Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 25
told him, “and anyway, you’re going to be busy.”

 Chapter 7 
    U p in the plant rooms on the roof it was Cattleya mossiae time. In the cool room, the first one you enter from the vestibule, the odontoglossums were sporting their sprays, and in the middle room, the tropical room, two benches of Phalaenopsis, the hardiest of all to grow well, were crowding the aisle with racemes two feet long, but at mossiae time the big show was in the third room. Of Wolfe’s fourteen varieties of mossiae my favorite was reineckiana, with its white, yellow, lilac, and violet. But then, passing through, I only had time for a glance at them.
    Wolfe, in the potting-room, washing his hands at the sink and talking with Theodore, growled at me. “Couldn’t it wait?”
    “Just rhetoric,” I said. “It’s ten to six and Miss Tescher may be there when you come down, and you might want a report on Younger before you see her. If not, I’ll go look at orchids.”
    “Very well. Since you’re here.”
    I gave it to him verbatim. He had no questions and no comments. By the time I finished he had his handsand nails clean and had moved to the workbench to frown at a bedraggled specimen in a pot.
    “Look at this Oncidium varicosum,” he grumbled. “Dry rot in April. It has never happened before and there is no explanation. Theodore is certain—”
    The buzz of the house phone kept me from learning what Theodore was certain of. Instead, I learned what had upset Fritz downstairs: “Archie, you only told me to admit a Miss Susan Tescher. She has come, but there are three men with her. What do I do?”
    “Are they in?”
    “Of course not. They’re out on the stoop and it has started to rain.”
    I said I’d be right down, told Wolfe Miss Tescher had arrived with outriders, and beat it. I rarely use the elevator, and never squeeze in together with Wolfe’s bulk. Descending the three flights to the main hall, and taking a look through the one-way glass panel, I saw that Fritz’s count was accurate. One female and three males were standing in the April shower, glaring in my direction but not seeing me. The men were strangers but not dicks unless they had changed brands without telling me, and it seemed unnecessary to let them get any wetter, so I went and unbolted the door and swung it open, and in they came. A remark about rain being wet might have been expected from the males, but they started removing their coats with no remarks at all. The female said in a clear strong capable voice, “I’m Susan Tescher.”
    I told her who I was and hung her coat up for her. She was fairly tall, slender but not thin, and not at all poorly furnished with features. From a first glance, and I try to make first glances count, everything about her was smart, with the exception of the ear-rings,which were enameled clock dials the size of a quarter. She had gray eyes and brassy hair and very good skin and lipstick.
    As we were starting for the office the elevator door opened and Wolfe emerged. He stopped, facing her.
    “I’m Susan Tescher,” she said.
    He bowed. “I’m Nero Wolfe. And these gentlemen?”
    She used a hand. “Mr. Hibbard, of the legal staff of
Clock.”
Mr. Hibbard was tall and skinny. “Mr. Schultz, an associate editor of
Clock.”
Mr. Schultz was tall and broad. “Mr. Knudsen, a senior editor of
Clock.”
Mr. Knudsen was tall and bony.
    I had edged on ahead, to be there to get her into the red leather chair, which was where Wolfe always wanted the target, without any fuss. There was no problem. The men were perfectly satisfied with the three smaller chairs I placed for them, off to my right and facing Wolfe at his desk. All three crossed their legs, settled back, and clasped their hands. When I got out my notebook Schultz called Hibbard’s attention, and Hibbard called Knudsen’s attention, but there was no comment.
    “If you please,” Wolfe asked, “in what capacity are these gentlemen present?”
    He was looking at them, but

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