I thought he was laying it on a little heavy, but it sold Maria. When he was finished, she said she’d go right in and talk to him about bunking with us.
“You really think it’s necessary to keep him here?” I asked after she had left the room and closed the door behind her. The last person to stay in the South Room had been blown apart by a bomb concealed in an aluminum cigar tube, but I could see no reason to mention that now.
“Why not?” Wolfe answered with a shrug. “It gives us better control of the situation. And indeed, as we go on we may have need of Mr. Milner’s opinions concerning his fellow musicians. Miss Radovich will be back quickly, telling us that he has agreed to stay. After you escort the women to the door and get Fritz to take Mr. Milner to the South Room, I have some instructions.”
He was showing off, although in this case it hardly required a crystal-ball gazer to predict the result. Maria took about forty-five seconds to talk Milner into staying with us — I found out later from Lily that she handled it like a major general giving orders to a corporal. And it was no problem having Fritz get our new guest settled in the South Room, which is two flights up, on the same floor as my bedroom and directly above Wolfe’s. But I wasn’t about to abandon two lovely women at our front door, so the three of us walked all the way to Eighth Avenue before I reeled in a cab and sent them off with fond farewells.
This meant it was at least twenty minutes before I got back to the office, where Wolfe had found refuge in a book. He glared as I slipped into my chair, and then proceeded to outline the next day’s plans. They were skimpier than I had hoped, but compared to the last two years, they were downright invigorating. In fact, as I took notes, I almost began to feel like a working man again.
11
Friday was among the more memorable days in the recent history of the old brownstone, for a variety of reasons. It started out in a frustrating way, which I attribute to the rustiness of idle machinery, and Wolfe and I had been idle for a long time.
To start with, I slept longer than I should have, but I was still catching up on what I’d lost two nights ago. At eight-forty-five I hit the kitchen after having stopped in the South Room, where our guest was not only in one piece, but was working on a breakfast tray nearly as well filled as Wolfe’s. I told him to stay in his room until further notice, as we might be having visitors, and he nodded between bites of a blueberry muffin.
The phone rang when I was barely halfway through my first cup of coffee and still on page one of the Times. Fritz answered on the kitchen extension and cupped the receiver: “For you, Archie. Mr. Cohen.”
I said a word that made Fritz blush and told him I’d take it in the office. The top item on my instructions from Wolfe had been to call Lon. “You’re not going to believe this,” I said into the phone at my desk, “but right here in my notebook is a numeral ‘one’ and after it a notation to call Lon Cohen first thing Friday morning.”
“You’re right, I don’t believe it,” came the reply. “Archie, how long have we known each other? Don’t I rate a few breaks from you?” I started to say something, but Lon went right on. “One of our beat guys — admittedly a few hours late — discovered this morning that Milner’s out on bond and that the bail was posted by your old friend Nathaniel Parker. More than coincidence, I’d say. Milner’s not at his apartment in Queens. And we’ve already tried to reach Parker, too, but there’s no answer at his office and his wife says he’s already left home for work. So, on the off-chance you might know something about this, I decided to—”
“Okay, all right, I get your point,” I said. “If you’ll let me have a turn now, maybe you’ll get something that satisfies you. First, I apologize for not calling you earlier this morning. I know you’re on deadline and that you get to work at an inhuman hour of the morning. End of apology. It’s true that we sprung Milner; Parker got him out yesterday afternoon. Wolfe’s convinced he didn’t kill Stevens, and we’re continuing the investigation for our client, Miss Maria Radovich.” Following my instructions from last night, I gave Lon a few more sentences, including a couple of quotes from Wolfe. It was enough for a solid second-day lead on the story. Of course Lon also wanted to know where Milner was, and I suggested Maria might have the answer. “But we can’t find her, either,” he complained. “Where’ve you got them stashed?”
“You already have yourself a good story,” I said. “And by the way, if you’re planning to use our pictures again, I’ve got some more recent ones here of both Wolfe and me. If you send a messenger over, I’ll have them ready.”
Lon’s response also would have made Fritz blush, and he hung up before I was able to tell him the rest of my instructions under “one” were to talk only to the Gazette. As I walked back to the kitchen to inform Fritz that I wasn’t home to any reporters, the phone rang again. When I got there, he’d already answered. “It’s for Mr. Wolfe,” he whispered. “A man named Remmers.”
I shook my head and blinked. My second notebook item was to call Jason Remmers. I did an about-face to the office. “Keep breakfast warm,” I said over my shoulder. “I’d like to eat it before lunch.
“Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking,” I said into the receiver.
“Yes, Mr. Goodwin,” came the deep response, “this is Jason Remmers of the New York Symphony. Is Mr. Wolfe in?”
“I’m sorry, but he’s not available right now. However, I can speak for him. And coincidentally, I was going to call you this morning.”
“Oh?” Remmers said. “Well, I’m aware from the papers that Mr. Wolfe has a strong interest in the death of Mr. Stevens, and I was hoping to make an appointment to see him today.”
“Precisely what I was going to talk to you about. Mr. Wolfe would like to see you, too. And as you may be aware, he doesn’t leave his office on business. Would it be possible for you to be here this morning? Say, at eleven-fifteen?”
“Yes, that would be no problem at all. I assume your address is correct as shown in the directory?” I said it was and hung up, leaning back and staring at the ceiling. It was only nine o’clock, and already I was batting two-for-two on the day’s instructions. Or was it zero-for-two? I hadn’t done a damn thing so far except answer calls. Maybe our strategy should be just to sit and wait for the phone to ring.
I called Wolfe in the plant rooms.
“Well?” He always sounds disgusted when he’s interrupted up there.
“Just reporting in. I’ve talked to Cohen, and Remmers will be here at eleven-fifteen.”
“Satisfactory,” he growled, hanging the phone up harder than he needed to.
I went back to the kitchen and had at least five bites of breakfast before the doorbell rang. “Whoever it is, tell them there’s nobody home,” I said to Fritz. “Tell them Wolfe and I have quit because of the pressure and have started a mink ranch up in Nova Scotia. Tell them anything that comes into your mind.”