At 1:09 my door swung open and the floorwalker, a chunky short guy with only half an ear on the right side, told me to come along. I went willingly, on out of the block to an elevator, and along a ground-floor corridor to an office. There I was pleased to see the tall lanky figure and long pale face of Henry George Parker, the only lawyer Wolfe would admit to the bar if he had the say. He came to shake my hand and said he’d have me out of there in a minute now.
“No rush,” I said stiffly. “Don’t let it interfere with anything important.”
He laughed, haw-haw, and took me inside the gate. All the formalities but one which required my presence had already been attended to, and he made good on his minute. On the way up in the taxi he explained why I had been left to rot until past noon. Getting bail on the Sullivan Act charge had been simple, but I had also been tagged with a material witness warrant, and the DA had asked the judge to put it at fifty grand! He had been stubborn about it, and the best Parker could do was talk it down to twenty, and he had had to report back to Wolfe before closing the deal. I was not to leave the jurisdiction. As the taxi crossed Thirty-fourth Street I looked west across the river. I had never cared much for New Jersey, but now the idea of driving through the tunnel and on among the billboards seemed attractive.
I preceded Parker up the stoop at the old brownstone on West Thirty-fifth, used my key but found that the chain bolt was on, which was normal but not invariable when I was out of the house, and had to push the button. Fritz Brenner, chef and house manager, let us in and stood while we disposed of our coats and hats.
“Are you all right, Archie?” he inquired.
“No,” I said frankly. “Don’t you smell me?”
As we went down the hall Wolfe appeared, coming from the door to the dining room. He stopped and regarded me. I returned his gaze with my chin up.
“I’ll go up and rinse off,” I said, “while you’re finishing lunch.”
“I’ve finished,” he said grimly. “Have you eaten?”
“Enough to hold me.”
“Then we’ll get started.”
He marched into the office, across the hall from the dining room, went to his oversized chair behind his desk, sat, and got himself adjusted for comfort. Parker took the red leather chair. As I crossed to my desk I started talking, to get the jump on him.
“It will help,” I said, not aggressively but pointedly, “if we first get it settled about my leaving that room with my gun there in the drawer. I do not—”
“Shut up!” Wolfe snapped.
“In that case,” I demanded, “why didn’t you leave me in the coop? I’ll go back and—”
“Sit down!”
I sat.
“I deny,” he said, “that you were in the slightest degree imprudent. Even if you were, this has transcended such petty considerations.” He picked up a sheet of paper from his desk. “This is a letter which came yesterday from a Mrs. E. R. Baumgarten. She wants me to investigate the activities of a nephew who is employed by the business she owns. I wish to reply. Your notebook.”
He was using what I call his conclusive tone, leaving no room for questions, let alone argument. I got my notebook and pen.
“Dear Mrs. Baumgarten.” He went at it as if he had already composed it in his mind. “Thank you very much for your letter of the thirteenth, requesting me to undertake an investigation for you. Paragraph. I am sorry that I cannot be of service to you. I am compelled to decline because I have been informed by an official of the New York Police Department that my license to operate a private detective agency is about to be taken away from me. Sincerely yours.”
Parker ejaculated something and got ignored. I stayed deadpan, but among my emotions was renewed regret that I had missed Wolfe’s and Cramer’s talk.
Wolfe was saying, “Type it at once and send Fritz to mail it. If any requests for appointments come by telephone refuse them, giving the reason and keeping a record.”
“The reason given in the letter?”
“Yes.”
I swiveled the typewriter to me, got paper and carbon in, and hit the keys. I had to concentrate. This was Cramer’s farthest north. Parker was asking questions, and Wolfe was grunting at him. I finished the letter and envelope, had Wolfe sign it, went to the kitchen and told Fritz to take it to Eighth Avenue immediately, and returned to the office.
“Now,” Wolfe said, “I want all of it. Go ahead.”
Ordinarily when I start giving Wolfe a full report of an event, no matter how extended and involved, I just glide in and keep going with no effort at all, thanks to my long and hard training. That time, having just got a severe jolt, I wasn’t so hot at the beginning, since I was supposed to include every word and movement, but by the time I had got to where I opened the window it was coming smooth and easy, As usual, Wolfe soaked it all in without making any interruptions.
It took all of an hour and a half, and then came questions, but not many. I rate a report by the number of questions he has when I’m through, and by that test this was up toward the top. Wolfe leaned back and closed his eyes.
Parker spoke. “It could have been any of them, but it must have been Koven. Or why his string of lies, knowing that you and Goodwin would both contradict him?” The lawyer haw-hawed. “That is, if they’re lies — considering your settled policy of telling your counselor only what you think he should know.”
“Pfui.” Wolfe’s eyes came open. “This is extraordinarily intricate, Archie. Have you examined it any?”
“I’ve started. When I pick at it, it gets worse instead of better.”
“Yes. I’m afraid you’ll have to type it out. By eleven tomorrow morning?”
“I guess so, but I need a bath first. Anyway, what for? What can we do with it without a license? I suppose it’s suspended?”
He ignored it. “What the devil is that smell?” he demanded.
“Disinfectant. It’s for the bloodhounds in case you escape.” I arose. “I’ll go scrub.”
“No.” He glanced at the wall clock, which said 3:45 — fifteen minutes to go until he was due to join Theodore and the orchids up on the roof. “An errand first. I believe it’s the Gazette that carries the Dazzle Dan comic strip?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Daily and Sunday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want all of them for the past three years. Can you get them?”
“I can try.”
“Do so.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Wait a minute — confound it, don’t be a cyclone! You should hear my instructions for Mr. Parker, but first one for you. Mail Mr. Koven a bill for recovery of his gun, five hundred dollars. It should go today.”
“Any extras, under the circumstances?”
“No. Five hundred flat.” Wolfe turned to the lawyer. “Mr. Parker, how long will it take to enter a suit for damages and serve a summons on the defendant?”
“That depends.” Parker sounded like a lawyer. “If it’s rushed all possible and there are no unforeseen obstacles and the defendant is accessible for service, it could be merely a matter of hours.”
“By noon tomorrow?”
“Quite possibly, yes.”
“Then proceed, please. Mr. Koven has destroyed, by slander, my means of livelihood. I wish to bring an action demanding payment by him of the sum of one million dollars.”
“M-m-m-m,” Parker said. He was frowning.
I addressed Wolfe. “I want to apologize,” I told him, “for jumping to a conclusion. I was supposing you had lost control for once and buried it too deep in Cramer. Whereas you did it purposely, getting set for this. I’ll be damned.”
Wolfe grunted.