I had taken the offered hand. Having shaken hands with five different murderers on previous occasions, I thought one more wouldn't hurt if it turned out that way. "I'll file that," I told her. "If we ever team up for a turn I'll try not to trample you. Am I intruding? Are you and Fred old friends?"
"Oh no, I never saw him before. It just seems silly to call a man Mister when you're drinking champagne with him. I suggested the champagne."
"She put it in the freezer," Fred said, "and she opened it, and why waste it? I don't like it much, you know that."
"No apology needed. If she calls you Fred, what do you call her?"
"I don't call her. She said to call her Dye. I was just waiting for you."
On the couch, at arm's length from her, was a leather bag shaped like a box. I was close enough so that all I had to do to get it was bend and stretch an arm. Her hand darted out, but too late, and I had it. As I backed up a step and opened it, all she said was, "That's not nice, is it?"
"I'm only nice when I'm dancing." I went to the end of the couch and removed items one by one, putting them on the couch. There were only two things with names on them, an opened envelope addressed to Mrs. Austin Hough, 64 Eden Street, New York 14, and a driver's license, Dinah Hough, same address, thirty, five feet two inches, white, brown hair, hazel eyes. I put everything back in, closed the bag, and replaced it on the couch near her. "I left the gun at home," she said, and took a sip of champagne.
"That was sensible. I only wanted to know how to spell Di. I may be able to save you a little trouble, Mrs. Hough. Nero Wolfe wants to see anyone who comes to this room and has keys to the door downstairs and the elevator - by the way, I left them in your bag - but if we went there now he'd be just starting lunch and you'd have to wait. We might as well discuss matters here while you finish the champagne."
"Will you have some? The bottle's in the refrigerator."
"No, thanks." I sat on the couch, four feet away, twisted around to face her. "I don't suppose the champagne's what you came here for. Is it?"
"No. I came to get my umbrella."
"Yellow with a red plastic handle?"
"No. Gray with a black handle."
"It's there in a drawer, but you'll have to manage without it for a while. If and when the police get interested in this place they won't like it if things have been taken away. How did it get here?"
'' I need a refill.'' She was off of the couch and on her feet in one smooth movement. "Can't I bring you some?"
"No, thanks."
"You, Fred?"
"No, one's enough of this stuff." She crossed to the kitchen door and on through. I asked Fred, "Did she try to buy you off or talk you off?"
He shook his head. "She didn't try anything. She gave me a look and saw I'm twice as big as she is, and she said, 'I don't know you, do I? What's your name?' She's a damn cool specimen if you ask me. Do you know what she asked me after we got talking? She asked me if I thought this would be a good place to have meetings of the Parent-Teachers Association. Believe me, if I was a woman and I had keys to this place and I came and found a stranger - ''
Mrs. Hough had reappeared, with a full glass. She came and resumed her place on the couch without spilling a drop, lifted the glass, said, "Faith, hope, and charity," and took a sip. She adjusted her legs. "I left it here," she said. "Two weeks ago Friday, three weeks this coming Friday. It was raining. Tom Yeager had told me he knew a place that was different, worth seeing, he said, and he gave me keys and told me how to get in. When I came, this is what I found." She waved a hand. "You have to admit it's different. But there was no one here but him, and he had ideas I didn't like. He didn't actually assault me, say nothing but good of the dead, but he was pretty difficult, and I was glad to get away without my umbrella but with everything else."
She took a sip. "And when I read about his death, about his body being found in a hole in the street, this street, you can imagine. I wasn't worried about being suspected of having something to do with his death, that wasn't it, but I knew how clever they are at tracing things, and if the umbrella was traced to me, and this room described in the papers - well…" She gestured. "My husband, my friends, everyone who knows me - and if it got bad enough my husband might even lose his job. But this place wasn't mentioned in the papers yesterday, and when it wasn't mentioned again today I thought they probably didn't know about it, and I decided to come and see and perhaps I could get my umbrella. So here I am."
She took a sip. "And you say I can't have it and talk about going to see Nero Wolfe. It would be fun to see Nero Wolfe, I wouldn't mind that, but I want my umbrella, and I have an idea. You say it's here in a drawer?"
"Right."
"Then you take it, and tonight take me to the Flamingo and we'll dance. Not just a turn, we'll dance till they close, and then you might feel like letting me have the umbrella. That may sound conceited, but I don't mean it that way, I just think you might, and it won't hurt to find out, and anyhow you'll have the umbrella."
"Yeah." The curve of her lips really caught the eye. "And it won't be here. I appreciate the invitation, Mrs. Hough, but I'll be working tonight. Speaking of working, why would your husband lose his job? Does he work for Continental Plastic Products?"
"No. He's an assistant professor at NYU. A wife of a faculty member getting involved in a thing like this - even if I'm not really involved…"
There was a click in my skull. It wasn't a hunch; you never know where a hunch comes from; it was the word "professor" that flipped a switch. "What's he professor of?" I asked.
"English literature." She took a sip. "You're changing the subject. We can go to the Flamingo tomorrow night. You won't be losing anything except a few hours if you don't like me, because you'll have the umbrella." She looked at her wrist watch. "It's nearly half past one. Have you had lunch?"
"No."
"Take me to lunch and maybe you'll melt a little."
I was listening with only one ear. Teacher of literature. Measure your mind's height by the shade it casts, Robert Browning. I would have given ten to one, which would have been a sucker's bet, but a detective has as much right to look on the bright side as anyone else.
I stood up. "You're getting on my nerves, Mrs. Hough. It would be no strain at all to call you Di. I haven't seen anyone for quite a while that I would rather take to lunch or dance with, melting would be a pleasure, but I have to go. Nero Wolfe will still want to see you, but that can wait. Just one question: Where were you Sunday night from seven o'clock on?"
"No." Her eyes widened. "You can't mean that."
"Sorry, but I do. If you want to have another conference with yourself, I'll wait while you go to fill your glass again."
"You really mean it." She emptied the glass, taking her time. "I didn't go to the kitchen to have a conference with myself. Sunday night I was at home, at our apartment, with my husband. Seven o'clock on? We went to a restaurant in the Village a little after six for dinner, and got home after eight - around half past eight. My husband worked at some papers, and I read and watched television, and I went to bed around midnight, and stayed there, really I did. I seldom get up in the middle of the night and go and shoot a man and drop his body in a hole."
"It's a bad habit," I agreed. "Now Mr. Wolfe won't have to ask you that. I suppose you're in the phone book?" I turned to Fred. "Don't let her talk you out of the umbrella. How's the room service here? Okay?"
"No complaints. I'm beginning to feel at home. How much longer?"
"A day or a week or a year. You never had it softer."
"Hunh. You leaving her?"
"Yeah, she might as well finish the bottle. I've got an errand." As I made for the elevator Dinah Hough left the couch and headed for the kitchen. She was in there when the elevator came and I entered. Down below Mr. and Mrs. Perez were still in their kitchen, and I poked my head in and told them that their only hope of steering clear of trouble was to sit tight, and blew. At the corner of 82nd and Columbus was a drugstore where I could have treated my stomach to a glass of milk, but I didn't stop. I had a date with an assistant professor of English literature, though he didn't know it.