wasn't very polite, I thought, to be sarcastic about the sandwiches and beer Chisholm had provided. Hennessy started a remark which indicated that he agreed with me, but it was interrupted by the appearance of Commissioner Skinner at his elbow. Hennessy stepped in and aside, and Skinner entered, followed by Chisholm, and approached the couch. He spoke. "Dining?" "Yes, sir." Wolfe reached for another sandwich. "As you see." "Not your accustomed style." Wolfe grunted and bit into the sandwich. Skinner kept it friendly. "I've just learned that four men who were told they could go 229 are still here--Baker, Prentiss, Neill, and Eston. When Inspector Hennessy asked them why, they told him that Mr. Chisholm asked them to stay. Mr. Chisholm says that he did so at your suggestion. He understood that you want to speak with them after our men have all left. Is that correct?" Wolfe nodded. "I made it quite plain, I thought." "M-m-m-m." The commissioner regarded him. "You see, I know you fairly well. You wouldn't dream of hanging on here half the night to speak with those men merely as a routine step in an investigation. And besides, at Mr. Chisholm's request you have already been permitted to speak with them, and with several others. You're cooking something. Those are the four men who were drugged, but they left the clubhouse for the field with the rest of the team, so, the way we figure it, none of them killed Ferrone. How do you figure it?" Wolfe swallowed the last of a well-chewed bite. "I don't." Hennessy growled and set his jaw. Skinner said, "I don't believe it," with his tone friendlier than his words. "You're cooking something," he insisted. "What's the play with those four men?" 230 Wolfe shook his head. "No, sir." Hennessy took a step forward. "Look," he said, "this is my territory. My name's Hennessy. You don't turn this murder into a parlor game." Wolfe raised brows at him. "Murder? I am not concerned with murder. Mr. Chisholm hired me to investigate the drugging of his employees. The two events may of course be connected, but the murder is your job. And they were not necessarily connected. I understand that a man named Moyse is in there now with the district attorney"--Wolfe aimed a thumb at the door to the locker room--"because it has been learned that he has twice within a month assaulted Mr. Ferrone physically, through resentment at Ferrone's interest in his wife, injudiciously displayed. And that Moyse did not leave the clubhouse with the others, and arrived at the dugout three or four minutes later, just before Fen-one's absence was noticed. For your murder, Mr. Hennessy, that should be a help; but it doesn't get me on with my job, disclosure of the culprit who drugged the drinks. Have you charged Mr. Moyse?" "No." Hennessy was curt. "So you're not interested in the murder?" 231 "Not as a job, since it's not mine. But if you want a comment from a specialist, you're closing your lines too soon." "We haven't closed any lines." "You let twenty men walk out of here. You are keeping Moyse for the reasons given. You are keeping Doctor Softer, I suppose, because when Ferrone was missed in the dugout Softer came here to look for him, and he could have found him here alive and killed him. You are keeping Mr. Durkin, I suppose again, because he too could have been here alone with Ferrone. He says he left the clubhouse shortly before the team did and went to his seat in the grandstand, and stayed there. Has he been either contradicted or corroborated?" "No." "Then you regard him as vulnerable on opportunity?" "Yes." "Are you holding Mr. Chisholm for the same reason?" Chisholm made a noise. Skinner and Hennessy stared. Skinner said, "We're not holding Mr. Chisholm." "You should be, for consistency," Wolfe declared. "This afternoon, when I reached my seat in the stands�of which only the 232 front edge was accessible to me--at twenty minutes past one, the Mayor and others were there in a nearby box, but Mr. Chisholm was not. He arrived a few minutes later. He has told me that when he arrived with his party, including the Mayor, about one o'clock, he had the others escorted to the stands and the box, that he started for the clubhouse for a word with his employees, that he was delayed by the crowd and decided it was too late, that he went on a private errand to a men's room and then proceeded to the box. If the others are vulnerable on opportunity, so is he." They made remarks, all three of them, not appreciative. Wolfe put the bottle to his lips, tilted it and his head, and swallowed beer. Paper cups had been supplied, but he hates them. He put the bottle down empty. "I was merely," he said mildly, "commenting on the murder as a specialist. As for my job, learning who drugged the drinks, I haven't even made a start. How could I in this confounded hubbub? Trampled by an army. I have been permitted to sit here and talk to people, yes, with a succession of your subordinates standing behind me, breathing down my neck. One of them was chewing 233 gum! Pfui. Working on a murder and chewing gum!" "We'll bounce him," Hennessy said dryly. "The commissioner has asked you, what's the play with those four men?" Wolfe shook his head. "Not only those four. I included others in my request to Mr. Chisholm--Doctor Softer, Mr. Kinney, Mr. Durkin, and of course Mr. Chisholm himself. I am not arranging a parlor game. I make a living as a professional detective, and I need their help on this job I've undertaken. I think I know why, engrossed as you are with the most sensational case you've had in years, you're spending all this time chatting with me; you suspect I'm contriving a finesse. Don't you?" "You're damn right we do." Wolfe nodded. "So I am." "You are?" "Yes." Wolfe suddenly was peevish. "Haven't I sat here for five hours, submerged in your pandemonium? Haven't you all the facts that I have, and many more besides? Haven't you a thousand men to command--indeed, twenty thousand--and I one? One little fact strikes me as apparently it has not struck you, and in my forlorn desperation I decided to test my 234 interpretation of it. For that test I need help, and I ask Mr. Chisholm to provide it, and--" "We'll be glad to help," Skinner cut in. "Which fact, and how do you interpret it?" "No, sir." Wolfe was positive. "It is my one slender chance to earn a fee. I intend--" "We may not know this fact." "Certainly you do. I have stated it explicitly during this conversation, but I won't point at it for you. If I did you'd spoil it for me, and, slender as it is, I intend to test it. I am not beset with the urgency of murder, as you are, but I'm in a fix. I don't need a motive strong enough to incite a man to murder, merely one to persuade him to drug some bottled drinks--mildly, far from lethally. A thousand dollars? Twenty thousand? That would be only a fraction of the possible winnings on a World Series game-- and no tax to pay. The requisitions of the income tax have added greatly to the attractions of mercenary crime. As for opportunity, anyone at all could have slipped in here late this morning, before others had arrived, with drugged bottles of that drink and put them in the cooler--and earned a fortune. Those twenty men you let go, Mr. Hennessy--of how many of them can you 235 say positively that they did not drug the drinks?" The inspector was scowling at him. "I can say that I don't think any of them killed Ferrone." "Ah, but I'm not after the murderer; that's your job," Wolfe upturned a palm. "You see why I am driven to a forlorn finesse. It is my only hope of avoiding a laborious and possibly fruitless--" What interrupted him was the entry of a man through the door to the locker room. District Attorney Megalech was as masterful as they come, although bald as a doorknob. He strode across and told Skinner and Hennessy he wanted to speak with them, took an elbow of each, and steered them to and through the door to Kinney's office. Chisholm, uninvited, wheeled and followed them. Wolfe reached for a sandwich and took a healthy bite. I arose, brushed off crumbs, shook my pants legs down, and stood looking down at him. I asked, "How good is this fact you're saving up?" "Not very." He chewed and swallowed. "Good enough to try if we got nothing better. Evidently they have nothing at all. If they had--but you heard them." 236 "Yeah. You told them they have all the facts you have, but they haven't. The one I gave you about Mrs. Moyse? That's not the one you're interpreting privately?" "No." "She might be still around, waiting. I might possibly get something better than the one you're saving. Shall I go try?" He grunted. I took it for a yes, and moved. Outside the door to the hall and stairs stood one in uniform with whom I had already had a few little words. I addressed him. "I'm going down to buy Mr. Wolfe a pickle. Do I need to be passed out or in?" "You?" He used only the right half of his mouth for talking. "Shoot your way through. Huh?" "Right. Many thanks." I went. 5 It was dumb to be so surprised, but I was. I might have known that the news that the Giants had been doped out of the game and the series, and that Nick Ferrone, the probable rookie of the year, had been murdered, would draw a record mob. Downstairs in237 side the entrance there were sentries, and outside a regiment was stretched into a cordon. I was explaining to a sergeant who I was and telling him I would be returning, when three desperate men, one of whom I recognized, came springing at me. All they wanted was the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. I had to get really rude. I have been clawed at by newspapermen more than once, but I had never seen them quite as hungry as they were outside the Polo Grounds that October night. Finding they wouldn't shake loose, I dived through the cordon and into the mob. It looked hopeless. The only parked cars in sight on the west side of Eighth Avenue were police cars. I pushed through to the fringe of the throng and made my way two blocks south. Having made inquiries of two Giants hours previously, I knew what I was looking for, a light blue Curtis sedan. Of course there was a thin chance that it was still around, but if it was I wanted it. I crossed the avenue and headed for the parking plaza. Two cops at the end of the cordon gave me a look, but it wasn't the plaza they were guarding, and I marched on through. In the dim light I could see three cars over at the north end. Closer up, one 238 was a Curtis sedan. Still closer, it was light blue. I went up to it. Two females on the front seat were gazing at me through the window, and one of them was my glommee. The radio was on. I opened the door, swung it wide, and said hello. "Who are you?" she demanded. "My name's Archie Goodwin. I'll show credentials if you are Mrs. William Moyse." "What do you want?" "Nothing if you're not Mrs. Moyse." "What if I am?" She was rapidly erasing the pleasant memory I had of her. Not that she had turned homely in a few hours, but her expression was not only unfriendly but sour, and her voice was not agreeable. I got out my wallet and extracted my license card. "If you are," I said, "this will identify me," and proffered it. "Okay, your name's Goodman." She ignored the card. "So what?" "Not Goodman." I pronounced it again. "Archie Goodwin. I work for Nero Wolfe, who is up in the clubhouse. I just came from there. Why not turn off the radio?" "I'd rather turn you off," she said bitterly.