Cornwall said he had turned the clipping and envelope Jensen had received over to Inspector Cramer, and Cramer verified it and said he had it. When I had explained the situation, Cramer emitted a hoarse chuckle, and said offensively, “So Wolfe is not interested, involved, or curious.” I knew Wolfe would have a visit from him. Not pleasant.
On Jane Geer the luck was low. When, before noon, I phoned the advertising agency she worked for, I was told that she was somewhere on Long Island admiring some client’s product for which she was to produce copy. When I finally did get her after four o’clock, she went willful on me, presumably because she regarded my phoning five times in one day as evidence that my primal impulses had been aroused and I was beginning to pant. She would not come to Nero Wolfe’s place unless I bought her a cocktail first. So I met her a little after five at the Stork Club.
She had put in a full day’s work, but, looking at her, you might have thought she had come straight from an afternoon nap.
She darted her brown eyes at me. “Let me,” she said, “see your right forefinger.”
I poked it at her. She rubbed its tip gently with the tip of her own. “I wondered if it had a callus. After dialing my number five times in less than five hours.”
She sipped her Tom Collins, bending her head to get her lips to the straw. A strand of her hair slipped forward over an eye and a cheek, and I reached across and used the same finger to put it back in place.
“I took that liberty,” I told her, “because I wish to have an unobstructed view of your lovely phiz. I want to see if you turn pale.”
“Overwhelmed by you so near?”
“No, I know that reaction — I correct for it. Anyhow, I doubt if I’m magnetic right now, because I’m sore at you for making me miss a train.”
“I didn’t phone you this time. You phoned me.”
“Okay.” I drank. “You said on the phone that you still don’t like Nero Wolfe and you wouldn’t go to see him unless you knew what for, and maybe not even then. So this is what for: He wants to ask you whether you intend to kill him yourself or hire the same gang that you got to kill Jensen and Doyle.”
“Mercy.” She looked my face over. “You’d better put your humor on a diet. It’s taking on weight.”
I shook my head. “Ordinarily, I would enjoy playing catch with you, as you are aware, but I can’t miss all the trains. Because Wolfe’s life has been threatened in the same manner as Jensen’s was, the supposition is that Jensen was murdered for revenge, for what he did to Captain Root. Because of the cutting remarks you made when Root was trapped, and your general attitude, there is a tendency to want to know what you have been doing lately.”
“Nero Wolfe seriously thinks I — did that? Or had it done?”
“I didn’t say so. He wants to discuss it.”
Her eyes flashed. Her tone took on an edge: “It is also extremely corny. And the police. Have you kindly arranged that when Wolfe finishes with me I proceed to headquarters?”
“Listen, Tiger-eyes.” She let me cut her off, which was a pleasant surprise. “Have you noticed me sneaking up on you from behind? If so, draw it for me. I have explained a situation. Your name has not been mentioned to the police, though they have consulted us. But since the police are onto the Root angle they are apt to get a steer in your direction without us, and it wouldn’t hurt if Wolfe had already satisfied himself that you wouldn’t kill a fly.”
“By what process?” She was scornful. “I suppose he asks me if I ever committed murder, and I smile and say no, and he apologizes and gives me an orchid.”
“Not quite. He’s a genius. He asks you questions like do you bait your own hook when you go fishing, and you reveal yourself without knowing it.”
“It sounds fascinating.” Her eyes suddenly changed. “I wonder,” she said.
“What is it? — and we’ll both wonder.”
“Sure.” Her eyes had changed more. “This wouldn’t by any chance be a climax you’ve been working up to? You, with a thousand girls and women, so that you have to issue ration books so many minutes to a coupon, and yet finding so much time for me? Leading up to this idiotic frame—”
“Turn that one off,” I broke in, “or I’ll begin to get suspicious, myself. You know darned well why I have found time for you, having a mirror as you do. I have been experimenting to test my emotional reaction to form, color, touch, and various perfumes, and I have been deeply grateful for your cooperation. I thank you — but that is all.”
“Ha, ha.” She stood up, her eyes not softening nor her tone melting. “I am going to see Nero Wolfe. I welcome an opportunity to reveal myself to Nero Wolfe. Do I go or are you taking me?”
I took her. I paid the check and we went out and got a taxi.
But she didn’t get to see Wolfe.
Since chain-bolt orders were in effect, my key wouldn’t let us in and I had to ring the doorbell for Fritz. I had just pushed the button, when who should appear, mounting the steps to join us on the stoop, but the army officer that they use for a model when they want to do a picture conveying the impression that masculine comeliness will win the war. I admit he was handsome; I admitted it to myself right then, when I first saw him. He looked preoccupied and concentrated, but, even so, he found time for a glance at Jane.
At that moment the door swung open and I spoke to Fritz: “Okay, thanks. Is Mr. Wolfe in the office?”
“No, he’s up in his room.”
“All right; I’ll take it.” Fritz departed, and I maneuvered into position to dominate the scene, on the doorsill facing out. I spoke to the masculine modeclass="underline" “Yes, Major? This is Nero Wolfe’s place.”
“I know it is.” He had a baritone voice that suited him to a T. “I want to see him. My name is Emil Jensen. I am the son of Ben Jensen, who was killed last night.”
“Oh.” There wasn’t much resemblance, but that’s nature’s lookout. I have enough to do. “Mr. Wolfe has an appointment. It would be handy if I could tell him what you want.”
“I want to — consult him. If you don’t mind, I’d rather tell him.” He smiled to take the sting off. Probably Psychological Warfare Branch.
“I’ll see. Come on in.”
I made room for Jane, and he followed her. After attending to the bolt I escorted them to the office, invited them to sit, and went to the phone on my desk and buzzed Wolfe’s room.
“Yes?” Wolfe’s voice came.
“Archie. Miss Geer is here. Also, Major Emil Jensen just arrived. He is the son of Ben Jensen and prefers to tell you what he wants to consult you about.”
“Give them both my regrets. I am engaged and can see no one.”
“Engaged for how long?”
“Indefinitely. I can make no appointments for this week.”
“But you may remember—”
“Archie! Tell them that please.” The line died.
So I told them that. They were not pleased. The Lord knows what kind of performance Jane would have put on if she hadn’t been restrained by the presence of a stranger; as it was, she didn’t have to fumble around for pointed remarks. Jensen wasn’t indignant, but he sure was stubborn. During an extended conversation that got nowhere, I noticed a gradual increase in their inclination to cast sympathetic glances at each other.
I thought it might help matters along, meaning that they might clear out sooner if I changed the subject, so I said emphatically, “Miss Geer, this is Major Jensen.”
He got to his feet, bowed to her like a man who knows how to bow, and told her, “How do you do? It looks as if it’s hopeless, at least for this evening, for both of us. I’ll have to hunt a taxi, and it would be a pleasure if you’ll let me drop you.”