I had more than nine hours of sleep that night, followed by an unusually late breakfast in the kitchen as Fritz fussed over me like a mother hen. Then I went to the office with coffee and flipped through the morning mail delivery, which held nothing of interest.
Wolfe came down from the plant rooms promptly at eleven and peered at me. “Good morning, Archie. How do you feel?” he asked as he placed an orchid raceme in the small vase on his desk, as was his daily practice.
“Well, as you can see, I look like I got into a snowball fight and one of the snowballs is still on my head. But otherwise, I’m upright and more or less fit.”
“I realize from what the doctor has said that the next week or more will be a time of rest for you,” Wolfe said, “so I hesitate to give you assignments.”
“Hey, I am supposed to take it easy, not take to my bed. I’m not an invalid.”
“Understood,” he said. “Do you feel confident that when you fired at those men last night, you hit one of them?”
“Positive. As I said, I aimed low because I wasn’t trying to kill anybody, but after what had happened to me, I wasn’t above inflicting some pain and catching at least one of the pair. Obviously, I was no condition to catch anyone, but I did get one of them, either on an ankle or low down on a leg.”
“As far as you were able to tell, were there any onlookers, eyewitnesses?”
“I don’t think so. That section of street was deserted at the time.”
“It is possible, but not likely, that the man went to an emergency room.”
“I agree with your ‘not likely.’ As we both know, whenever someone with a gunshot wound goes to a hospital, reports have to be filled out and the police get involved. Those guys, whoever they were, would have avoided that.”
“I will be placing an advertisement in the Gazette,” he said.
“I’m ready,” I told him, poising a pen over my note pad.
“The notice should be two columns wide, boxed, with an eighteen-point boldface headline reading Witness Sought. The body type will read: Wanted: any witnesses to a gunshot fired at an individual Wednesday night in the vicinity of Eleventh Avenue and...” He turned to me with an eyebrow raised.
“Fifty-Sixth Street,” I said and wrote the words down.
Wolfe continued: “A reward will be given to anyone who provides substantive information.”
“Anything else?”
“I know the newspaper then provides a box number at the bottom for those responding. At least that has been the case in the past.”
“Right. I will call and set it up. You know, of course, that we will almost surely get reaction from our old friend, Mr. Cohen. He is used to you placing this type of ad.”
“We shall be prepared for a response from Mr. Cohen. Let us hope it is not the only response we get.”
Chapter 18
I dictated the text over the telephone and learned I was early enough that it would make it into the biggest editions of the Gazette, an afternoon paper. That made it possible we could get responses as early as tomorrow, although I had to wonder whether anyone had heard my gunshot on that deserted street near the Hudson.
I still felt the effects of my adventures the night before. My shoulders ached from the dragging I got, and I had a headache, although at least a part of that was likely from Doc Vollmer’s stitches. But overall, I felt better than I had any right to.
After lunch, I went up to my room and lay down, trying to follow doctor’s orders. To my surprise, I fell asleep, something I never do during the day. When I awoke and went down to my office, I found a note from Fritz on my desk: Mr. Cohen called. He seemed agitated. No surprise there.
I dialed Lon’s number at the paper and got him on the second ring. “Cohen here.”
“And Goodwin at this end. I understand you called.”
“And just why do you suppose that would be?” he growled.
“I’m all ears,” I said.
“I just bet you are. What ever happened to the spirit of cooperation?”
“Heck, I’m about as cooperative a guy as you’re ever likely to find. I’m known as ‘Mr. Cooperation.’”
“I don’t think so,” Lon replied, spacing his words for emphasis. “Let’s talk about a certain item that was placed in today’s editions. And don’t try playing dumb with me. I know damned well that when I see a box like this in our pages, Nero Wolfe is almost always behind it.”
“I do not have a comment at the present time.”
“You sound like a Mafia boss on trial.”
“I am cut to the quick, newshawk.”
“Yeah, right. Was there some gunplay over in Hell’s Kitchen?”
“That is what Mr. Wolfe and I have reason to believe.”
“Uh-huh. Interesting that you have so much interest in that particular area, including that Tenth Avenue apartment building, the nearby saloon, and the North River docks, all places that you have asked us to look into. By the way, we have done some poking around and have come up empty.”
“I appreciate the effort.”
“Well thanks at least for that,” Lon said. “You know of course that because of the item Wolfe is running in tonight’s paper, we have no choice but to follow up on it. I’ve got a man over in Hell’s Kitchen right now, poking around.”
“I would expect nothing less from America’s fifth-largest newspaper.”
“Don’t try buttering me up — it’s too late for that. By the way, since this all started with your man Horstmann getting mugged, how is he doing?”
“Stable condition, still in a coma.”
“Anything else you would like to tell me?”
“Not at the moment.”
“All right then, what about some information sharing? As in: I’ll tell you what our man over on the West Side learns about that shooting and you tell us about what kind of response your ad has gotten?”
“I will discuss that with Mr. Wolfe.”
“Of course, you will. You’re holding your cards pretty close to the vest, aren’t you? A shame you don’t play poker as well as you talk.”
“Hey, I was the big winner last week, wasn’t I?”
“For a change. But how could you possibly have lost with the cards that came your way? Even an orangutan could have taken home money with the hands you got dealt. Hell, three aces right off the bat. And then you drew a pair of fours giving you a full boat. The fates were smiling on you.”
“Do I detect just the tiniest bit of jealousy emerging?”
“Nah, because next time I will win everything I lost to you, count on it. Get back to me after you’ve talked to Wolfe. So far, the Gazette has gotten shortchanged on this business.”
“You know what my boss always tells you. When we get something, you’ll be the first to know.”
“Talk is cheap. Gotta run, we’re up against a deadline, something you never have to worry about.” I started to respond, but the line had gone dead. When Wolfe came down from the plant rooms at six, I told him about Lon’s call.
“His reaction was to be expected, of course,” he said as he rang for beer. “It is possible his people may learn something that may be of assistance to us.”
“Yeah, but right now our Mr. Cohen is not in a mood to share anything with us. He thinks—” I was interrupted by the doorbell. I walked down the hall and saw the solid silhouette of Inspector Cramer through the one-way glass. When I told Wolfe, he said, “Get Fritz to answer the door. You can watch from the peephole.”
“But I—”
“Go. I don’t for the moment want him to see you in your condition. It gives rise to questions we are not now prepared to answer.”
Regarding the “peephole” that Wolfe referred to, in the hall between the office and the kitchen, there is a small alcove inside of which one can secretly observe the office. It works like this: On the wall to the left of Wolfe and also to my left as I sit — there is a painting on glass of the Washington Monument. The painting is actually transparent and well-camouflaged, and it allows someone in the alcove to both view the office and hear any conversation. As Wolfe and I are within a half-inch of the same height, the peephole is designed to be at our eye level. We each have used it numerous times over the years.