and I had to duck under branches. I hadn't gone far when Doyle tugged at my sleeve, and when I turned he pointed to the left. "That bunch of bushes there," he whispered. "The big one in the middle. That's where he went, but I can't see him."

My sight is twenty-twenty, and my eyes had got adjusted to the night, but for a minute I couldn't pick him up. When I did the huddled hump under the bush was perfectly plain. A ripple ran up my spine. Since Saul was still there, Heath was still there too, under his eye, and almost certainly the woman with the dog was there also. Of course I couldn't see them, on account of the bushes. I considered what to do. I wanted to confront them together, before they separated, but if Saul was close enough to hear their words I didn't want to bust it 46

up. The most attractive idea was to sneak across to Saul's bush and join him, but I might be heard, if not by them by the dog. Standing there, peering toward Saul's bush, concentrated, with Doyle beside me, I became aware of footsteps behind me, approaching along the path, but supposed it was just a late park stroller and didn't turn--until the footsteps stopped and a voice came.

"Looking for tigers?"

I wheeled. It was a flatfoot on park patrol. "Good evening, officer," I said respectfully. "Nope, just getting air."

"The air's the same if you stay on the path." He approached on the grass, looking not at us but past us, in the direction we had been gazing. Suddenly he grunted, quickened his step, and headed straight for Saul's bush. Apparently he had good eyes too. There was no time to consider. I muttered fast at Doyle's ear, "Grab his cap and run--jump, damn it!"

He did. I will always love him for it, especially for not hesitating a tenth of a second. Four leaps got him to the cop, a swoop of his hand got the cap, and away he scooted, swerving right to double back to the path. I stood in my tracks. The cop acted by reflex. Instead of ignoring the playful prank and proceeding to inspect the object under the bush, or making for me, he bounded after Doyle and his cap, calling a command to halt. Doyle, reaching the path and streaking along it, had a good lead, but the cop was no snail. They disappeared. All that commotion changed the situation entirely. I made it double quick to the left across the grass until I reached the other fork of the path, and kept going. Around a bend, there they were--Heath seated on a bench with a woman, a big collie lying at their feet. When I stopped in front of them the collie rose to its haunches and made a noise, asking a question. I had a hand in a coat pocket.

"Tell the dog it's okay," I suggested. "I hate to shoot a dog."

"Why should you--" Heath started, and stopped. He stood up.

"Yeah, it's me," I said. "Representing Nero Wolfe. It won't

help if you scream, there's two of us. Come on out, Saul. Watch the dog, it may not wait for orders."

There was a sound from the direction of the bushes, and in a moment Saul appeared, circling around to join me on the right. The dog made a noise that was more of a whine than a growl, but it didn't move. The woman put a hand on its head. I asked Saul, "Could you hear what they said?"

"Most of it. I heard enough."

"Was it interesting?"

"Yes."

"This is illegal," Heath stated. He was half choked with indignation or something. "This is an invasion�"

"Nuts. Save it; you may need it. I have a cab parked at the Eighty-sixth-Street entrance. Four of us with the dog will just fill it comfortably. Mr. Wolfe is expecting us. Let's go."

"You're armed," Heath said. "This is assault with a deadly weapon."

"I'm going home," the woman said, speaking for the first time. "I'll telephone Mr. Wolfe, or my husband will, and we'll see about this. I brought my dog to the park, and this gentleman and I happened to get into conversation. This is outrageous. You won't dare to harm my dog."

She got up, and the collie was instantly erect by her, against her knee.

"Well," I conceded, "I admit I hate to shoot a dog. I also admit that Mr. Wolfe likes himself so well that he'll steal the throne on the Day of Judgment if they don't watch him. So you go on home with Towser, and Saul and I will call on the police and the FBI, and I'll tell them what I saw, and Saul will tell them what he saw and heard. But don't make the mistake of thinking you can talk them out of believing us. We have our reputations just as you have yours."

They looked at each other. They looked at me and back at each other.

"We'll see Mr. Wolfe," the woman said.

Heath looked right and then left, as if hoping there might be someone else around to see, and then nodded at her.

"That's sensible," I told them. "You lead the way, Saul. lEighty-sixth-Street entrance."

^e left the collie in Herb's taxi, parked at the curb in front of Wolfe's place. There has never been a dog in I that house, and I saw no point in breaking the precedent for one who was on such strained terms with me. Herb, on advice, closed the glass panels.

I went ahead up the stoop to open the door and let them in, put them in the front room with Saul, and went through to 5 the office.

"Okay," I told Wolfe, "it's your turn. They're here." Behind his desk, he closed the book he had been reading | and put it down. He asked, "Mrs. Rackell?"

"Yes. They were there on a bench, with dog, and Saul was behind a bush and could hear, but I don't know what. I gave them their choice of the law or you, and they preferred 1 you. She probably thinks she can buy out. You want Saul I 6rst?"

"No. Bring them in." "But Saul can tell you--" "I don't need it. Or if I do-we'll see." "You want him in too?" "Yes."

I went and opened the connecting door and invited them, | and they entered. As Mrs. Rackell crossed to the red leather chair and sat her lips were so tight there were none. Heath's jf face had no expression at all, but it must be hard to display feeling with that kind of round pudgy frontispiece even if you try. Saul took a chair against the far wall, but Wolfe told him to move up, and he transferred to one at the end of my desk.

Mrs. Rackell grabbed the ball. She said it was absolutely * contemptible, spying on her and threatening her with the

police. It was infamous and treacherous. She wouldn't tolerate it.

Wolfe let her get it out and then said dryly, "You astonish me, madam." He shook his head. "You chatter about proprieties when you are under the menace of a mortal peril. Don't you realize what I've done? Don't you know where we stand?"

"You're chattering yourself," Heath said harshly. "We were brought here under a threat. By what right?"

"I'll tell you." Wolfe leaned back. "This is no pleasure for me, so I'll hurry it--my part of it. But you need to know exactly what the situation is, for you have a vital decision to make. First let me introduce Mr. Saul Panzer." His eyes moved. "Saul, you followed Mr. Heath to a clandestine meeting with Mrs. Rackell?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I'll risk an assumption. I assume that his purpose was to protest against her supplying funds to inculpate Miss Goheen, and to demand that the attempt be abandoned. You heard much of what they said?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did it impeach my assumption?"

"No, sir."

"Did it support it?"

"Yes, sir. Plenty."

Wolfe went to Heath. "Mr. Panzer's quality is known, though not to you until now. I think a jury will believe him, and I'm sure the police and the FBI will. My advice, sir, is to cut the loss."

"Loss?" Heath was trying to sneer but with that face he couldn't make it. "I haven't lost anything." "You're about to. You can't help it." Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. "Must I spell it out for you? Wednesday evening, day before yesterday, when you and six others were here, I was nonplused. I had my choice of giving up or of attempting simultaneously a dozen elaborate lines of inquiry, any one of which would have strained my resources. Neither was tolerable. Since I was helpless with what had already happened,

5I had to try to make something happen under my eye, and I ^devised a stratagem--a clumsy one, but the best I could do. (| made a proposal to Mr. and Mrs. Rackell. I phrased it with care, but in effect I asked for money to bribe a witness and �vsolve the case by chicanery."

Wolfe's eyes darted to Mrs. Rackell. "And you idiotically 'exposed yourself."

"I did?" She was contemptuous. "How?" "You grabbed at it. Your husband, in his innocence, was dubious, but not you. You thought that, having decided the job was beyond me, I was trying to earn a fee by knavery, and you eagerly acquiesced. Why? It was out of character and indeed preposterous. What you had said you wanted was the murderer of your nephew caught and punished, but apparently you were willing to spend a large sum of money, your own money, on a frame-up. Either that or you were excessively naive, and at least it justified speculation."

His gaze was straight at her, and she was meeting it. He went on, "So I speculated. What if you had yourself killed your nephew? As for getting the poison, that was as feasible for you as for the others. As for opportunity, you said you had not entered your nephew's room after Mrs. Kremp had been there and put the capsules in the pillbox, but could you prove it? There was nothing to my knowledge that excluded you. Your harassment of the FBI and the police could have been for assurance that you were safe. It was your husband who i insisted on coming to me, and naturally you would have wanted to be present. As for motive, that would have to be if explored, but for speculation there was material at hand, fur-, nished by you. You were positive, with no real evidence for it, I that your nephew had been killed by a Communist who had ^discovered that he was betraying the cause; you got that in , first thing when you called here Tuesday with your husband. �Might it not be true and you yourself the Communist?" "Rot!" She snorted.

Wolfe shook his head. "Not necessarily. I deplore the cur pent tendency to accuse people of pro-communism irresponilbly and unjustly, but anybody could be one secretly, no

matter what facade he presented. There was the question, if you were in fact a Communist or a sympathizer, why did you so badger your nephew that he had to pacify you by telling the lie that he was working for the FBI? Why didn't you confide in him your own devotion to the cause? Of course you didn't dare. There would have been the danger that he might recant; he might have become an ex-Communist and told all he knew, as so many have done the past year or two; and to preserve your facade for your husband and friends you had to keep after him. It must have been a severe shock when you learned, or thought you did, that he was an agent of communism's implacable enemy. It made him an imminent threat, there in your own household."

Wolfe came forward in his chair. "That was all speculation two days ago, but not now. Your meeting with Mr. Heath has made it a confident assumption. Why would you make a secret rendezvous with him? What could give him the right to demand that you withdraw the offer of money for Miss Devlin? Well. If you are secretly a Communist, almost certainly you have contributed substantial sums of money--to the party of course, but also to the bail fund; and Mr. Heath is the trustee of the bail fund and is inviting a term in jail rather than disclose the names of the contributors. So, madam, my stratagem worked--with, I confess, a full share of luck. Mr. Goodwin and I have been under some strain. Until a few minutes ago, when he entered and told me you two were here, I wouldn't have wagered a nickel on it. Now it's over, thank heaven. My assumptions are on rock. You're cooked."

"You're a conceited fool," Mrs. Rackell said flatly. For the first time I thought she was really impressive. He hadn't made a dent in her. She was still dead sure of herself. "With your crazy assumptions," she said. "I was resting on a park bench, and this Mr. Heath came along and spoke." She darted a contemptuous glance at Saul. "Whatever lies that man tells about what he heard."

Wolfe nodded. "That of course is your best position, and no doubt you're capable of defending it against all assault, so

I won't try butting it." He looked at Heath. "But yours is much weaker, and I don't see how you can hold it."

"I have withstood better men than you," Heath declared. "Men in positions of great power. Men who head the imperialist conspiracy to dominate the world."

"No doubt," Wolfe conceded. "But even if you appraise them correctly, which I question, right now you have to appraise me. I head no conspiracy to dominate anything, but I've got you in a hole you can't scramble out of. Must I spell it out for you? You're a trustee of that Communist bail fund, amounting to nearly a million dollars, and at great personal risk you are determined to keep the names of the contributors secret. Court orders haven't budged you. Obviously you prefer any alternative to disclosure of the names. But you're going to disclose one of them to me now: Mrs. Benjamin Rackell. And the amounts and dates of her contributions. Well?"

"No comment."

"Pfui. I say you can't hold it. Consider what's going to happen. I am convinced that Mrs. Rackell murdered her nephew because she thought he was spying on Communists for the FBI, and therefore, of course, her own secret was in danger. The FBI and the police will now share that conviction. Whether it takes a day or a year, do you think there's any chance we won't get her? Knowing she had the poison, do you think we won't discover where and how she got it?"

Wolfe shook his head. "No. You'll have to ditch her. She's too hot to hold. The police will put it to you--have you any knowledge or evidence that she has been in sympathy with the Communist cause? You say no or refuse to answer. Subsequently they get such evidence, with proof that you were aware of it; it is easily possible that, through some process which you cannot avert, they will get the whole list of contributors. And instead of a brief commitment for contempt , of court you'll get a considerable term for withholding vital � evidence in a murder case. Besides, what of the cause you're devoted to? You know the opinion of communism held by , most Americans, including me. To the odium already attached H"to it would you add the stigma of shielding a murderer?"

Wolfe raised his brows. "Really, Mr. Heath. There are plenty of precedents to guide you. This will be by no means the first time that an act of misguided zeal by a Communist has come home to roost. In the countries they rule the jails are full--let alone the graves--of former comrades who were indiscreet. In America, where you don't rule and I hope you never will, can you afford the luxury of shielding a murderer? No. She's too much for you. How much has she contributed and when?"

Heath's face was really something. If he hadn't inherited money he could have piled it up playing poker. From looking at him no one could have got the faintest notion how to bet.

He stood up. "I'll let you know tomorrow," he said.

Wolfe grunted. "Oh no. I want to phone the police to come for her. They'll want a statement from you. Archie?"

I got up and moved and was between the company and the door. Heath moved too. "I'm going," he said, and came. When I stood pat he swerved to circle around me. It would have been a pleasure to plug him, but I refrained and merely got his shoulder, whirled him, and propelled him a little. He stumbled but stayed upright.

"This is assault," he told Wolfe, not me. "And illegal restraint. You'll regret this."

"Bosh." Wolfe suddenly blew up. "Confound it, do you think I'm going to let you walk out to call a meeting of your Politburo? Do you think I don't know when I've got you hooked? You can't possibly hang onto her. Talk sense! Can you?"

"No," he said.

"Are you ready to disclose the facts?"

"Not to you. To the police, yes."

Mrs. Rackell snapped at him, "Have you gone mad, you fool?"

He stared at her. I've heard a lot of phony cracks in that office, of all kinds and shapes, but that one by Henry Jameson Heath took the cake. Staring at her, he said calmly, "I must do my duty as a citizen, Mrs. Rackell."

Wolfe spoke. "Archie, get Mr. Cramer." I stepped to my desk and dialed.

(� aturday noon, the next day, Wengert and Cramer stood C2) there in the office, at the end of Wolfe's desk. They were standing because, having been there nearly an hour and covered all the points, they were ready to leave. They had not admitted in so many words that Wolfe had done the American people, including them, a favor, but on the whole they had been sociable.

As they were turning to go I said, "Excuse me, one little thing."

They looked at me. I spoke to Wengert. "I thought Mr. Wolfe might mention it, but he didn't, and neither did you. I only bring it up to offer a constructive criticism. An FBI undercover girl, even one disguised as a Commie, shouldn't get in the habit of hurting people's feelings just for the hell of it. It didn't do a particle of good for Carol Berk to call me a crummy little stooge before a witness. Of course she was sore because I found her in the closet, but even so. I think you ought to speak to her about it."

Wengert was frowning at me. "Carol Berk? What kind of |. a gag is this?"

"Oh, come off it." I was disgusted. "How thick could I

i get? It was so obvious Mr. Wolfe didn't even bother to com

I ment on it. Who else could have told you about my talk with

, Delia Devlin? She trusted Miss Berk enough to let her hide

I in the closet, so of course she told her about it. Do you want

r to debate it with me on TV?''

"No. Nor with anybody else. You talk too damn much." "Only with the right people. Say please, and I'll promise .not to tell. I just wanted to make a helpful suggestion. I may ;,be crummy and I may be a stooge, but I'm not little."

Cramer snorted. "If you ask me there's too much of you.

About a hundred and eighty pounds too much. Come on, Wengert, I'm late."

They went. I supposed that was the last of that, but a couple of days later, Monday afternoon, while Wolfe was dictating a letter, the phone rang and a voice said it was Carol Berk. I said hello, showing no enthusiasm, and asked her, "How are your manners?"

"Rotten when required," she said cheerfully. "Privately like this, from a phone booth, I can be charming. I thought it was only fair for me to apologize for calling you little."

"Okay, go ahead."

"I thought you might prefer it face to face. I'm willing to take the trouble if you insist."

"Well, I'll tell you. I had an idea last week, Wednesday I think it was, that I ought to find time some day to tell you why I don't like you. We could meet and clean it up. I'll tell you why I don't like you, and you'll apologize. The Churchill bar at four-thirty? Can you be seen with me in public?"

"Certainly, I'm supposed to be seen in public."

"Fine. I'll have a hammer and sickle in my buttonhole."

As I hung up and swiveled I told Wolfe, "That was Carol Berk. I'm going to buy her a drink and possibly food. Since she was connected with the case we've just finished, of course I'll put it on the expense account."

"You will not," he asserted and resumed the dictation.

ere were several reasons why I had no complaints as I walked along West Thirty-fifth Street that morning, apling the stoop of Nero Wolfe's old brownstone house. I day was sunny and sparkling, my new shoes felt fine after two-mile walk, a complicated infringement case had been lished off for a big client, and I had just deposited a check in : figures to Wolfe's account in the bank. Five paces short of the stoop I became aware that two pie, a man and a woman, were standing on the sidewalk the street, staring either at the stoop or at me, or maybe That lifted me a notch higher, with the thought that lile two rubbernecks might not put us in a class with the lite House still it was nothing to sneeze at, until a second ice made me realize that I had seen them before. But here? Instead of turning up the steps I faced them, just as

' stepped off the curb and started to me. "Mr. Goodwin," the woman said in a sort of gasping whis: that barely reached me.

She was fair-skinned and blue-eyed, young enough, kind m� nice-looking and neat in a dark blue assembly-line coat. He as dark as she was fair, not much bigger than her, with mis nose slanting slightly to the left and a full wide mouth. |My delay in recognizing him was because I had never seen with a hat on before. He was the hatandcoatandtie

tim

istodian at the barber shop I went to. "Oh, it's you, Carl-" "Can we go in with you?" the woman asked in the same

About a hundred and eighty pounds too much. Come on, Wengert, I'm late."

"Rotten when required," she said cheerfully. "Privately like this, from a phone booth, I can be charming. I thought it was only fair for me to apologize for calling you little."

"Okay, go ahead."

"I thought you might prefer it face to face. I'm willing to take the trouble if you insist."

"Certainly, I'm supposed to be seen in public."

"Fine. I'll have a hammer and sickle in my buttonhole."

"You will not," he asserted and resumed the dictation.

graHERE were several reasons why I had no complaints as I u walked along West Thirty-fifth Street that morning, approaching the stoop of Nero Wolfe's old brownstone house. The day was sunny and sparkling, my new shoes felt fine after the two-mile walk, a complicated infringement case had been 'polished off for a big client, and I had just deposited a check in five figures to Wolfe's account in the bank.

Five paces short of the stoop I became aware that two people, a man and a woman, were standing on the sidewalk i across the street, staring either at the stoop or at me, or maybe both. That lifted me a notch higher, with the thought that while two rubbernecks might not put us in a class with the White House still it was nothing to sneeze at, until a second glance made me realize that I had seen them before. But where? Instead of turning up the steps I faced them, just as .they stepped off the curb and started to me.

"Mr. Goodwin," the woman said in a sort of gasping whisper that barely reached me.

She was fair-skinned and blue-eyed, young enough, kind of nice-looking and neat in a dark blue assembly-line coat. He was as dark as she was fair, not much bigger than her, with his nose slanting slightly to the left and a full wide mouth. My delay in recognizing him was because I had never seen ^him with a hat on before. He was the hatandcoatandtie ^custodian at the barber shop I went to.

"Oh, it's you, Carl-"

"Can we go in with you?" the woman asked in the same

gasping whisper, and then I knew her too. She was also from the barber shop, a manicure. I had never hired her, since I do my own nails, but had seen her around and had heard her called Tina.

I looked down at her smooth white little face with its pointed chin and didn't care for the expression on it. I glanced at Carl, and he looked even worse.

"What's the matter?" I guess I was gruff. "Trouble?"

"Please not out here," Tina pleaded. Her eyes darted left and right and back up at me. "We just got enough brave to go to the door when you came. We were thinking which door, the one down below or up the steps. Please let us in?"

It did not suit my plans. I had counted on getting a few little chores done before Wolfe came down from the plant rooms at eleven o'clock. There could be no profit in this.

"You told me once," Carl practically whined, "that people in danger only have to mention your name."

"Nuts. A pleasantry. I talk too much." But I was stuck. "Okay, come in and tell me about it."

I led the way up the steps and let us in with my key. Inside, the first door on the left of the long wide hall was to what we called the front room, not much used, and I opened it, thinking to get it over with in there, but Fritz was there, dusting, so I took them along to the next door and on into the office. After moving a couple of chairs so they would be facing me I sat at my desk and nodded at them impatiently. Tina had looked around swiftly before she sat.

"Such a nice safe room," she said, "for you and Mr. Wolfe, two such great men."

"He's the great one," I corrected her. "I just caddy. What's this about danger?"

"We love this country," Carl said emphatically. All of a sudden he started trembling, first his hands, then his arms and shoulders, then all over. Tina darted to him and grabbed his elbows and shook him, not gently, and said things to him in some language I wasn't up on. He mumbled back at her and then got more vocal, and after a little the trembling stopped, and she returned to her chair.

"We do love this country," she declared. I nodded. "Wait till you see Chillicothe, Ohio, where I was born. Then you will love it. How far west have you been, Tenth Avenue?"

"I don't think so." Tina was doubtful. "I think Eighth Avenue. But that's what we want to do, go west." She decided it would help to let me have a smile, but it didn't work too well. "We can't go east, can we, into the ocean?" She opened her blue leather handbag and, with no fingering or digging, took something from it. "But you see, we don't know � where to go. This Ohio, maybe? I have fifty dollars here." "That would get you there," I allowed. She shook her head. "Oh, no. The fifty dollars is for you. I You know our name, Vardas? You know we are married? So I there is no question of morals, we are very high in morals, LQnly all we want is to do our work and live in private, Carl |�nd me, and we think--"

Having heard the clatter of Wolfe's elevator descending 'from the plant rooms on the roof, I had known an interrup|tion was coming but had let her proceed. Now she stopped its Wolfe's steps sounded and he appeared at the door. Carl gJUid Tina both bounced to their feet. Two paces in, after a lauick glance at them, Wolfe stopped short and glowered at tie.

"I didn't tell you we had callers," I said cheerfully, "besuse I knew you would be down soon. You know Carl, at the rber shop? And Tina, you've seen her there too. It's all ght, they're married. They just dropped in to buy fifty ticks' worth of--"

Without a word or even a nod, Wolfe turned all of his yenth of a ton and beat it out and toward the door to the len at the rear. The Vardas family stared at the doorway t moment and then turned to me.

"Sit down," I invited them. "As you said, he's a great man. Je's sore because I didn't notify him we had company, and was expecting to sit there behind his desk"--I waved a id--"and ring for beer and enjoy himself. He wouldn't gle a finger for fifty dollars. Maybe I won't either, but

let's see." I looked at Tina, who was back on the edge of her chair. "You were saying . . ."

"We don't want Mr. Wolfe mad at us," she said in distress.

"Forget it. He's only mad at me, which is chronic. What do you want to go to Ohio for)"

"Maybe not Ohio." She tried to smile again. "It's what I said, we love this country and we want to go more into itfar in. We would like to be in the middle of it. We want you to tell us where to go, to help us�"

"No, no." I was brusque. "Start from here. Look at you, you're both scared stiff. What's the danger Carl mentioned?"

"I don't think," she protested, "it makes any difference�"

"That's no good," Carl said harshly. His hands started trembling again, but he gripped the sides of his chair seat, and they stopped. His dark: eyes fastened on me. "I met Tina," he said in a low level voice, trying to keep feeling out of it, "three years ago in a concentration camp in Russia. If you want me to I will tell you. why it was that they would never have let us get out of there alive, not in one hundred years, but I would rather not t^lk so much about it. It makes me start to tremble, and I am. trying to learn to act and talk of a manner so I can quit trembling."

I concurred. "Save it for some day after you stop trembling. But you did get out alive pounds "

"Plainly. We are here/' There was an edge of triumph to the level voice. "I will not tell you about that either. But they think we are dead. Of covarse Vardas was not our name then, neither of us. We took that name later, when we got married in Istanbul. Then we so managed�"

"You shouldn't tell an_y places," Tina scolded him. "No places at all and no people at all."

"You are most right," Cjarl admitted. He informed me, "It was not Istanbul."

I nodded. "Istanbul is out. You would have had to swim. You got married, that's th e point."

"Yes. Then, later, we r*early got caught again. We did get caught, but�"

"No!" Tina said positively. 60

"Very well, Tina. You are most right. We went many , other places, and at a certain time in a certain way we crossed the ocean. We had tried very hard to come to this country \ according to your rules, but it was in no way possible. When we did get into New York it was more by an accident--no, ; I did not say that. I will not say that much. Only I will say we i>oot into New York. For a while it was so difficult, but it has been nearly a year now, since we got the jobs at the barber that life has been so fine and sweet that we are almost lliealthy again. What we eat! We have even got some money ||aved! We have got--"

"Fifty dollars," Tina said hastily.

"Most right," Carl agreed. "Fifty American dollars. I can as a fact that we would be healthy and happy beyond our nost dreams three years ago, except for the danger. The ager is that we did not follow your rules. I will not deny jt they are good rules, but for us they were impossible. ; cannot expect ourselves to be happy when we don't know at minute someone may come and ask us how we got here. i�e minute that just went by, that was all right, no one i, but here is the next minute. Every day is full of those nutes, so many. We have found a way to learn what would and we know where we would be sent back to. We exactly what would happen to us. I would not be sur if you felt a deep contempt when you saw me tremag the way I do, but to understand a situation like this I we you have to be somewhat close to it. As I am. As is. I am not saying you would tremble like me--after rTina never does--but I think you might have your own

of showing that you were not really happy." irYeah, I might," I agreed. I glanced at Tina, but the exon on her face could have made me uncomfortable, so bked back at Carl. "But if I tried to figure a way out I doubt ||Would pick on spilling it to a guy named Archie Goodwin 'because he came to the barber shop where I worked. He tttvbe crazy about the rules you couldn't follow, and any there are just as many minutes in Ohio as there are in 'York."

"There is that fifty dollars." Carl extended his hands, not trembling, toward me.

Tina gestured impatiently. "That's nothing to you," she said, letting bitterness into it for the first time. "We know that, it's nothing. But the danger has come, and we had to have someone tell us where to go. This morning a man came to the barber shop and asked us questions. An official! A policeman!"

"Oh." I glanced from one to the other. "That's different. A policeman in uniform?"

"No, in regular clothes, but he showed us a card in a case, New York Police Department. His name was on it, Jacob Wallen."

"What time this morning?"

"A little after nine o'clock, soon after the shop was open. He talked first with Mr. Fickler, the owner, and Mr. Fickler brought him around behind the partition to my booth, where I do customers when they're through in the chair or when they only want a manicure, and I was there, getting things together, and he sat down and took out a notebook and asked me questions. Then he�"

"What kind of questions?"

"All about me. My name, where I live, where I came from, how long I've been working there, all that kind, and then about last night, where I was and what I was doing last night."

"Did he say why he was curious about last night?"

"No. He just asked questions."

"What part of last night did he ask about? All of it?"

"Yes, from the time the shop closes, half-past six, from then on."

"Where did you tell him you came from?"

"I said Carl and I are DPs from Italy. That's what we had decided to say. We have to say something when people are just curious."

"I suppose you do. Did he ask to see your papers?"

"No. That will come next." She set her jaw. "We can't go back there. We have to leave New York today�now."

"What else did he ask?" 62

t's all. It was mostly about last night." what? Did he question Carl too?" but not right after me. He sent me away, and Mr. sent Philip to him in the booth, and when Philip itout he sent Carl in, and when Carl came out he sent ie in. Jimmie was still in the booth with him when I : to Carl, up front by the rack, and we knew we had to IflUt. We waited until Mr. Fickler had gone to the back of shop for something, and then we just walked out. We it to our room down on the East Side and packed our stuff Started for Grand Central with it, and then we realized (didn't know anything about where to go and might make terrible mistake, so there in Grand Central we talked it p We decided that since the police were after us already Jdn't be any worse, but we weren't sure enough about roi the people we have met in New York, so the best thing be to come to you and pay you to help us. You're a sional detective, and anyway Carl likes you about the i of all the customers. You only tip him a dime, so it's not Bt. I have noticed you myself, the way you look. You look

I a man who would break rules too--if you had to." Ip gave her a sharp look, suspicious, but if she was trying to jitter me she was very good. All that showed in her blue ; was the scare that had put them on the run and the hope me they were hanging on to for dear life. I looked at Carl. : scare was there too, but I couldn't see the hope. Still he : solid on the chair, with no sign of trembling, as I thought * myself that it would have been no surprise to him if I had eked up the phone and called the cops. Either he had his

share of guts or he had run out entirely. I was irritated. "Damn it," I protested, "you bring it here lalready broke. What did you beat it for? That alone fixes | you. He was questioning the others too and he was concenJ tearing on last night. What about last night? What were you i doing, breaking some more rules?"

They both started to answer, but she let him take it. He sisaid no, they weren't. They had gone straight home from I work and eaten in their room as usual. Tina had washed

some clothes, and Carl had read a book. Around nine they had gone for a walk, and had been back in their room and in bed before ten-thirty.

I was disgusted. "You sure did it up," I declared. "If you're clean for last night, why didn't you stay put? You must have something in your heads or you wouldn't have stayed alive and got this far. Why didn't you use it?"

Carl smiled at me. He really did smile, but it didn't make me want to smile back. "A policeman asking questions," he said in the level tone he had used before, "has a different effect on different people. If you have a country like this one and you are innocent of crime, all the people of your country are saying it with you when you answer the questions. That is true even when you are away from home�especially when you are away from home. But Tina and I have no country at all. The country we had once, it is no longer a country, it is just a place to wait to die, only if we are sent back there we will not have to wait. Two people alone cannot answer a policeman's questions anywhere in the world. It takes a whole country to speak to a policeman, and Tina and I�we do not have one."

"You see," Tina said. "Here, take it." She got up and came to me, extending a hand with the money in it. "Take it, Mr. Goodwin! Just tell us where to go, all the little facts that will help us�"

"Or we thought," Carl suggested, not hopefully, "that you might give us a letter to some friend, in this Ohio perhaps� not that we should expect too much for fifty dollars."

I looked at them, with my lips pressed together. The morning was shot now anyway, with Wolfe sore and my chores not done. I swiveled to my desk and picked up the phone. Any one of three or four city employees would probably find out for me what kind of errand had taken a dick named Wallen to the Goldenrod Barber Shop, unless it was something very special. But with my finger in the dial hole I hesitated and then replaced the phone. If it was something hot I would be starting PD cars for our address, and Wolfe and I both have a prejudice against cops yanking people out of his office, no 64

matter who they are, unless we ourselves have got them ready for delivery. So I swiveled again. Carl was frowning at me, his head moving from side to side. Tina was standing tense, the money clutched in her fist.

"This is silly," I said. "If they're really after you, you'd i be throwing your money away on carfare to Ohio or anywhere else. Save it for a lawyer. I'll have to go up there and see what it's all about." I got up, crossed to the soundproof door to the front room, and opened it. "You can wait here. In here, please."

'We'll go," Tina said, back to her gasping whisper again. "We won't bother you any more. Come, Carl--" ; "Skip it," I said curtly. "If this amounts to anything more than petty larceny you'd be nabbed sure as hell. This is my 'day for breaking a rule, and I'll be back soon. Come on, I'll put you in here, and I advise you to stay put."

They looked at each other.

"I like him," Carl said.

Tina moved. She came and passed through into the front room, and Carl was right behind her.

I told them to sit down and relax and not get restless, shut the door, went to the kitchen, where Wolfe was seated at the far end of the long table, drinking beer, and told him, "The check from Pendexter came and has been deposited. 1 That pair of foreigners have got themselves in a mess. I put them in the front room and told them to stay there until I get back."

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"A little detective work, not in your class. I won't be gone ' long. You can dock me."

I left.

gnaHE Goldenrod Barber Shop was in the basement of

Goldenrod, with only six chairs and usually only four of them manned, and two manicures, was no Framinelli's, but it was well equipped and clean, and anyhow it had Ed, who was a little rough at tilting a head maybe but knew exactly how to handle my hair and had a razor so sharp and slick you never knew it was on you.

I hadn't shaved that morning and as, at noon, I paid the taxi driver, entered the building, and descended the stairs to the basement, my plan of campaign was simple. I would get in Ed's chair, waiting if necessary, and ask him to give me a once-over, and the rest would be easy.

But it was neither simple nor easy. A medium-sized mob of white-collar workers, buzzing and chattering, was ranged three deep along the wall of the corridor facing the door of the shop. Others, passing by in both directions, were stopping to try to look in, and a flatfoot, posted in the doorway, was telling them to keep moving. That did not look promising, or else it did, if that's how you like things. I swerved aside and halted for a survey through the open door and the glass. Joel Fickler, the boss, was at the rack where Carl usually presided, taking a man's coat to put on a hanger. A man with his hat on was backed up to the cashier's counter, with 66

his elbows on it, facing the whole shop. Two other men with f their hats on were seated near the middle of the row of chairs for waiting customers, one of them next to the little table for magazines. They were discussing something without much enthusiasm. Two of the barbers' chairs, Ed's and Tom's, were occupied. The other two barbers, Jimmie and Philip, were on their stools against the wall. Janet, the other manicure, was not in sight.

I stepped to the doorway and was going on in. The flatfoot blocked me.

I lifted my brows at him. "What's all the excitement?" "Accident in here. No one allowed in." "How did the customers in the chairs get in? I'm a cus^tomer." "Only customers with appointments. You got one?" "Certainly." I stuck my head through the doorway and [yelled, "Ed! How soon?"

The man leaning on the counter straightened up and | turned for a look. At sight of me he grunted. "I'll be damned. Who whistled for you?"

,. The presence of my old friend and enemy Sergeant Purley Stebbins of Manhattan Homicide gave the thing an entirely different flavor. Up to then I had just been mildly curious, i floating along. Now all my nerves and muscles snapped to , attention. Sergeant Stebbins is not interested in petty larceny. '�I didn't care for the possibility of having shown a pair of |, murderers to chairs in our front room.

"Good God," Purley grumbled, "is this going to turn into >one of them Nero Wolfe babies?"

"Not unless you turn it." I grinned at him. "Whatever it is, I dropped in for a shave, that's all, and here you boys are, to my surprise." The flatfoot had given me leeway, and I had crossed the sill. "I'm a regular customer here." I turned to Fickler, who had trotted over to us. "How long have I been leaving my hair here, Joel?"

None of Fickler's bones were anywhere near the surface jjf-except on his bald head. He was six inches shorter than me, I which may have been one reason why I had never got a

straight look into his narrow black eyes. He had never liked me much since the day he had forgotten to list an appointment with Ed I had made on the phone, and I, under provocation, had made a few pointed remarks. Now he looked as if he had been annoyed by something much worse than remarks.

"Over six years, Mr. Goodwin," he said. "This," he told Purley, "is the famous detective, Mr. Archie Goodwin. Mr. Nero Wolfe comes here too."

"The hell he does." Purley, scowling at me, said in a certain tone, "Famous."

I shrugged. "Just a burden. A damn nuisance."

"Yeah. Don't let it get you down. You just dropped in for a shave?"

"Yes, sir. Write it down, and I'll sign it."

"Who's your barber?"

"Ed."

"That's Graboff. He's busy."

"So I see. I'm not pressed. I'll chat with you or read a magazine or get a manicure."

"I don't feel like chatting." Purley had not relaxed the scowl. "You know a guy that works here named Carl Vardas? And his wife, Tina, a manicure?"

"I know Carl well enough to pay him a dime for my hat and coat and tie. I can't say I know Tina, but of course I've seen her here. Why?"

"I'm just asking. There's no law against your coming here for a shave, since you need one and this is where you come, but the sight of either you or Wolfe makes me want to scratch. No wonder, huh? So to have it on the record in case it's needed, have you seen Vardas or his wife this morning?"

"Sure I have." I stretched my neck to get closer to his ear and whispered, "I put them in our front room and told them to wait, and beat it up here to tell you, and if you'll step on it-"

"I don't care for gags," he growled. "Not right now. They killed a cop, or one of them did. You know how much we like that." 68

I did indeed and adjusted my face accordingly. "The hell they did. One of yours? Did I know him?"

"No. A dick from die Twentieth Precinct, Jake Wallen."

"Where and when?"

"This morning, right here. The other side of that partition, in her manicure booth. Stuck a long pair of scissors in his back and got his pump. Apparently he never made a sound, but them massage things are going here off and on. By the time he was found they had gone. It took us an hour to find out where they lived, and when we got there they had been and got their stuff and beat it."

I grunted sympathetically. "Is it tied up? Prints on the scissors or something?"

"We'll do all right without prints," Purley said grimly. "Didn't I say they lammed?"

"Yes, but," I objected, not aggressively, "some people can get awful scared at sight of a man with scissors sticking in his back. I wasn't intimate with Carl, but he didn't strike me as a man who would stab a cop just on principle. Was Wallen here to take him?"

Purley's reply was stopped before it got started. Tom had finished with his customer, and the two men with hats on in the row of chairs ranged along the partition were keeping their eyes on the customer as he went to the rack for his tie. Tom, having brushed himself off, had walked to the front and up to us. Usually Tom bounced around like a high-school .kid�from his chair to the wall cabinet and back again, or over to the steamer behind the partition for a hot towel�in spite of his white-haired sixty-some years, but today his feet dragged. Nor did he tell me hello, though he gave me a sort of a glance before he spoke to Purley.

"It's my lunchtime, Sergeant. I just go to the cafeteria at the end of the hall."

Purley called a name that sounded like Joffe, and one of the dicks on a chair by the partition got up and came.

"Yerkes is going to lunch," Purley told him. "Go along and stay with him."

"I want to phone my wife," Tom said resolutely.

"Why not? Stay with him, Joffe." Yes, sir.

They went, with Tom in front. Purley and I moved out of the way as the customer approached to pay his check and Fielder sidled around behind the cash register.

"I thought," I said politely, "you had settled for Carl and Tina. Why does Tom have to have company at lunch?"

"We haven't got Carl and Tina."

"But you soon will have, the way the personnel feels about cop-killers. Why pester these innocent barbers? If one of them gets nervous and slices a customer, then what?"

Purley merely snarled.

I stiffened. "Excuse me. I'm not so partial to cop-killers either. It seemed only natural to show some interest. Luckily I can read, so I'll catch it in the evening paper."

"Don't bust a gut." Purley's eyes were following the customer as he walked to the door and on out past the flatfoot. "Sure we'll get Carl and Tina, but if you don't mind we'll just watch these guys' appetites. You asked what Jake Wallen was here for."

"I asked if he came to take Carl."

"Yeah. I think he did but I can't prove it yet. Last night around midnight a couple of pedestrians, two women, were hit by a car at Eighty-first and Broadway. Both killed. The car kept going. It was found later parked at Ninety-sixth and Broadway, just across from the subway entrance. We haven't found anyone who saw the driver, either at the scene of the accident or where the car was parked. The car was hot. It had been parked by its owner at eight o'clock on Forty-eighth Street between Ninth and Tenth, and was gone when he went for it at eleven-thirty."

Purley paused to watch a customer enter. The customer got past the flatfoot with Joel Fickler's help, left things at the rack, and went and got on Jimmie's chair. Purley returned to me. "When the car was spotted by a squad car at Ninety-sixth and Broadway with a dented fender and blood and other items that tagged it, the Twentieth Precinct sent Jake Wallen to it. He was the first one to give it a look. 70

Later, of course, there was a gang from all over, including the laboratory, before they moved it. Wallen was supposed to go home and to bed at eight in the morning when his trick ended, but he didn't. He phoned his wife that he had a hot lead on a hit-and-run killer and was going to handle it himself and grab a promotion. Not only that, he phoned the owner of the car at his home in Yonkers, and asked him if he had any connection with the Goldenrod Barber Shop or knew anyone who had, or if he had ever been there. The owner had never heard of it. Of course we've collected all this since we were called here at ten-fifteen and found Wallen DOA with scissors in his back."

I was frowning. "But what gave him the lead to this shop?"

"We'd like to know. It had to be something he found in the car, we don't know what. The goddam fool kept it to himself and came here and got killed."

"Didn't he show it or mention it to anyone here?"

"They say not. All he had with him was a newspaper. We've got it--today's News, the early, out last night. We can't spot anything in it. There was nothing in his pockets, nothing on him, that helps any."

I humphed. "Fool is right. Even if he had cleaned it up � Jbe wouldn't have grabbed a promotion. He would have been more apt to grab a uniform and a beat." ' "Yeah, he was that kind. There's too many of that kind. i< Not to mention names, but these precinct men--"

A phone rang. Fickler, by the cash register, looked at Pur- |,ley, who stepped to the counter where the phone was and answered the call. It was for him. When, after a minute, it seemed to be going on, I moved away and had gone a few Places when a voice came.

"Hello, Mr. Goodwin."

It was Jimmie, Wolfe's man, using comb and scissors above !iis customer's right ear. He was the youngest of the staff,

out my age, and by far the handsomest, with curly lips and rhite teeth and dancing dark eyes. I had never understood |#hy he wasn't at Framinelli's. I told him hello.

"Mr. Wolfe ought to be here," he said.

Under the circumstances I thought that a little tactless, and was even prepared to tell him so when Ed called to me from two chairs down. "Fifteen minutes, Mr. Goodwin? All right?"

I told him okay, I would wait, went to the rack and undressed to my shirt, and crossed to one of the chairs over by the partition, next to the table with magazines. I thought it would be fitting to pick up a magazine, but I had already read the one on top, the latest New Yorker, and the one on top on the shelf below was the Time of two weeks ago. So I leaned back and let my eyes go, slow motion, from left to right and back again. Though I had been coming there for six years I didn't really know those people, in spite of the reputation barbers have as conversationalists. I knew that Fielder, the boss, had once been attacked bodily there in the shop by his ex-wife; that Philip had had two sons killed in World War II; that Tom had once been accused by Fickler of swiping lotions and other supplies and had slapped Fickler's face; that Ed played the horses and was always in debt; that Jimmie had to be watched or he would take magazines from the shop while they were still current; and that Janet, who had only been there a year, was suspected of having a sideline, maybe dope peddling. Aside from such items as those, they were strangers.

Suddenly Janet was there in front of me. She had come from around the end of the partition, and not alone. The man with her was a broad-shouldered husky, gray-haired and gray-eyed, with an unlit cigar slanting up from a corner of his mouth. His eyes swept the whole shop, and since he started at the far right he ended up at me.

He stared. "For God's sake," he muttered. "You? Now what?"

I was surprised for a second to see Inspector Cramer himself, head of Manhattan Homicide, there on the job. But even an inspector likes to be well thought of by the rank and file, and here it was no mere citizen who had met his end but

one of them. The whole force would appreciate it. Besides, I have to admit he's a good cop.

"Just waiting for a shave," I told him. "I'm an old customer here. Ask Purley."

Purley came over and verified me, but Cramer checked with Ed himself. Then he drew Purley aside, and they mumbled back and forth a while, after which Cramer summoned Philip and escorted him around the end of the partition.

Janet seated herself in the chair next to mine. She looked even better in profile than head on, with her nice chin and straight little nose and long home-grown lashes. I felt a little in debt to her for the mild pleasure I had got occasionally as I sat in Ed's chair and glanced at her while she worked on the customer in the next chair.

"I was wondering where you were," I remarked.

She turned to me. She wasn't old enough to have wrinkles or seams but she looked old enough then. She was putting a strain on every muscle in her face, and it certainly showed.

"Did you say something?" she asked.

"Nothing vital. My name's Goodwin. Call me Archie."

"I know. You're a detective. How can I keep them from having my picture in the paper?"

"You can't if they've already got it. Have they?"

"I think so. I wish I was dead."

"I don't." I made it not loud but emphatic.

"Why should you? I do. My folks in Michigan think I'm acting or modeling. I leave it vague. And here--oh, my God."

Her chin worked, but she controlled it.

"Work is work," I said. "My parents wanted me to be a college president, and I wanted to be a second baseman, and look at me. Anyhow, if your picture gets printed and it's a good likeness, who knows what will happen?"

"This is my Gethsemane," she said.

That made me suspicious, naturally. She had mentioned acting. "Come off it," I advised her. "Think of someone else. Think of the guy that got stabbed--no, he's out of it--think of his wife, how do you suppose she feels? Or Inspector

Cramer, with the job he's got. What was he asking you just now?"

She didn't hear me. She said through clamped teeth, "I only wish I had some guts."

"Why? What would you do?"

"I'd tell all about it."

"All about what?"

"About what happened."

"You mean last night? Why not try it out on me and see how it goes? That doesn't take guts, just go ahead and let it come, keep your voice down and let it flow."

She didn't hear a word. Her ears were disconnected. She kept her brown eyes, under the long lashes, straight at me.

"How it happened this morning. How I was going back to my booth after I finished Mr. Levinson in Philip's chair, and he called me into Tina's booth and he seized me, with one hand on my throat so I couldn't scream, and there was no doubt at all what he intended, so I grabbed the scissors from the shelf and, without realizing what I was doing, plunged them into him with all my strength, and his grip on me loosened, and he collapsed onto the chair. That's what I would do if I had any guts and if I really want a successful career the way I say I do. I would have to be arrested and have a trial, and then--"

"Hold it. Your pronouns. Mr. Levinson called you into Tina's booth?"

"Certainly not. That man that got killed." She tilted her head back. "See the marks on my throat?"

There was no mark whatever on her smooth pretty throat.

"Good Lord," I said. "That would get you top billing anywhere."

"That's what I was saying."

"Then go ahead and tell'it."

"I can't! I simply can't! It would be so darned vulgar."

Her full face was there, only sixteen inches away, with the muscles no longer under strain, the closest I had ever been to it, and there was no question about how lovely it was. Under different circumstances my reaction would have

been merely normal and healthy, but at the moment I could have slapped it with pleasure. I had felt a familiar tingle at the base of my spine when I thought she was going to open up about a midnight ride up Broadway, probably with one of her co-workers, possibly with the boss himself, and then she had danced off into this folderol.

She needed a lesson. "I understand your position," I said, "a girl as sweet and fine and strong as you, but it's bound to come out in the end, and I want to help. Incidentally, I am not married. I'll go to Inspector Cramer right now and tell him about it. He'll want to take photographs of your throat. I know the warden down at the jail and I'll see that you get good treatment, no rough stuff. Do you know any lawyers?"

She shook her head, answering, I thought, my question about lawyers, but no. She didn't believe in answering questions. "About your being married," she said, "I hadn't even thought. There was an article in the American magazine last month about career girls getting married. Did you read it?"

"No. I may be able to persuade the district attorney to make it a manslaughter charge instead of murder, which would please your folks in Michigan." I drew my feet back and slid forward on the chair, ready to rise. "Okay, I'll go tell Cramer."

"That article was silly," she said. "I think a girl must get her career established first. That's why when I see an attractive man I never wonder if he's married; by the time I'm ready for one these will be too old. That's why I wouldn't ask you if you know anyone in show business, because I wouldn't take help from a man. I think a girl--"

If Ed hadn't signaled to me just then, his customer having left the chair, there's no telling how it would have ended. It would have been vulgar to slap her, and no words would have been any good since she was deaf, but surely I might have thought of something that would have taken effect. As it was, I didn't want to keep Ed waiting so I got up and crossed to his chair and climbed in.

"Just scrape the face," I told him.

He got a bib on me and tilted me back. "Did you phone?" he asked. "Did that fathead forget again?"

I told him no, that I had been caught midtown with a stubble and an unforeseen errand for which I should be presentable and added, "You seem to have had some excitement."

He went to the cabinet for a tube of prefabricated lather, got some on me, and started rubbing. "We sure did," he said with feeling. "Carl, you know Carl, he killed a man in Tina's booth. Then they both ran. I'm sorry for Tina, she was all right, but Carl, I don't know." He moved to my left cheek.

I couldn't articulate with him rubbing. He finished, went to wipe his fingers, and came with the razor. I rolled my head into position, to the left, and remarked, "I'd sort of watch it, Ed. It's a little risky to go blabbing that Carl killed him unless you can prove it."

"Well, he had fits." The razor was as sharp and slick as usual. "What did he run for?"

"I couldn't say. But the cops are still poking around here, even an inspector."

"Sure they are, they're after evidence. You gotta have evidence." Ed pulled the skin tight over the jawbone. "For instance, they ask me did he show me anything or ask me anything about some article from the shop. I say he didn't. That would be evidence, see?"

"Yes, I get it." I could only mumble. "What did he ask you?"

"Oh, all about me, name, married or single�you know, insurance men, income tax, they all ask the same things. But when he asked about last night I told him where to get off, but then I thought what the hell and told him. Why not? That's my philosophy, Mr. Goodwin�why not? It saves trouble."

He was prying my chin up, doing the throat. That clean, I rolled my head to the right to turn the other cheek.

"Of course," he said, "the police have to get it straight, but they can't expect us to remember everything. When he came in first he talked with Fickler, maybe five minutes. Then Fickler took him to Tina's booth, and he talked with Tina. 76

that Fielder sent Philip in, and then Carl and then lie and then Tom and then me and then Janet. I think pretty good to remember that." i I mumbled agreement. He was at the corner of my mouth. "But I can't remember everything, and they can't make e. I don't know how long it was after Janet came back out fore Fielder went to Tina's booth and found him dead. pfhey ask me was it nearer ten minutes or nearer fifteen, but %% say I had a customer at the time, we all did but Philip, and !>I don't know. They ask me how many of us went behind the Wrartition after Janet came out, to the steamer or the vat or to :>get the lamp or something, but I say again I had a customer I at the time, and I don't know, except I know I didn't go because I was trimming Mr. Howell at the time. I was working the top when Fickler yelled and came running out. They can ask Mr. Howell."

"They probably have," I said, but to no one, because Ed had gone for a hot towel.

He returned and used the towel and got the lilac water. Patting it on, he resumed, "They ask me exactly when Carl and Tina went, they ask me that twenty times, but I can't say and I won't say. Carl did it all right, but they can't prove it by me. They've gotta have evidence, but I don't. Cold towel today?"

"No, I'll keep the smell."

He patted me dry, levered me upright, and brought a comb and brush. "Can I remember what I don't know?" he demanded.

"I know I can't."

"And I'm no great detective like you." Ed was a little rough with a brush. "And now I go for lunch but I've got to have a cop along. We can't even go to the can alone. They searched all of us down to the skin, and they even brought a woman to search Janet. They took our fingerprints. I admit they've gotta have evidence." He flipped the bib off. "How was the razor, all right?"

I told him it was fine as usual, stepped down, fished for a quarter, and exchanged it for my check. Purley Stebbins,

nearby, was watching both of us. There had been times when I had seen fit to kid Purley at the scene of a murder, but not now. A cop had been killed.

He spoke, not belligerently. "The inspector don't like your being here."

"Neither do I," I declared. "Thank God this didn't happen to be Mr. Wolfe's day for a haircut, you would never have believed it. I'm just a minor coincidence. Nice to see you."

I went and paid my check to Fickler, got my things on, and departed.

aaa

s I emerged into Lexington Avenue there were several things on my mind. The most immediate was this: if Cramer's suspicion had been aroused enough to spend a man on me, and if I were seen going directly home from the shop, there might be too much curiosity as to why I had chosen to spend six bits for a shave at that time of day. So instead of taking a taxi, which would have had to crawl crosstown anyhow, I walked, and when I got to Altman's I used their aisles and exits to make sure I had no tail. That left my mind free for other things the rest of the way home.

One leading question was whether Carl and Tina would still be where I had left them, in the front room. That was what took me up the seven steps of the stoop two at a time, and on in quick. The answer to the question was no. The front room was empty.

I strode down the hall to the office but stopped there because I heard Wolfe's voice. It was coming through the open door to the dining room, across the hall, and it was saying, "No, Mr. Vardas, I cannot agree that mountain climbing is merely one manifestation of man's spiritual aspirations. I think instead it is an hysterical paroxysm of his infantile vanity. One of the prime ambitions of a jackass is to bray louder than any other jackass, and man is not . . ."

I crossed the hall and the dining-room sill. Wolfe was at 78

his end of the table, and Fritz, standing at his elbow, had just removed the lid from a steaming platter. At his left was Tina, and Carl was at his right, my place when there was no company. Wolfe saw me but finished his paragraph on mountain climbing before attending to me.

"In time, Archie. You like veal and mushrooms."

Talk about infantile. His not being willing to sit to his lunch with unfed people in the house was all well enough, but why not send trays in to them? That was easy--he was sore at me, and I had called them foreigners.

I stepped to the end of the table and said, "I know you have a paroxysm if I try to bring up business during meals, but eighteen thousand cops would give a month's pay to get their hands on Carl and Tina, your guests."

"Indeed." Wolfe was serving the veal and accessories. "Why?"

"Have you talked with them?"

"No. I merely invited them to lunch."

"Then don't until I've reported. I ran into Cramer and Stebbins at the barber shop."

"Confound it." The serving spoon stopped en route.

"Yeah. It's quite interesting. But first lunch, of course. I'll go put the chain bolt on. Please dish me some veal?"

Carl and Tina were speechless.

That lunch was one of Wolfe's best performances; I admit it. He didn't know a damn thing about Carl and Tina except that they were in a jam, he knew that Cramer and Stebbins dealt only with homicide, and he had a strong prejudice against entertaining murderers at his table. Some years back a female prospective client had dined with us in an emergency, on roast Watertown goose. It turned out that she was a husband-poisoner, and roast goose had been off our menu for a solid year, though Wolfe was very fond of it. His only hope now was his knowledge that I was aware of his prejudice and even shared it, and I took my seat at the end of the table and disposed of a big helping of the veal and mushrooms, followed by pumpkin puffs, without batting an eye. He must have been fairly tight inside, but he stayed the po

lite host clear to the end, with no sign of hurry even with the coffee. Then, however, the tension began to tell. Ordinarily his return to the office after a meal was leisurely and lazy, but this time he went right along, followed by his guests and me. He marched across to his chair behind the desk, got his bulk deposited, and snapped at me, "What have you got us into now?"

I was pulling chairs around so the Vardas family would be facing him, but stopped to give him an eye.

"Us?" I inquired.

"Yes."

"Okay," I said courteously, "if that's how it is. I did not invite them to come here, let alone to lunch. They came on their own, and I let them in, which is one of my functions. Having started it, I'll finish it. May I use the front room, please? I'll have them out of here in ten minutes."

"Pfui." He was supercilious. "I am now responsible for their presence, since they were my guests at lunch. Sit down, sir. Sit down, Mrs. Vardas, please."

Carl and Tina didn't know what from which. I had to push the chairs up behind their knees. Then I went to my own chair and swiveled to face Wolfe.

"I have a question to ask them," I told him, "but first you need a couple of facts. They're in this country without papers. They were in a concentration camp in Russia and they're not telling how they got here if they can help it. They could be spies, but I doubt it after hearing them talk. Naturally they jump a mile if they hear someone say boo, and when a man came to the barber shop this morning and showed a police card and asked who they were and where they came from and what they were doing last night they scooted the first chance they got. But they didn't know where to go so they came here to buy fifty bucks' worth of advice and information. I got bighearted and went to the shop disguised as a Boy Scout."

"You went?" Tina gasped.

I turned to them. "Sure I went. It's a complicated situation, and you made it worse by beating it, but you did and 80

here we are. I think I can handle it if you two can be kept out of the way. It would be dangerous for you to stay here. I know a safe place up in the Bronx for you to lay low for a few days. You shouldn't take a chance on a taxi or the subway, so we'll go around the comer to the garage and get Mr. Wolfe's car, and you can drive it up there. Then I'll--"

"Excuse me," Carl said urgently. "You would drive us up there?"

"No, I'll be busy. Then I'll-"

"But I can't drive a car! I don't know how!"

"Then your wife will drive. You can leave--"

"She can't! She don't know either!"

I sprang from my chair and stood over them. "Look," I said savagely, "save that for the cops. Can't drive a car? Certainly you can! Everybody can!"

They were looking up at me, Carl bewildered, Tina frowning. "In America, yes," she said. "But we are not Americans, not yet. We have never had a chance to learn."

"You have never driven a car?"

"No. Never."

"And Carl?"

"Never."

"What the devil is this?" Wolfe demanded.

I returned to my chair. "That," I said, "was the question I wanted to ask. It has a bearing, as you'll soon see." I regarded Carl and Tina. "If you're lying about this, not knowing how to drive a car, you won't be sent back home to die, you'll die right here. It will be a cinch to find out if you're lying."

"Why should we?" Carl demanded. "What is so important in it?"

"Once more," I insisted. "Can you drive a car?"

"No."

"Can you, Tina?"

"No!"

"Okay." I turned to Wolfe. "The caller at the barber shop this morning was a precinct dick named Wallen. Fickler took him to Tina's booth, and he questioned Tina first. Then the others had sessions with him in the booth, in this order:

Philip, Carl, Jimmie, Tom, Ed, and Janet. You may not know that the manicure booths are around behind the long partition. After Janet came out there was a period of ten or fifteen minutes when Wallen was in the booth alone. Then Fickler went to see, and what he saw was Wallen's body with scissors buried in his back. Someone had stabbed him to death. Since Carl and Tina had lammed�"

Tina's cry was more of a gasp, a last gasp, an awful sound. With one leap she was out of her chair and at Carl, grasping him and begging wildly, "Carl, no! No, no! Oh, Carl�"

"Make her stop," Wolfe snapped.

I had to try, because Wolfe would rather be in a room with a hungry tiger than with a woman out of hand. I went and got a grip on her shoulder but released it at sight of the expression on Carl's face as he pushed to his feet against her pressure. It looked as if he could and would handle it. He did. He straightened her up, standing against her, his face nearly touching hers, and told her, "No! Do you understand? No!"

He eased her back to her chair and down onto it, and turned to me. "That man was killed there in Tina's booth?"

"Yes."

Carl smiled as he had once before, and I wished he would stop trying it. "Then of course," he said as if he were conceding a point in a tight argument, "this is the end for us. But please I must ask you not to blame my wife. Because we have been through many things together she is ready to credit me with many deeds that are far beyond me. She has a big idea of me, and I have a big idea of her. But I did not kill that man. I did not touch him." He frowned. "I don't understand why you suggested riding in a car to the Bronx. Of course you will give us to the police."

"Forget the Bronx." I was frowning back. "Every cop in town has his eye peeled for you. Sit down."

He stood. He looked at Tina, at Wolfe, and back down at me.

"Sit down, damn it!"

He went to his chair and sat. 82

"About driving a car," Wolfe muttered. "Was that flummery?"

"No, sir, that comes next. Last night around midnight a hit-and-run driver in a stolen car killed two women up on Broadway. The car was found parked at Broadway and Ninety-sixth Street. Wallen, from the Twentieth Precinct, was the first dick to look it over. In it he apparently found something that led him to the Goldenrod Barber Shop--anyhow he phoned his wife that he was on a hot one that would lead to glory and a raise and then he showed up at the shop and called the roll, as described. With the result also as described. Cramer has bought it that the hit-and-run driver found himself cornered and used the scissors, and Cramer, don't quote me, is not a dope. To qualify as a hitandrun driver you must meet certain specifications, and one of them is knowing how to drive a car. So the best plan would be for Carl and Tina to go back to the shop and report for duty and for the official quiz, if it wasn't for two things. First, the fact that they lammed will make it very tough, and second, even though it is settled that they didn't kill a cop, their lack of documents will fix them anyhow."

I waved a hand. "So actually what's the difference? If they're sent back where they came from they're doomed there, that's all they have to pick from. One interesting angle is that you are harboring fugitives from justice, and I am not. I told Purley they're here. So you're--"

"You what?" Wolfe bellowed.

"What I said. That's the advantage of having a reputation for gags, you can say practically anything if you handle your face right. I told him they were here in our front room, and he sailed right over it. So I'm clean, but you're not. You can't even just show them out. If you don't want to call Cramer yourself, which I admit would be a little thick since they were your luncheon guests, I could get Purley at the shop and tell him they're still here and why hasn't he sent for them."

"It might be better," Tina said, not with hope, "just a little better, if you would let us go ourselves? No?"

She got no answer. Wolfe was glaring at me. It wasn't that he needed my description of the situation to realize what a pickle he was in; I have never tried to deny that the interior decorator did a snappier job inside his skull than in mine. What had him boiling was my little stunt of getting it down that neither Carl nor Tina could drive a car. But for that it would still have been possible to let them meet the law and take what they got, and more or less shrug it off; now that was out of the question. Also, naturally, he resented my putting the burden on him. If I had taken a stand as a champion of humanity he could have blamed me for any trouble he was put to�and didn't I know he would.

"There is," he said, glaring, "another alternative to consider."

"Yes, sir. What?"

"Let us just go ourselves," Tina said.

"Pfui." He moved the glare to her. "You would try to skedaddle and be caught within an hour." Back to me. "You have told Mr. Stebbins they are here. We can simply keep them here and await developments. Since Mr. Cramer and Mr. Stebbins are still there at work, they may at any moment disclose the murderer."

"Sure they may," I agreed, "but I doubt it. They're just being thorough; they've really settled for Carl and Tina, and what they're looking for is evidence, especially what it was that led Wallen to the barber shop�though I suppose they haven't much hope of that, since Carl and Tina could have taken it along. Anyway, you know how it is when they've got their minds aimed in one direction."

Wolfe's eyes went to Carl. "Did you and your wife leave the shop together?"

Carl shook his head. "That might have been noticed, so she went first. There is no place for ladies to go in the shop, so Tina and the other girl, Janet, go to a place down the hall when they need to, and she could leave with no attention. When she was gone I waited until they were all busy and Mr. Fickler was walking behind the partition, then I went quick out the door and ran upstairs to meet her there."

"When was that?" I asked. "Who was in Tina's booth with Wallen?"

"I don't think anybody was. Janet had come out a while before. She was at Jimmie's chair with a customer."

"Good God." I turned my palms up. "You left that place less than a minute, maybe only a few seconds, before Fielder found Wallen dead!"

"I don't know." Carl wasn't fazed. "I only know I went and I didn't touch that man."

"This," I told Wolfe, "makes it even nicer. There was a slim chance we could get it that they left sooner."

"Yes." He regarded me. "It must be assumed that Wallen was alive when Ed left the booth, since that young woman --what's her name?"

"Janet."

"I call few men, and no women, by their first names. What's her name?"

"That's all I know, Janet. It won't bite you."

"Stahl," Tina said. "Janet Stahl."

"Thank you. Wallen was presumably alive when Ed left the booth, since Miss Stahl followed him. So Miss Stahl, who saw Wallen last, and Mr. Fickler, who reported him dead --manifestly they had opportunity. What about the others?"

"You must remember," I told him, "that I had just dropped in for a shave. I had to show the right amount of intellectual curiosity but I had to be damn careful not to carry it too far. From what Ed said, I gathered that opportunity is fairly wide open, except he excludes himself. As you know, they all keep darting behind that partition for one thing or another. Ed can't remember who did and who didn't during that ten or fifteen minutes, and it's a safe bet that the others can't remember either. The fact that the cops were interested enough to ask shows that Carl and Tina haven't got a complete monopoly on it. As Ed remarked, they've gotta have evidence, and they're still looking."

Wolfe grunted in disgust.

"It also shows," I went on, "that they haven't got any real stopper to cork it, like prints from the car or localizing the

scissors or anything they found on the corpse. They sure want Carl and Tina, and you know what happens when they get them, but they're still short on exhibits. If you like your suggestion to keep our guests here until Cramer and Stebbins get their paws on the right guy it might work fine as a long-term policy, but you're against the idea of women living here, or even a woman, and after a few months it might get on your nerves."

"It is no good," Tina said, back to her gasping whisper again. "Just let us go! I beg you, do that! We'll find our way to the country, we know how. You are wonderful detectives, but it is no good!"

Wolfe ignored her. He leaned back, closed his eyes, and heaved a deep sigh, and from the way his nose began to twitch I knew he was coercing himself into facing the hard fact that he would have to go to work--either that or tell me to call Purley, and that was ruled out of bounds by both his self-respect and his professional vanity. The Vardas family sat gazing at him, not in hope, but not in utter despair either. I guess they had run out of despair long ago and had none left to call on. I watched Wolfe too, his twitching nose until it stopped, and then his lips in their familiar movement, pushed out and then pulled in, out and in again, which meant he had accepted the inevitable and was getting the machinery going. I had seen him like that for an hour at a stretch, but this time it was only minutes.

He sighed again, opened his eyes, and rasped at Tina, "Except for Mr. Fickler, that man questioned you first. Is that right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Tell me what he said. What he asked. I want every word."

I thought Tina did pretty well under the circumstances. Convinced that her goose was cooked and that therefore what Wallen had asked couldn't affect her fate one way or the other, she tried to play ball anyway. She wrinkled her brow and concentrated, and it looked as if Wolfe got it all out of her. But she couldn't give him what she didn't have. 86

He kept after it. "You are certain he produced no object, showed you no object whatever?" "Yes, I'm sure he didn't."

"He asked about no object, anything, in the shop?" "No."

"He mentioned no object at all?" "No."

"He took nothing from his pocket?" "No."

"The newspaper he had. Didn't he take that from his pocket?"

"No, like I said, he had it in his hand when he came in the booth."

"In his hand or under his arm?" "In his hand. I think�yes, I'm sure." "Was it folded up?"

"Well, of course newspapers are folded." "Yes, Mrs. Vardas. Just remember the newspaper as you |faw it in his hand. I'm making a point of it because there is jpiothing else to make a point of, and we must have a point if ||ve can find one. Was the newspaper folded up as if he had

it in his pocket?"

"No, it wasn't." She was trying hard. "It wasn't folded iat much. Like I said, it was a News. When he sat down he at it on the table, at the end by his right hand�yes, that's ght, my left hand; I moved some of my things to make room id it was the way it is on the newsstand, so that's all it was led."

"But he didn't mention it?" ;"No." �"And you noticed nothing unusual about it? I mean the

aper?"

iShe shook her head. "It was just a newspaper." ''Wolfe repeated the performance with Carl and got more the same. No object produced or mentioned, no hint of p. The only one on exhibit, the newspaper, had been there the end of the table when Carl, sent by Fickler, had enand sat, and Wallen had made no reference to it. Carl

was more practical than Tina. He didn't work as hard as she had trying to remember Wallen's exact words, and I must say I couldn't blame him.

Wolfe gave up trying to get what they didn't have. He leaned back, compressed his lips, closed his eyes, and tapped with his forefingers on the ends of his chair arms. Carl and Tina looked at each other a while, then she got up and went to him, started combing his hair with her fingers, saw I was looking, began to blush, God knows why, and went back to her chair.

Finally Wolfe opened his eyes. "Confound it," he said peevishly, "it's impossible. Even if I had a move to make I couldn't make it. If I so much as stir a finger Mr. Cramer will start yelping, and I have no muzzle for him. Any effort to--"

The doorbell rang. During lunch Fritz had been told to leave it to me, so I arose, crossed to the hall, and went front. But not all the way. Four paces short of the door I saw, through the one-way glass panel, the red rugged face and the heavy broad shoulders. I wheeled and returned to the office, not dawdling, and told Wolfe, "The man to fix the chair."

"Indeed." His head jerked up. "The front room."

"I could tell him-"

"No."

Carl and Tina, warned by our tone and tempo, were on their feet. The bell rang again. I moved fast to the door to the front room and pulled it open, telling them, "In here quick. Step on it." They obeyed without a word, as if they had known me and trusted me for years, but what choice did they have? When they had passed through I said, "Relax and keep quiet," shut the door, glanced at Wolfe and got a nod, went to the hall and to the door, opened it, and said morosely, "Hello. What now?"

"It took you long enough," Inspector Cramer growled, crossing the threshold.

}olfe can move when he wants to. I have seen him prove it more than once, as he did then. By the time I was back in the office, following Cramer, he had scattered in front of him on his desk pads of paper, pencils, and a dozen folders of plant germination records for which he had had to go to the filing cabinet. One of the folders was spread open, and he was scowling at us above it. He grunted a greeting but not a welcome. Cramer grunted back, moved to the red leather chair, and planted himself in it.

I got myself at my desk. I was wishing I wasn't involved so I could just enjoy it. If Wolfe succeeded in keeping Cramer's claws off of the Vardas family and at the same time kept himself out of jail I would show my appreciation by not hitting him for a raise for at least a month.

Fritz entered with a tray, so Wolfe had found time to push a button too. It was the fixed allotment, three bottles of beer. Wolfe, getting the opener from his drawer, told Fritz to bring ; another glass, but Cramer said no thanks.

Suddenly Cramer looked at me and demanded, "Where did you go when you left die barber shop?"

My brows went up. "Just like that?"

"Yes."

"Well, then. If you really cared you could have put a tail on me. If you didn't care enough to put a tail on me you're just being nosy, and I resent it. Next question."

"Why not answer that one?"

"Because some of the errands I get sent on are confidential, and I don't want to start a bad habit."

Cramer turned abruptly to Wolfe. "You know a police officer was killed this morning there in that shop."

"Yes." Wolfe halted a foaming glass on its way to his mouth. "Archie told me about it."

"Maybe he did."

"Not maybe. He did."

"Okay." Cramer 'cocked his head and watched Wolfe empty the glass and use his handkerchief on his lips. Then he said, "Look. This is what brought me here. I have learned over a stretch of years that when I find you within a mile of a murder, and Goodwin is a part of you, something fancy can be expected. I don't need to itemize that; your memory is as good as mine. Wait a second, let me finish. I don't say there's no such thing as a coincidence. I know you've been going to that shop for two years, and Goodwin for six years. It wouldn't be so remarkable if he happened in there this particular day, two hours after a murder, if it wasn't for certain features. He told Graboff, his barber, that he needed an emergency shave to go to an appointment. Incidentally, it couldn't have been much of an emergency, since he waited nearly half an hour while Graboff finished with a customer, but I might concede that. The point is that Graboff and Fickler both say that in the six years Goodwin has been going there he has never gone just for a shave. Not once. He goes only for the works, haircut, scalp massage, shampoo, and shave. That makes it too remarkable. Just one day in six years an emergency sends him there for a shave, and this is the day. I don't believe it."

Wolfe shrugged. "Then you don't. I'm not responsible for your credulity quotient, Mr. Cramer. Neither is Mr. Goodwin. I don't see how we can help you."

"Nobody would believe it," Cramer said stubbornly, refusing to get riled. "That's why I'm here. I do believe that Goodwin went to that shop because he knew a man had been murdered there."

"Then you believe wrong," I told him. "Your credulity quotient needs an overhaul. Until I got there I hadn't the slightest idea or suspicion that a man had been murdered, there or anywhere else."

"You have been known to lie, Goodwin."

"Only within limits, and I know what they are. I will state that in an affidavit. Write it out, and there's a notary at the corner drugstore. That would be perjury, which I'm allergic to." 90

"Your going there had nothing whatever to do with the i 4 murder?"

"Put it that way if you prefer it. It did not."

Wolfe was pouring beer. "How," he inquired, not belligerently, "was Mr. Goodwin supposed to have learned of the murder? Had you fitted that in?"

"I don't know." Cramer gestured impatiently. "I didn't come here with a diagram. I only know what it means, what it always has meant, when I'm on a homicide, which is what I work at, and suddenly there you are, or Goodwin. And there Goodwin was, two hours after it happened, and I asked some questions and I can take only so much coincidence. Frankly I have no idea where you come in. You work only for big money. That hit-and-run driver could be a man with money, but if so it couldn't be someone who works in that shop. No one there has the kind of dough that hires Nero Wolfe. So I don't see how it could be money that pulled you in, and I frankly admit I have no idea what else could. I guess I'll have a little beer after all, if you don't mind. I'm tired."

Wolfe leaned forward to push the button.

"What was on my mind," Cramer said, "was two things.

I First, I did not believe that Goodwin just happened to drop

in at the scene of a murder. I admit he's not quite, brazen

enough to commit perjury." He looked at me. "I want that

I affidavit. Today. Word it yourself, but say it right."

"You'll get it," I assured him.

"Today."

"Yep."

"Don't forget it."

Fritz entered with another tray, put it down on the little I table at Cramer's elbow, and uncapped the bottle. "Shall I : pour, sir?"

"Thanks, I will." Cramer took the glass in his left hand,

tilted it, and poured with his right. Unlike Wolfe, he didn't

-care for a lot of foam. "Second," he said, "I thought that

j.what took Goodwin there might be something you would be

ready to tell me about, but he wouldn't because you're the

boss and he's such a goddam clam unless you say the word. I don't pretend to have anything to pry it out of you with. You know the law about withholding evidence as well as I do, you ought to by this time, the stunts you've pulled--"

The foam was down to where he liked it, and he stopped to take a swig.

"You thought," Wolfe asked, "that I had sent Archie to the shop on business?"

Cramer ran his tongue over his lips. "Yes. For the reason given. I still think so."

"You're wrong. I didn't. Since you're to get an affidavit from Archie, you might as well have one from me too and get it settled. In it I will say that I did not send him to the barber shop, that I did not know he was going there, and that I heard and knew nothing of the murder until he returned and told me."

"You'll swear to that?"

"As a favor to you, yes. You've wasted your time coming here, and you might as well get a little something out of it." Wolfe reached for his second bottle. "By the way, I still don't know why you came. According to Archie, the murderer is known and all you have to do is find him--that man at the clothes rack--uh, Carl. And his wife, you said, Archie?"

"Yes, sir. Tina, one of the manicures. Purley told me straight they had done it and scooted."

Wolfe frowned at Cramer. "Then what could you expect to get from me? How could I help?"

"What I said, that's all," Cramer insisted doggedly, pouring the rest of his beer. "When I see Goodwin poking around I want to know why."

"I don't believe it," Wolfe said rudely. He turned to me. "Archie. I think you're responsible for this. You're brash and you talk too much. I think it was something you did or said. What was it?"

"Sure, it's always me." I was hurt. "What I did, I got a shave, and Ed had a customer and I had to wait, so I talked with Purley and looked at a magazine--no, I started to but didn't--and with Inspector Cramer and then with Janet, 92

Miss Stahl to you, and with Ed while I was in the chair that is, he talked--"

"What did you say to Mr. Cramer?" "Practically nothing. Just answered a civil question." "What did you say to Mr. Stebbins?" I thought I knew now where he was headed and hoped to I God I was right. "Oh, just asked what was going on, and he | told me. I've told you about it."

"Not verbatim. What did you say?"

"Nothing, damn it! Of course Purley wanted to know |; what brought me there, and I told him I--say, wait a minute! I Maybe you're right at that! He asked me if I had seen Carl or Tina this morning, and I said sure, I had put them here in I the front room and told them to wait, and if he would step on it--

"Ha!" Wolfe snorted. "I knew it! Your confounded tongue. So that's it." He looked at Cramer. "Why have you waited ; to pounce?" he asked, trying not to sound too contemptuous, ' for after all Cramer was drinking his beer. "Since Archie has I rashly disclosed our little secret, it would be useless for me to f try to keep it. That's what we use the front room for mainly, ' to keep murderers in. You're armed, I suppose? Go in and I get them. Archie, open the door for him."

I went to the door to the front room and pulled it open, f not too wide. "I'm scared of murderers myself," I said courte?ously, "or I'd be glad to help."

Cramer had a glass half full of beer in his hand, and it may |.well be that that took the trick. Bullheaded as he was, he I'might have been capable of getting up and walking over for ?a look into the room, even though our build-up had con1 vinced him it was empty, not caring how much we would en1 joy it or how silly he would look coming out. But the glass ^of beer complicated it. He would either have to take it with } him or reach first to put it down on the little table--or throw [it at Wolfe.

"Nuts," he said and lifted the glass to drink. I swung the door to carelessly, without bothering to see f that it latched, and yawned on the way back to my chair.

"At least," Wolfe said, rubbing it in, "I can't be jailed for harboring a fugitive--one of your favorite threats. But I really don't know what you're after. If it was those two you'll get them, of course. What else is there?"

"Nothing but a little more evidence." Cramer glanced at his wristwatch. "I'll get down to my office. That's where I started for, and this was on the way so I thought I'd stop to see what you had to say. We'll get 'em all right. It don't pay to kill a cop in this town." He stood up. "It wouldn't pay for anyone to hide a cop-killer in their front room, either. Thanks for the beer. I'll be expecting those affidavits, and in case--"

The phone rang. I swiveled and got it. "Nero Wolfe's office, Archie Goodwin speaking."

"Inspector Cramer there?"

I said yes, hold it. "For you," I told him and moved aside, and he came and took it. He spoke not more than twenty words altogether, between spells of listening. He dropped the phone onto the cradle, growled something about more trouble, and headed for the door.

"Have they found 'em?" I asked his back.

"No." He didn't turn. "Someone's hurt-the Stahl girl."

I marched after him, thinking the least I could do was cooperate by opening another door for him, but he was there and on out before I caught up, so I about-faced and returned to the office.

Wolfe was standing up, and I wondered why all the exertion, but a glance at the wall clock showed me 3:55, nearly time for his afternoon visit to the plant rooms.

"He said Janet got hurt," I stated.

Wolfe, finishing the last of his beer, grunted.

"I owe Janet something. Besides, it could mean that Carl and Tina are out of it. We ought to know, and they would like to know. I don't usually get shaved twice a day, but there's no law against it. I can be there in ten minutes. Why not?"

"No." He put the glass down. "We'll see."

"I don't feel like we'll seeing. I need to do something. I lost ten pounds in ten seconds, standing there holding that

doorknob, trying to look as if it would be fun to watch him coming to look in. If it wasn't for our guests I almost wish he had, just to see what you would do, not to mention me. I've got to do something now."

"There's nothing to do." He looked at the clock and moved. "Put those folders back, please?" Halfway to the door he turned. "Disturb me only if it is unavoidable. And admit no more displaced persons to the house. Two at a time is enough."

"It was you who fed--" I began with feeling, but he was gone. In a moment I heard the sound of his elevator.

I put the folders away and took the beer remains to the kitchen and then went to the front room. Tina, who was lying on the couch, sat up as I entered and saw to her skirt hem. She had nice legs, but my mind was occupied. Carl, on a chair near the foot of the couch, stood up and asked a string of questions with his eyes.

"As you were," I told them gruffly. I heartily agreed with Wolfe that two was enough. "I hope you didn't go near the windows?"

"We have learned so long ago to stay away from windows," Carl said. "But we want to go. We will pay the fifty dollars gladly."

"You can't go." I was irritated and emphatic. "That was Inspector Cramer, a very important policeman. We told him you were in here, and so--"

"You told him--" Tina gasped.

"Yes. It's the Hitler-Stalin technique in reverse. They tell barefaced lies to have them taken for the truth, and we ; told the barefaced truth to have it taken for a lie. It worked. You were within a hair's breadth of getting flushed, and I'll never be the same again, but it worked. So now we're stuck, and you are too. You stay here. We've told the cops you're in : this room, and you're not going to leave it, at least not until ; bedtime. I'm locking you in." I pointed to a door. "That's a bathroom, and there's a glass if you want a drink. It has an| other door into the office, but I'll lock it. The windows have

ars.

I crossed to the door to the hall and locked it with my master key. I went through to the office, entered the bathroom in the corner, turned the bolt flange on the door to the front room, opened the door an inch, returned to the office, locked that door with my key, and went back to the front room. Carl and Tina, speaking in low tones, fell silent as I entered.

"All set," I told them. "Make yourselves comfortable. If you need anything don't yell, this room is soundproofed; push this button." I put my finger on it, under the edge of the table. "I'll give you the news as soon as there is any." I was going.

"But this is hanging in the air on a thread," Carl protested.

"You're damn right it is," I agreed grimly. "Your only hope is that Mr. Wolfe has now put his foot in it, and it's up to him to get both you and him loose, not to mention me. He can't possibly do it, which is an advantage, because the only things he ever really strains himself on are those that can't be done. The next two hours are time out. He doesn't let anything interfere with his afternoon session, from four to six, with his orchids up on the roof. By the way, there is a small gleam. Inspector Cramer beat it back to the shop because he got a phone call that Janet had been hurt. If she got hurt with scissors with you not there, it may be a real break."

"Janet?" Tina was distressed. "Was she hurt much?"

I looked at her suspiciously. Surely that was phony. But she looked as if she really meant it. Maybe with some people who have been hurt plenty and often themselves, that's the way they react when someone else gets it, someone they know.

"I don't know," I said, "and I'm not going to try to find out. Curiosity can be justified only up to a point, and this is no time to stretch it. We'll have to sit it out, at least until six o'clock." I glanced at my wrist. "That's only an hour and twenty minutes. Then we'll see if Mr. Wolfe has cooked up a charade. If not, he may at least invite you to dinner. See you later." 96

As I turned to go Carl sprang and broke my neck.

I have had enough unpleasant surprises over the years so that I am never completely off guard, but I admit I was careless that time because I underestimated him. He was a full three inches and thirty pounds under me, but I should have known that a guy who had managed a getaway from a concentration camp, and also from a continent, must have learned some good tricks. He had. The one he tried on me took him off the floor and through the air at my back, got his knees in my spine and his arm hooked under my chin. I was careless, but not quite careless enough. I heard and felt his rush too late to wheel or step, but in time to arch my back and drop my chin. He fastened onto me piggyback, and his muscles were a real surprise.

If he was that quick on the spring he might be just as quick with his left hand getting out a knife, so I didn't try to get subtle. I bent my knees, called on my legs for all they had, jumped straight up as high as I could with him on me, jerked backwards in the air to horizontal, and hit the floor--or he did, with me on top. It squashed air out of him and jolted his arm loose. I bounced off to the right, got my feet under me, and came up, facing Tina in case she was prepared to help.

She wasn't. She was just standing there, frozen, with no blood left in her, anyway not in her face. I moved my head a little from left to right and then slowly in a circle. "I thought he broke my neck," I told her, "but he didn't. He only tried to."

She had no comment. Carl was on the floor, pulling air in for replacement. I stepped to him, reached down for his arm, yanked him upright, and went over him good. The only tool he had was a pocket knife with two little blades.

I backed up a step and remarked, "You act on impulse, don't you?"

"I couldn't break your neck," he said, as if his feelings were hurt. "You're too strong."

"You sure could try."

"No. I only wanted to go. If we stay here there is no hope. It would have made you numb, that was all."

"Yeah. Napoleon's been numb for over a century. I hope your ribs hurt. If so, think of me."

I went to the door to the office, passed through, closed the door, and locked it. There in privacy I took a survey, physical and mental. It was no pleasure to move my head, especially backward, but it did move. My back was sore where his knees had hit it, but some assorted twisting and bending proved that all the joints worked without cracking. I sat at my desk for the mental part. Getting my neck broke, or damn near it, had cleared my brain. Being smart enough to get it in that neither Carl nor Tina could drive a car was all right as far as it went, but it proved nothing at all about the scissors in Jake Wallen's back; it merely showed that there are motives and motives. The cops thought Wallen had been killed by a cornered hit-and-run driver, but what did I think? And even more important, what did Wolfe think? Was he up ahead of me as usual, or was he being too offhand, since no fee was involved, and maybe letting us in for a bloody nose?

I sat and surveyed and got so dissatisfied that I rang the plant rooms, told Wolfe about Carl's attempt to numb me, and tried to go on from there, but he brushed me off and said it could wait until six o'clock. I sat some more, practiced moving my head in various directions, and then got up to do back exercises. I was bending to touch the floor with my fingers when the phone rang.

It was Sergeant Purley Stebbins. "Archie? Purley. I'm at the barber shop. We want you here quick."

Two things told me it was no hostile mandate: his tone and the "Archie." The nature of my encounters with him usually had him calling me Goodwin, but occasionally it was Archie.