When I reached the other side I darted into my room, grabbed my hat and coat, emerged, left by the main entrance, took a down elevator, flagged a taxi on William Street, and gave the driver Wolfe’s address.
I found Wolfe up in the potting room with Theodore, inspecting a newly arrived shipment of osmundine. It was humid and warm in there, so I perched on a stool, got out my handkerchief, and wiped my brow.
“Well?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir. I was with her over twenty minutes. Hoff busted in and ordered me out, and I called him names and let him chase me. He must have spies.” “Excellent. Proceed.” “Yes, sir. I’ll stay here a while, to show that I had to consult you on an exciting development, and then go back. But there’s one thing I still don’t like. Each and every day I have been typing my report in the afternoon and taking it upstairs around four-thirty. If I change that routine and turn in a report before noon someone may suspect it’s a phony.” “You said that last night.” “I say it again today.” “The substance of the report justifies it.” “It did with Naylor too, but I followed routine.” He shrugged. “Very well. It doesn’t matter. Make it this afternoon as usual.” I left, went downstairs to the office, dialed the Naylor-Kerr number, asked for the extension of the head of the reserve pool in the stock department, and said I wanted to speak to Gwynne Ferris. I was told she was busy. So, I said, was I.
In a couple of minutes I heard her voice.
“Listen, darling,” I beseeched her. “I’m up at Thirty-fifth Street, had to come to see Mr. Wolfe. But I’ll be through here in about an hour, and there’s something I want to ask you about, and I’ll even go so far as to buy you a lunch. Meet me at the corner of William and Wall at twelve-thirty?” “You bum,” she said resentfully. “Letting that Hoff chase you clear off the floor and me not getting to see it because I was in Mr. Henderson’s office working. What do you want to ask me about?” “Something special. The next to last step in that rumba. Twelve-thirty?” She said all right.
I was sitting with my legs extended and my hands pushed into my pants pockets, frowning at the knob of the combination on the safe, when Wolfe came down from the plant rooms. After he got in his chair and had his center of gravity adjusted I transferred the frown to him and asked: “Did the boys come?” He nodded.
“All four of them?” He nodded.
“You gave them the set-up?” He nodded.
I shook my head. “Okay. If this thing really works, which I admit is one chance in a hundred and so do you, I only hope to God they don’t lose her and I have to do some more identifying.” “Nonsense.” Wolfe pushed the button for beer. “As I told you, I expect nothing as conclusive as that. But there may be some word, some gesture, some cautious countermove, and you, I trust, will not miss it.” “Yeah.” My frown remained. “Some trust. I have dated Gwynne for lunch and have reserved a booth at Frisbie’s, where shad roe is three bucks. Have you any further suggestions?” He said no, and Fritz entered with the beer.
CHAPTER Thirty
“Yes, turtledove,” I said, “you may have another Martini if it’s okay with Emily Post in the middle of a meal, and further if you don’t get dizzy. I need your head clear.” I had been with Gwynne enough to know that with the third or fourth drink her lovely eyes had a slight tendency to protrude and also to acquire a film of excess moisture. Also she was inclined to start cussing. I preferred her pure and angelic and had told her so frankly.
We were eating shad roe and avocado salad in a corner booth at Frisbie’s.
“I don’t get dizzy,” she pouted. “A girl like me can’t afford to. My head is always clear, and what do you want it clear for? Some more crap about that awful night, that Friday night I’ll never forget? Out of bed to police headquarters! I never thought I’d come to that, I can tell you!” “Neither did I,” I said earnestly. “No, it’s not about that awful night, or at least not about your part of it.” I took time out to tell the waiter to bring the Martini, and, to be sociable, more bourbon for me.
“The reason I’ve been hesitating,” I said, “is that it’s extremely confidential.
On the other hand, I badly need your advice. I have a fair idea of what your opinion of Hester Livsey is, but-well, is she actually a little batty? What do you think?” Gwynne snorted. I had told her she should give up snorting. “That girl batty? I should say not! What’s she trying to put over on you?” “That’s just it,” I said in a puzzled tone. “I can’t figure it that she’s trying to put anything over. I can’t figure it at all.” “I bet she is. What’s she done?” I hesitated. I gazed seriously at the lovely blue eves. “This is very confidential, Gwynne darling.” “Sure.” “I’ve told Mr. Wolfe, and he has given me permission to consult you.” “For God’s sake go on and spill it!” “Well-I suppose-Hester Livsey told me this morning that she knows who killed Waldo Moore. She said she has known for a long time.” Gwynne’s fork, with a hunk of avocado, stopped halfway to her mouth. “She told you she knows?” “Yep.” “No!” “So she told me.” “Jesus!” The fork with the avocado slowly descended to the plate and rested there.
“I don’t wonder you’re impressed, darling,” I said sympathetically. “So am I.
She was telling me when Hoff butted in and chased me. I went to tell Mr. Wolfe about it, and we’re up a stump because we don’t know her well enough. He thought I should consult someone who is well informed and trustworthy and who knows all about her. Obviously that meant you. Is she batty or what?” The waiter came with the drinks. Gwynne looked at her Martini as if it were a complication she was not prepared for, then picked it up and downed it in two gulps.
“Is she batty?” I persisted.
“She is certainly not.” Gwynne used her napkin. “My God, how awfully audacious!
Did she say who it was?” “No. She might have, I don’t know, if Hoff hadn’t interrupted us. What do you-” “Did she say the-the same one killed Naylor too?” “Not in so many words, but it amounted to that.” “Did she say how she knows?” “No, but I think she will. That’s what I want to ask you about, how to handle her. If she’s not merely off her nut she must have-” “I’m late,” Gwynne declared. She pushed her plate away, upsetting the salt shaker. “I only have an hour and I’ve got to get-” “No you don’t,” I said firmly. “I need help. I need advice, and I’m depending on you.” I glanced at my wrist. “You’ve got a good ten minutes. What about her?