The phone rang, and I took it. It was the hoarse man who had previously invited me to meet him at the Seven-Eleven Club, and he still hadn’t found time to clear his throat. This time he wanted Wolfe, and Wolfe, after I had covered the transmitter and told him about the previous call, got on. I stayed on too, as I always do when not told to get off, but I’ll only report one end.
“Nero Wolfe speaking... Your name, please?... I’m sorry, sir, I never speak to people without a name; I must have your name... F-A-B-I-A-N?... Thank you. Hold the line a moment, please.”
Wolfe asked Schwartz, “Have you ever heard of a man named Fabian?”
“Yes.” Schwartz was frowning and all his fingers were gripping the edge of his brief case.
“So have I,” I said emphatically.
“Yes, Mr. Fabian, what is it?... I see. I never make appointments outside my house... No, no indeed, I assure you I’m not frightened at all... Yes, I realize that, but I seldom go out... Well, I have a suggestion. Why don’t you come to my office, say at two o’clock today?... Good... That’s right. You have the address?... Good.”
He hung up. I did likewise, with a vicious bang.
Schwartz said, in a different tone from any he had used, “I was about to say when the phone rang that Mr. Perrit’s associates are men of action. To put it baldly, they will kill both you and your assistant the first chance they get. I was about to suggest certain precautions. Frankly, as I said, my personal interest is concerned. The best way—”
“Mr. Fabian says he wants to ask me something.”
“But great heavens!” Schwartz was looking green. “He’s the most notorious — to invite him — to let him in—”
“If he is really dangerous,” Wolfe said stiffly, “and if he has drawn the sort of inferences you fear, my own office is the only safe place to meet him. This business has to be settled sooner—”
The phone rang again. I reached for it, told it, “Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking,” and got a shock in my ear in the shape of an agitated voice declaring loud enough to be heard out in the kitchen, “You said your name was Harold Stevens!”
I said sharply, “Hold it a second. Stay on,” and turned to Wolfe and told him in a bored tone, “It’s the friend of that law student. May go on for an hour. Shall I go upstairs and take it?”
“Yes. We might as well get it over with. She can come any time. Arrange it properly.”
I never bothered with the elevator, and anyhow, up three steps at a time was quicker. Up in my room, with the door shut, I didn’t take time to make myself comfortable in a chair, but grabbed the phone and told it, “Sorry to keep you waiting, but there were people around and I came upstairs. What’s the trouble?”
“You said your name was Stevens!”
“Yeah. Of all the millions of details in the world, one of the most unimportant right now is my name. My name is mud. Stevens or Goodwin, mud.”
“It’s important to me.”
“Thank you very much. Is that what you called to say?”
“No, it isn’t. I want to know about the man that got killed and how you happened—”
“Wait a minute. Collect yourself and start at the beginning. What have you seen, heard, and done?”
“I’ve seen pictures, just now in the Gazette. One is of a man named Dazy Perrit, and I know him — I don’t really know him well, but I know him in a certain way, and he has been killed, and for a certain reason that’s bad news for me. Another picture is of you, it’s a very good likeness, and it says your name is Archie Goodwin and you work for Nero Wolfe — it calls you his legman — and it says you were with Dazy Perrit when he was killed. So I want to know—”
“Excuse me,” I cut her off, “but the kind of things you want to know are not a good kind for a telephone. I would like to come up there for a talk but I have things to do. Why don’t you hop on the subway and come down here? Will you do that?”
“I certainly will! I will be there—”
“Excuse me again. The sidewalk in front of our house is the scene of two murders and therefore temporarily conspicuous. Get this. From Thirty-fourth Street and Eleventh Avenue go east on Thirty-fourth Street. It’s ninety-two paces for me, so it will be about a hundred and twenty for you. At that point there is a narrow passage between two buildings — a loading platform on the left of it and a wholesale paper products place on the right. Go in along the passageway and I’ll meet you at the far end of it and let you in at our back door. Have you got it?”
“Certainly. It ought to take me about half an hour.”
“Okay. I’ll be there, but if I’m not, wait for me.”
“All right. Tell me just one thing, was Dazy Perrit’s daughter—”
I told her nothing doing and ended it. A glance at my wristwatch, on the fly as I headed for the stairs, showed me eleven-fifty-two. At the bottom I slowed to a normal pace, to enter the office with an attitude of indifference, but that proved unnecessary because L. A. Schwartz was gone. Wolfe sat at his desk pouring beer.
“She saw pictures of Perrit and me in the Gazette” I reported. “She’ll come the back way and be here in half an hour.”
“Satisfactory.” He put the bottle down. “Take her straight upstairs to the south room. She must be seen by no one.” He scowled at me. “Confound it, I suppose she must be invited to lunch. Sit down and tell me everything that happened last night.”
“I thought I was out of it. When did I get in again?”
“Pfui. Go ahead.”
Having been reporting uncombed events to Wolfe for over ten years, I had got expert at it, but this called for extra concentration since the time was limited. I tried to get it all in and make a clean job of it, but he had questions to put as usual, and was still asking them when the clock said twelve-twenty and I had to go. I left by way of the kitchen and the back stairs, emerging into our little private yard where Fritz grows chives and tarragon and other vegetation. Leaving the door through the solid board fence unlocked, since it wouldn’t get out of my sight, I skirted piles of rubbish on the premises south of us, and another twenty steps got me to the entrance of the passage. There was no one there. But I didn’t wait long. Within a couple of minutes a figure appeared at the other end of the passage, looked in, and started toward me. Only it wasn’t Beulah. It was the law student. She was right behind him, and as they approached me she darted around to the front and spoke first.
“It’s all right that Morton came along, isn’t it? He wouldn’t let me come alone.”
“Well, he’s here,” I growled. “Hello.” My impulse was to tell him to go home and study, because we already had complications enough, but since we had made him so welcome the night before, and him practically a member of the family, I decided not to make an issue of it.
“Watch where you step,” I told them and led the way back around the rubbish piles, through the door in the fence, which I locked, into the basement, up to the kitchen, and on up two more flights to the south room, which was on the same floor as mine, at the other end of the hall. It wasn’t often used, but was by no means wasted space. On various occasions all kinds had slept in it, from a Secretary of State to a woman who had poisoned three husbands and was making a fourth one very sick.