shook his head. “She is a creature of passion. You saw her face when I asked if her daughter had ever gone up to that room-no, you didn’t know what I had asked her. Her eyes blazed, and her voice shrilled. She discovered that Yeager had debauched her daughter and she killed him. Call Fred.”
“She admitted it?”
“Certainly not. She said that her daughter had been forbidden to go up to that room and had never seen it. She resented the implication with fury. We are no longer concerned.” He opened the book. “Call Fred.”
“I don’t believe it.” My voice may have shrilled slightly. “I haven’t described Maria at length and don’t intend to, but when I start marrying she will be third on the list and might even be first if I didn’t have prior commitments. She may be part witch but she has not been debauched. If and when she orgies with a satyr he’ll be leaning gracefully against a tree with a flute in his hand. I don’t believe it.”
“Orgy is not a verb.”
“It is now. And when I asked you this morning if there was any limit to how much I should take along and disburse if necessary, you said as dictated by my discretion and sagacity. I took five hundred, and my discretion and sagacity dictated that the best way to use it was to get Fred there and keep him there. Sixty hours at seven-fifty an hour is four hundred and fifty dollars. Add fifty for his grub and incidentals and that’s the five hundred. The sixty hours will be up at eleven-thirty p.m. Thursday, day after tomorrow. Since I have met Maria and you haven’t, and since you left it-“
The phone rang. I whirled my chair and got it. “Nero Wolfe’s reside�”
“Archie! I’ve got one.” “Man or woman?” “Woman. You coming?”
“Immediately. You’ll be seeing me.” I cradled the phone and stood up. “Fred has caught a fish. Female.” I glanced at the wall clock: a quarter to ten. “I can have her here before eleven, maybe by ten-thirty. Instructions?”
He exploded. “What good would it do,” he roared, “to give you instructions?”
I could have challenged him to name one time when I had failed to follow instructions unless forced by circumstances, but with a genius you have to be tactful. I said merely, “Then I’ll use my discretion and sagacity,” and went. I should have used them in the hall, to stop at the rack for my topcoat, as I discovered when I was out and headed for Tenth Avenue. A cold wind, cold for May, was coming from the river, but I didn’t go back. Getting a taxi at the corner, I told the driver 82nd and Amsterdam. There might still be a cop at the hole, and even if there wasn’t it would be just as well not to take a cab right to the door.
There was no cop at the hole, and no gathering of amateur criminologists, just passers-by and a bunch of teen-agers down the block. After turning in at 156, descending the three steps, and using Meg Duncan’s key, I entered and proceeded down the hall; and halfway along I had a feeling. Someone had an eye on me. Of course that experience, feeling a presence you have neither seen nor heard, is as old as rocks, but it always gets you. I get it at the bottom of my spine, showing perhaps that I would be either raising or lowering my tail if I had one. At the moment I had the feeling there was a door three paces ahead of me on the right, opened to a crack, a bare inch. I kept going, and when I reached the door I shot an arm out and pushed it. It swung in a foot and was stopped, but the foot was enough. There was no light inside and the hall was dim, but I have good eyes.
She didn’t move. “Why did you do that?” she asked. “This is my room.” A remarkable thing; with a strong light on her, that was best, and with a dim one, that was best.
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “As you know, I’m a detective, and detectives have bad habits. How many times have you been in the room on the top floor?”
“I’m not allowed,” she said. “Would I tell
“She admitted it?”
“Certainly not. She said that her daughter had been forbidden to go up to that room and had never seen it. She resented the implication with fury. We are no longer concerned.” He opened the book. “Call Fred.”
“I don’t believe it.” My voice may have shrilled slightly. “I haven’t described Maria at length and don’t intend to, but when I start marrying she will be third on the list and might even be first if I didn’t have prior commitments. She may be part witch but she has not been debauched. If and when she orgies with a satyr he’ll be leaning gracefully against a tree with a flute in his hand. I don’t believe it.”
“Orgy is not a verb.”
“It is now. And when I asked you this morning if there was any limit to how much I should take along and disburse if necessary, you said as dictated by my discretion and sagacity. I took five hundred, and my discretion and sagacity dictated that the best way to use it was to get Fred there and keep him there. Sixty hours at seven-fifty an hour is four hundred and fifty dollars. Add fifty for his grub and incidentals and that’s the five hundred. The sixty hours will be up at eleven-thirty p.m. Thursday, day after tomorrow. Since I have met Maria and you haven’t, and since you left it-“
The phone rang. I whirled my chair and got it. “Nero Wolfe’s reside�”
“Archie! I’ve got one.” “Man or woman?” “Woman. You coming?”
“Immediately. You’ll be seeing me.” I cradled the phone and stood up. “Fred has caught a fish. Female.” I glanced at the wall clock: a quarter to ten. “I can have her here before eleven, maybe by ten-thirty. Instructions?”
He exploded. “What good would it do,” he roared, “to give you instructions?”
I could have challenged him to name one time when I had failed to follow instructions unless forced by circumstances, but with a genius you have to be tactful. I said merely, “Then I’ll use my discretion and sagacity,” and went. I should have used them in the hall, to stop at the rack for my topcoat, as I discovered when I was out and headed for Tenth Avenue. A cold wind, cold for May, was coming from the river, but I didn’t go back. Getting a taxi at the corner, I told the driver 82nd and Amsterdam. There might still be a cop at the hole, and even if there wasn’t it would be just as well not to take a cab right to the door.
There was no cop at the hole, and no gathering of amateur criminologists, just passers-by and a bunch of teen-agers down the block. After turning in at 156, descending the three steps, and using Meg Duncan’s key, I entered and proceeded down the hall; and halfway along I had a feeling. Someone had an eye on me. Of course that experience, feeling a presence you have neither seen nor heard, is as old as rocks, but it always gets you. I get it at the bottom of my spine, showing perhaps that I would be either raising or lowering my tail if I had one. At the moment I had the feeling there was a door three paces ahead of me on the right, opened to a crack, a bare inch. I kept going, and when I reached the door I shot an arm out and pushed it. It swung in a foot and was stopped, but the foot was enough. There was no light inside and the hall was dim, but I have good eyes.
She didn’t move. “Why did you do that?” she asked. “This is my room.” A remarkable thing; with a strong light on her, that was best, and with a dim one, that was best.
“I beg your pardon,” I said. “As you know, I’m a detective, and detectives have bad habits. How many times have you been in the room on the top floor?”
“I’m not allowed,” she said. “Would I tell
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