At a quarter to one he left his chair, yawned and stretched, and announced, “Her panic wore off. I’m going to bed.”
“I’m afraid,” Saul apologized, “I have no pajamas you could get into, but I’ve got-”
The phone rang. I was nearest, and turned and got it. “This is Jackson four-three-one-oh-nine.”
“I want- This is the Queen of Hearts.”
“It sure is. I recognize your voice. This is Archie Goodwin. Where are you?”
“In a booth at Grand Central. I couldn’t get rid of him, and then-but that doesn’t matter now. Where are you?”
“In an apartment on Thirty-eighth Street with Mr. Wolfe, waiting for you. It’s a short walk. I’ll meet you at the information booth, upper level, in five minutes. Will you be there?”
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
“Of course I will!”
I hung up, turned, and said loftily, “If it wore off it wore on again. Make some coffee, will you, Saul? She’ll need either that or bourbon. And maybe she likes cheese.”
I departed.
V
AT SIX MINUTES PAST TEN in the morning Assistant District Attorney Mandelbaum was standing at the end of his table in the courtroom to address Judge Corbett. The room was packed. The jury was in the box. Jimmy Donovan, defense attorney, looking not at all like a janitor, was fingering through some papers his assistant had handed him.
“Your Honor,” Mandelbaum said, “I wish to call a witness whom I called yesterday, but he was not available. I learned only a few minutes ago that he is present. You will remember that on my application you issued a warrant for Mr. Nero Wolfe.”
“Yes, I do.” The judge cleared his throat. “Is he here?”
“He is.” Mandelbaum turned and called, “Nero Wolfe!”
Having arrived at one minute to ten, we wouldn’t have been able to get in if we hadn’t pushed through to the officer at the door and told him who we were and that we were wanted. He had stared at Wolfe and admitted he recognized him, and let us in, and the attendant had managed to make room for us on a bench just as Judge Corbett entered. When Wolfe was called by Mandelbaum and got up to go forward I had enough space.
He walked down the aisle, through the gate, mounted the stand, turned to face the judge, and stood.
“I have some questions for you, Mr. Wolfe,” the judge said, “after you are sworn.”
The attendant extended the Book and administered the oath, and Wolfe sat. A witness-chair is supposed to take any size, but that one just barely made it.
The judge spoke. “You knew you were to be called yesterday. You were present, but you left and could not be found, and a warrant was issued for you. Are you represented by counsel?”
“No, sir.”
“Why did you leave? You are under oath.”
“I was impelled to leave by a motive which I thought imperative. I will of course expound it now if you so order, but I respectfully ask your indulgence. I understand that if my reason for leaving is unsatisfactory I will be in contempt of court and will suffer a penalty. But I ask, Your Honor, does it matter whether I am adjudged in contempt now, or later, after I have testified? Because my reason for leaving is inherent in my testimony, and therefore I would rather plead on the charge of contempt afterwards, if the court will permit. Ill still be here.”
“Indeed you will. You’re under arrest.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re not under arrest?”
“No, sir. I came here voluntarily.”
“Well, you are now.” The judge turned his head. “Officer, this man is under arrest.” He turned back. “Very well. You will answer to the contempt charge later. Proceed, Mr. Mandelbaum.”
Mandelbaum approached the chair. “Please tell the jury your name, occupation, and address.”
Wolfe turned to the jury box. “I am Nero Wolfe, a licensed private detective, with my office in my house at nine-eighteen West Thirty-fifth Street, Manhattan, New York City.”
“Have you ever met the defendant in this case?” Mandelbaum pointed. “That gentleman.”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Leonard Ashe.”
“Where and under what circumstances did you meet him?”
“He called on me at my office, by appointment, at eleven o’clock in the morning of Tuesday, July thirteenth, this year.”
“What did he say to you on that occasion?”
“That he wished to engage my professional services. That he had, the preceding day, arranged for an answering service for the telephone at his residence on Seventy-third Street in New York. That he had learned, upon inquiry, that one of the employees of the answering service would be assigned to his number and would serve it five or six days a week. That he wanted to hire me to learn the identity of that employee, and to propose to her that she eavesdrop on calls made during the daytime to his number, and report on them either to him or to me-I can’t say definitely which, because he wasn’t clear on that point.”
“Did he say why he wanted to make that arrangement?”
“No. He didn’t get that far.”
Donovan was up. “Objection, Your Honor. Conclusion of the witness as to the intention of the defendant.”
“Strike it,” Mandelbaum said amiably. “Strike all of his answer except the word ‘No.’ Your answer is ‘No,’ Mr. Wolfe?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Did the defendant suggest any inducement to be offered to the employee to get her to do the eavesdropping?”
“He didn’t name a sum, but he indicated that-”
“Not what he indicated. What he said.”
I allowed myself a grin. Wolfe, who always insisted on precision, who loved to ride others, especially me, for loose talk, and who certainly knew the rules of evidence, had been caught twice. I promised myself to find occasion later to comment on it.
He was unruffled. “He said that he would make it worth her while, meaning the employee, but stated no amount.”
“What else did he say?”
“That was about all. The entire conversation was only a few minutes. As soon as I understand clearly what he wanted to hire me to do, I refused to do it.”
“Did you tell him why you refused?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that while it is the function of a detective to pry into people’s affairs, I excluded from my field anything connected with marital difficulties and therefore declined his job.”