too. What do you know about the ice cream?'
'Nothing.' He chuckled. 'You can get as nasty as you want to with me, after that squeeze you put on me last night, but don't try getting behind me. I'm going to keep you right in front.'
'From the front I use something else. You remember Paul Fyfe mentioned the ice cream at the dinner table?'
'I guess I do. I had forgotten about it.'
'But you never saw it or touched it?'
'No.'
'Or heard anything about what happened to it?'
'No.'
'Then I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. You'll be doing yourself one too, because it's the quickest way to get rid of me. Where are you going for dinner?'
'I've got a table reserved at Rusterman's.'
He was certainly learning his way around, possibly with Anne's help. 'That's fine,' I said, 'because it's only a block out of the way. I want you to take me to the Churchill Towers apartment and let me look in the refrigerator.'
It was a good thing I had taken the trouble to brief him on tailors and haberdashers. But for that he would probably have refused, and I would have had to go and persuade Tim Evarts, the house dick, to oblige, and that would have cost both time and money. He did balk some, but Anne put in, saying it would take less time to humor me than to argue with me, and that settled it. It seemed likely that in the years to come Anne would do a lot of settling, and then and there I decided to let him have her. She permitted him to help her get a yellow embroidered stole across her bare shoulders, and he got a black Homburg from a table. On our way downstairs, and in the taxi we took to the Churchill, I could have coached him on black Homburgs, when and where and with what, but with Anne present I thought it advisable to skip it.
The Churchill Towers apartment, on the thirty-second floor, had a foyer about the size of my bedroom, and the living room would have accommodated three billiard tables with plenty of elbow space. There was an inside hall between the living room and the bedrooms, and at one end of the hall was a serving pantry, with an outside service entrance. Besides a long built-in stainless-steel counter, the pantry had a large warmer cabinet, an even larger refrigerator, and a door to a refuse-disposal chute, but no cooking equipment. Arrow and Anne stood just inside the swinging door, touching elbows, as I went and opened the door of the refrigerator.
The freezing compartment at the top held six trays of ice cubes and nothing else. On the shelves below were a couple of dozen bottles ' beer, club soda, tonic ' five bottles of champagne lying on their sides, a bowl of oranges, and a plate of grapes. There was no paper bag, big or little, and absolutely no sign of ice cream. I closed the door and opened the door of the warmer cabinet. It contained nothing. I opened the door of the disposal chute and stuck my head in, and got a smell, but not of ice cream.
I turned to the hooker and the hooked. 'All right,' I told them, 'I give up. Many thanks. As I said, this was the quickest way to get rid of me. Enjoy your dinner.' They made gangway for me, and I pushed through the swinging door and on out.
When Wolfe had asked me what about dinner I had told him I didn't know, but I knew now. I could be home by 8:30, and that afternoon, preparing for one of Wolfe's favorite hot-weather meals, Fritz had been collecting eight baby lobsters, eight avocados, and a bushel of young leaf lettuce. When he had introduced to them the proper amounts of chives, onion, parsley, tomato paste, mayonnaise, salt, pepper, paprika, pimientos, and dry white wine, he would have Brazilian lobster salad as edited by Wolfe, and not even Wolfe could have it all stowed away by half past eight.
He hadn't. I found him in the dining room, at table, starting on deep-dish blueberry pie smothered with whipped cream. There was no lobster salad in sight, but Fritz, who had let me in, soon entered with the big silver platter, and there was plenty left. Wolfe's ban on
'Nothing.' He chuckled. 'You can get as nasty as you want to with me, after that squeeze you put on me last night, but don't try getting behind me. I'm going to keep you right in front.'
'From the front I use something else. You remember Paul Fyfe mentioned the ice cream at the dinner table?'
'I guess I do. I had forgotten about it.'
'But you never saw it or touched it?'
'No.'
'Or heard anything about what happened to it?'
'No.'
'Then I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. You'll be doing yourself one too, because it's the quickest way to get rid of me. Where are you going for dinner?'
'I've got a table reserved at Rusterman's.'
He was certainly learning his way around, possibly with Anne's help. 'That's fine,' I said, 'because it's only a block out of the way. I want you to take me to the Churchill Towers apartment and let me look in the refrigerator.'
It was a good thing I had taken the trouble to brief him on tailors and haberdashers. But for that he would probably have refused, and I would have had to go and persuade Tim Evarts, the house dick, to oblige, and that would have cost both time and money. He did balk some, but Anne put in, saying it would take less time to humor me than to argue with me, and that settled it. It seemed likely that in the years to come Anne would do a lot of settling, and then and there I decided to let him have her. She permitted him to help her get a yellow embroidered stole across her bare shoulders, and he got a black Homburg from a table. On our way downstairs, and in the taxi we took to the Churchill, I could have coached him on black Homburgs, when and where and with what, but with Anne present I thought it advisable to skip it.
The Churchill Towers apartment, on the thirty-second floor, had a foyer about the size of my bedroom, and the living room would have accommodated three billiard tables with plenty of elbow space. There was an inside hall between the living room and the bedrooms, and at one end of the hall was a serving pantry, with an outside service entrance. Besides a long built-in stainless-steel counter, the pantry had a large warmer cabinet, an even larger refrigerator, and a door to a refuse-disposal chute, but no cooking equipment. Arrow and Anne stood just inside the swinging door, touching elbows, as I went and opened the door of the refrigerator.
The freezing compartment at the top held six trays of ice cubes and nothing else. On the shelves below were a couple of dozen bottles ' beer, club soda, tonic ' five bottles of champagne lying on their sides, a bowl of oranges, and a plate of grapes. There was no paper bag, big or little, and absolutely no sign of ice cream. I closed the door and opened the door of the warmer cabinet. It contained nothing. I opened the door of the disposal chute and stuck my head in, and got a smell, but not of ice cream.
I turned to the hooker and the hooked. 'All right,' I told them, 'I give up. Many thanks. As I said, this was the quickest way to get rid of me. Enjoy your dinner.' They made gangway for me, and I pushed through the swinging door and on out.
When Wolfe had asked me what about dinner I had told him I didn't know, but I knew now. I could be home by 8:30, and that afternoon, preparing for one of Wolfe's favorite hot-weather meals, Fritz had been collecting eight baby lobsters, eight avocados, and a bushel of young leaf lettuce. When he had introduced to them the proper amounts of chives, onion, parsley, tomato paste, mayonnaise, salt, pepper, paprika, pimientos, and dry white wine, he would have Brazilian lobster salad as edited by Wolfe, and not even Wolfe could have it all stowed away by half past eight.
He hadn't. I found him in the dining room, at table, starting on deep-dish blueberry pie smothered with whipped cream. There was no lobster salad in sight, but Fritz, who had let me in, soon entered with the big silver platter, and there was plenty left. Wolfe's ban on
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