Wolfe got out of bed, which was an operation deserving an audience. He glanced at the clock on the bed table. It was 8:35.
“I know, I know,” Cramer growled. “You’ve got to get dressed and get upstairs to your horticulture... The tenant going up in the elevator was a prominent doctor who hardy knew Jensen by sight. The two women who found the bodies are Seventh Avenue models who never heard of Jensen. The elevator man has worked there over twenty years without displaying a grudge, and Jensen was a generous tipper and popular with the bunch. The doorman is a fat nitwit who was hired two weeks ago only because of the manpower situation and doesn’t know the tenants by name.
“Beyond those, all we have is the population of New York City and the guests who arrive and depart daily and nightly. That’s why I came to you, and for the lord’s sake give me what you’ve got. You can see that I need it.”
“Mr. Cramer.” The mountain of yellow pajamas moved. “I repeat. I am not interested, not involved, and not curious.” Wolfe headed for the bathroom.
Exit Cramer — mad.
Back in the office there was the morning mail. I was getting toward the bottom of the stack without encountering anything startling or promising when I slit another envelope, and there it was.
I stared at it. I picked up the envelope and stared at that. I don’t often talk to myself, but I said, loud enough for me to hear, “My goodness.” Then I left the rest of the mail for later and went and mounted the three flights to the plant-rooms on the roof. Proceeding through the first three departments, past everything from rows of generating flasks to Cattleya hybridscovered with blooms, I found Wolfe in the potting-room, with Theodore Horstmann, the orchid nurse, examining a crate of sphagnum that had just arrived.
“Well?” he demanded, with no sign of friendliness. The general idea was that when he was up there I interrupted him at my peril.
“I suppose,” I said carelessly, “that I shouldn’t have bothered you, but I ran across something in the mail that I thought you’d find amusing,” and I put them 011 the bench before him, side by side: the envelope with his name and address printed on it by hand, in ink, and the piece of paper that had been clipped from something with scissors or a sharp knife, reading in large, black type, printed, but not by hand:
“It sure is a coincidence,” I remarked, grinning at him.
Wolfe said without any perceptible quiver, “I’ll look over the mail at eleven o’clock as usual.”
It was the grand manner, all right. Seeing he was impervious, I retrieved the exhibits without a word, returned to the office, and busied myself with the chores.
It was eleven on the dot when he came down, and began the routine. Not until Fritz had brought the beer and he had irrigated his interior did he lean back in his chair, let his eyes go hall shut, and observe, “You will, of course, postpone your trip to Washington.”
I let my frank, open countenance betray surprise. “I can’t. I have an appointment with a Lieutenant General. Anyhow, why?” I indicated the envelope and clipping on his desk. “That tomfoolery? No panic is called for. I doubt the urgency of your peril. A man planning a murder doesn’t spend his energy clipping pieces out of adver—”
“You are going to Washington?”
“Yes, sir. I have a date. Of course, I could phone Carpenter and tell him your nerves are a little shaky on account of an anony—”
“When do you leave?”
“I have a seat on the six o’clock train.”
“Very well. Then we have the day. Your notebook.”
Wolfe leaned forward to pour beer and drink, and then leaned back again. “I offer a comment on your jocosity. When Mr. Jensen called here yesterday and showed us that thing, we had no inkling of the character of the person who had sent it. It might have been merely the attempt of a coward to upset his digestion.
“However, we no longer enjoy that ignorance. This person not only promptly killed Mr. Jensen, with wit equal to his determination, but also killed Mr. Doyle, a stranger, whose presence could not have been foreseen. We now know that this person is coldblooded, ruthless, quick to decide and to act, and an egomaniac.”
“Yes, sir. I agree. If you go to bed and stay there until I get back from Washington, letting no one but Fritz enter the room, I may not be able to control my tongue when with you, but actually I will understand and I won’t tell anybody. You need a rest, anyway. And don’t lick any envelopes.”
“Bah.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at me. “That thing was not sent to you. Presumably you are not on the agenda.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And this person is dangerous and requires attention.”
“I agree.”
Wolfe shut his eves. “Very well. Take notes as needed... It may be assumed, if this person means business with me as he did with Mr. Jensen, that this is connected with the case of Captain Root. I had no other association with Mr. Jensen... Learn the whereabouts of Captain Root.”
“The court-martial gave him three years in the cooler.”
“I know it. Is he there? Also, what about that young woman, his fiancée, who raised such a ruction about it? Her name is Jane Geer.” Wolfe’s eyes half opened for an instant. “You have a habit of knowing how to locate personable young women without delay. Have you seen that one recently?”
“Oh,” I said offhand, “I sort of struck up an acquaintance with her. I guess I can get in touch with her. But I doubt—”
“Do so. I want to see her... Excuse me for interrupting, but you have a train to catch... Also, inform Inspector Cramer of this development and suggest that he investigate Captain Root’s background, his relatives and intimates, anyone besides Miss Geer who might thirst for vengeance at his disgrace. I’ll do that. If Captain Root is in prison, arrange with General Fife to bring him here. I want to have a talk with him... Where is the clipping received yesterday by Mr. Jensen? Ask Mr. Cornwall and Mr. Cramer. There is the possibility that this is not another one like it, but the same one.”
I shook my head. “No, sir. This one is clipped closer to the printing at the upper right.”
“I noticed that, but ask, anyway. Inspect the chain bolts on the doors and test the night gong in your room. Fritz will sleep in your room tonight. I shall speak to Fritz and Theodore. All of this can easily be attended to by telephone except Miss Geer, and that is your problem. When will you return from Washington?”
“I should be able to catch a noon train back — my appointment’s at nine. Getting here around five.” I added earnestly, “If I can clear it with Carpenter to cross the ocean, I will, of course, arrange not to leave until this ad-clipper has been attended to.”
“Don’t hurry back on my account. Or alter your plans. You receive a salary from the Government.” Wolfe’s tone was dry, sharp, and icy. He went on with it: “Please get General Fife on the phone. We’ll begin by learning about Captain Root.”
The program went smoothly, all except the Jane Geer number. If it hadn’t been for her I’d have been able to make the six o’clock train with hours to spare. Fife reported back on Root in thirty minutes, to the effect that Root was in the clink on government property down in Maryland, and would be transported to New York without delay for an interview with Wolfe.