“It hadn’t occurred to me before,” he said, and his voice had changed, too. “This Mr. Wolfe is quite an article, and you’re his man. I am doing this with the understanding that someone may mistake me for Mr. Wolfe and try to kill me, but I have only his word for it that that is actually the situation. If it’s more complicated than that, and the intention is for you to shoot me yourself, I want to say emphatically that that would not be fair.”
I grinned at him sympathetically, trying to make up for my blunder, realizing that I should not have dressed for the occasion in his presence. The sight of the gun, a real gun and real cartridges, had scared him stiff.
“Listen,” I told him earnestly; “you said a minute ago that you expect nothing to happen. You may be right. I’m inclined to agree with you. But in case somebody does undertake to perform, I am wearing this little number” — I patted under my arm where the gun was — “for two purposes: first, to keep you from getting hurt; and, second, if you do get hurt, to hurt him worse.”
It seemed to satisfy him, for his eyes got less concentrated, but he didn’t resume with the gingersnaps. At least, I had accomplished that much.
To tell the truth, by the time the afternoon was over and I had him back in the house again, a little after five-thirty, I had to maintain a firm hold on such details as gingersnaps and his calling me “Archie” to keep from admiring him. During that extended expedition we made stops at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Botanical Gardens, and three or four stores. He occupied the rear seat, of course, because Wolfe always did, and the mirror showed me that he sat back comfortably, taking in the sights, a lot more imperturbable than Wolfe, himself, ever was in a car.
When we made one of our slops and Hackett got out to cross the sidewalk, he was okay. He didn’t hurry or dodge or jerk or weave, but just walked. In Wolfe’s hat and coat and stick, he might even have fooled me. I had to hand it to him, in spite of the fact that the whole show struck me as the biggest bust Wolfe had ever concocted.
Back in the house, I left Hackett in the office and went to the kitchen, where Wolfe was sitting at the big table drinking beer.
I reported: “They tried to get him from the top of the Palisades with a howitzer, but misled him. He was a little bruised on his left elbow from the revolving door at Rusterman’s, but otherwise unhurt.”
Wolfe grunted. “How did he behave?”
“Okay.”
Wolfe grunted again. “After dark we may more reasonably expect results. I repeat what I told you at noon; you will take an active part in the interview with Miss Geer, but you will restrain yourself. If you permit yourself to get fanciful, there is no telling what the effect may be on Mr. Hackett. As you know, his instructions are precise, but his discipline is questionable. See that she speaks up, so I can hear her. Seat her at the corner of my desk farthest from you, so I will have a good view of her face.”
“Yes, sir.”
But, as it turned out, I wasn’t able to obey orders. It was then nearly six o’clock. When the doorbell rang, a few minutes later, and I went to answer it, glancing in at the office on my way down the hall to make sure that Hackett didn’t have his feet up on the desk, I opened the door, to find that Miss Geer hadn’t ventured alone on the streets of the great city, after all. Major Emil Jensen was there with her.
“Well,” I said brightly, “two on one hook?”
Jensen said hello. Jane volunteered, “Major Jensen decided to come on the spur of the moment. We were having cocktails.” She looked me up and down; it was true that I was blocking the way. “May we come in?” Certainly I could have told Jensen we had only one extra chair so he had better go for a walk, but if there was going to be anything accomplished by having either of those two get the idea that Hackett was Nero Wolfe, I would have picked him for the experiment rather than her. On the other hand, with Hackett primed only for her, it would have been crowding our luck to confront him with both of them, and, anyway, I couldn’t take such a chance on my own hook. I needed advice from headquarters. So I decided to herd them into the front room, ask them to wait, and go consult Wolfe.
“Sure,” I said hospitably; “enter.” I had got them seated, and was headed for the hall before noticing an unfortunate fact: The door from the front room to the office was standing open. That was careless of me, but I hadn’t expected complications. If they moved across, as they naturally would, Hackett, sitting in the office, would be in plain sight. But what the hell, that was what he was there for. So I kept going, down the hall to the turn into the alcove at the far end, found Wolfe there ready to take position at the peephole, and muttered to him:
“She brought an outrider along. Major Jensen. I put them in the front room. The door into the office is open. Well?”
He scowled at me. He whispered, “Confound it. Return to the front room by way of the office, closing that door as you go. Tell Major Jensen to wait, that I wish to speak with Miss Geer privately. Take her to the office by way of the hall, and when you—”
Somebody fired a gun.
At least, that’s what it sounded like, and the sound didn’t come from outdoors. The walls and the air vibrated. Judging by the noise, I might have fired it myself, but I hadn’t. I moved. In three jumps I was at the door to the office. Hackett was sitting there, looking startled and speechless. I dashed through to the front room. Jensen and Jane were there, on their feet, she off to the right and he to the left, both also startled and speechless, staring at each other. Their hands were empty, except for Jane’s bag. I might have been inclined to let it go for Hackett biting a gingersnap if it hadn’t been for the smell. I knew that smell.
I snapped at Jensen, “Well?”
“Well yourself.” He had transferred the stare to me. “What the hell was it?”
“Did you fire a gun?”
“No. Did you?”
I pivoted to Jane. “Did you?”
“You — you idiot,” she stammered, trying not to tremble. “Why would I fire a gun?”
“Let me see the one in your hand,” Jensen demanded.
I looked at my hand and was surprised to see a gun in it. I must have snatched it from the holster automatically en route. “Not it,” I said. I poked the muzzle to within an inch of Jensen’s nose. “Was it?”
He sniffed. “No.”
I said, “But a gun was fired inside here. Do you smell it?”
“Certainly I smell it.”
“Okay. Let’s join Mr. Wolfe and discuss it. Through there.” I indicated the door to the office with a flourish of the gun.
Jane started jabbering about a put-up job, but I followed Jensen into the other room.
“This is Mr. Nero Wolfe,” I said. “Sit down.” I was using my best judgment, and figured I was playing it right, because Wolfe was nowhere in sight. I had to decide what to do with them while I found the gun and maybe the bullet.
Jane was still trying to jabber, but she stopped when Jensen blurted, “Wolfe has blood on his head I”
I glanced at Hackett. He was standing up behind the desk, leaning forward with his hand on the desk, staring wildly at the three of us. Blood dribbled down the side of his neck.
I took in breath and yelled, “Fritz!”
He appeared instantly, probably having been standing by in the hall, and when he came I handed him my gun. “If anybody reaches for a handkerchief, shoot.”
“Those instructions,” Jensen said sharply, “are dangerous if he—”
“He’s all right.”
“I would like you to search me.” Jensen stuck his hands toward the ceiling.
“That,” I said, “is more like it,” and crossed to him and explored him from neck to ankles, invited him to relax in a chair, and turned to Jane. She darted me a look of lofty disgust.