“Take it and beat it,” I told him. “I just wanted a look. Wait a minute.” I went to get the key from Mom and handed that to him too. “Don't lend it again without phoning me first. I'll lock up when I leave.” He was speechless. The poor goof didn't have enough wits left even to ask my name.
When he had gone Saul and I sat down again. “You see,” I said genially, “we're easily satisfied as long as we get the truth. Now we know how you got in. What did you come for?” Mom had it ready and waiting, having been warned it was going to be required.
“You remember,” she said, “that my husband thought Louis was a Communist?” I said I did.
“Well, we still thought so-I mean, after what Mr Wolfe told us Monday afternoon.
We still thought so.” “Who is we?” “My son and I. We talked it over and we still thought so. Today when my husband told us that Mr Wolfe didn't believe what Webster said in his statement and it might mean more trouble about it, we thought if we came here and found something to prove that Louis was a Communist and showed it to Mr Wolfe, then it would be all right.” “It would be all right,” I asked, “because if he was a Communist Mr Wolfe wouldn't care who or what killed him? Is that it?” “Of course, don't you see?” I asked Saul, “Do you want it?” “Not even as a gift,” he said emphatically.
I nodded. I switched to Jimmy. “Why don't you take a stab at it? The way your mother's mind works makes it hard for her. What have you got to offer?” Jimmy's eyes still looked mean. They were straight at mine. “I think,” he said glumly, “that I was a boob to stumble in here like this.” “Okay. And?” “I think you've got us, damn you.” “And?” “I think we've got to tell you the truth. If we don't-” “Jimmy!” Mom gripped his arm. “Jimmy!” He ignored her. “If we don't you'll only think it's something worse. You brought my sister's name into this, insinuating she had a key to this apartment. I'd like to push that down your throat, and maybe I will some day, but I think we've got to tell you the truth, and I can't help it if it concerns her. She wrote him some letters-not the kind you might think-but anyhow my mother and I knew about them and we didn't want them around. So we came here to get them.” Mom let go of his arm and beamed at me. “That was it!” she said eagerly. “They weren't really bad letters, but they were-personal. You know?” If I had been Jimmy I would have strangled her. The way he had told it, at least it wasn't incredible, but her gasping at him when he said he was going to tell the truth, and then reacting that way when he went on to tell it, was enough to make you wonder how she ever got across a street. However, I met her beam with a deadpan. From the expression of Jimmy's eyes I doubted if another squeeze would produce more juice, and if not, it ought to be left that their truth was mine.
So my deadpan was replaced with a sympathetic grin.
“About how many letters?” I asked Jimmy, just curious.
“I don't know exactly. About a dozen.” I nodded. “I can see why you wouldn't want them kicking around, no matter how innocent they were. But either he destroyed them or they're some place else. You won't find them here. Mr Panzer and I have been looking for some papers-nothing to do with your sister or you-and we know how to look. We had just finished when you arrived, and you can take it from me that there's no letter from your sister here-let alone a dozen. If you want me to sign a statement on that I'd be glad to.” “You might have missed them,” Jimmy objected, 'You might,” I corrected him. “Not us.” “The papers you were looking for-did you find them?” “No.” “What are they?” “Oh, just something needed for settling his affairs.” “You say they don't concern-my family?” “Nothing to do with your family as far as I know.” I stood up. “So I guess that ends it. You leave empty-handed and so do we. I might add that there will be no point in my reporting this to Mr Sperling, since he's no longer our client and since you seem to think it might disturb him.” “That's very nice of you, Andy,” Mom said appreciatively. She arose to come to inspect me. “I'm so sorry about your face!” “Don't mention it,” I told her. “I shouldn't have startled you. It'll be okay in a couple of months.” I turned. “You don't want that gun, do you, Saul?” Saul took it from his pocket, shook the cartridges into his palm, and went to Jimmy and returned his property.
“I don't see,” Mom said, “why we can't stay and look around some more, just to make sure about those letters.” “Oh, come on,” Jimmy said rudely.
They went.
Saul and I followed soon after. On our way down in the elevator he asked, “Did any of that stick at all?” “Not on me. You?” “Nope. It was hard to keep my face straight.” “Do you think I should have kept on trying?” He shook his head. “There was nothing to pry him loose with. You saw his eyes and his jaw.” Before leaving I had gone to the bathroom for another look at my face, and it was a sight. But the blood had stopped coming, and I don't mind people staring at me if they're female, attractive, and between eighteen and thirty; and I had another errand in that part of town. Saul went with me because there was a bare possibility that he could help. It's always fun to be on a sidewalk with him because you know you are among those present at a remarkable performance. Look at him and all you see is just a guy walking along, but I honestly believe that if you had shown him any one of those people a month later and asked him if he had ever seen that man before, it would have taken him not more than five seconds to reply, “Yes, just once, on Wednesday, June twenty-second, on Madison Avenue between Thirty-ninth and Fortieth Streets.” He has got me beat a mile.
As it turned out he wasn't needed for the errand. The building directory on the wall of the marble lobby told us that the offices of Murphy, Kearfot and Rony were on the twenty-eighth floor, and we took the express elevator. It was the suite overlooking the avenue, and everything was up to beehive standard. After one glance I had to reconsider my approach because I hadn't expected that kind of a set-up. I told the receptionist, who was past my age limit and looked good and tough, that I wanted to see a member of the firm, and gave my name, and went to sit beside Saul on a leather couch. Before long another one, a good match for the receptionist only older, appeared to escort me down a hall and into a corner room with four big double windows.
A big broad-shouldered guy with white hair and deep-set blue eyes, seated at a desk even bigger than Wolfe's, got up to shake hands with me.
“Archie Goodwin?” he rumbled cordially, as if he had been waiting for this for years. “From Nero Wolfe's office? A pleasure. Sit down. I'm Aloysius Murphy.
What can I do for you?” Not having mentioned any name but mine to the receptionist, I felt famous. “I don't know,” I told him, sitting. “I guess you can't do anything.” “I could try.” He opened a drawer. “Have a cigar?” “No, thanks. Mr Wolfe has been interested in the death of your junior partner, Louis Rony.” “So I understand.” His face switched instantly from smiling welcome to solemn sorrow. “A brilliant career brutally snipped as it was bursting into flower.” That sounded to me like Confucius, but I skipped it. “A damn shame,” I agreed.