send a police doctor. And I'm taking Goodwin and Cliff downtown."
"Where's that man you had with you?"
"Upstairs. On a chair outside Miss Duncan's door. He's going to stay there. And no one but the doctor is going either in or out."
Wolfe's bulk became upright. "This is my house, Mr. Cramer," he said icily, "and you can't use it for the persecution of innocent and battered females. That man can't stay here."
"Try and put him out," Cramer said grimly. "Next time Goodwin stumbles on a man with his head cut off, maybe he'll let us know the same day.Come on,
you two." ...
At ten o'clock the following morning we didn't have a guest any more, but we had a client. Having been kept at headquarters until three A.M., I was peevish from lack of sleep. Fritz was on his feet again, but unstable from his grippe. Wolfe was a seething volcano from a sense of outrage. He had had the minor satisfaction of refusing admission to the police doctor the night before, but at eight in the morning they had come with a warrant for Amy Duncan as a material witness and carted her off, and all he could do was grind his teeth. So when I told him, as he sat propped up in bed sipping chocolate and glowering like a thunderhead, that down at headquarters Leonard Cliff had hired him, through me, to go to work, he didn't even blink an eye. His method of starting the job was customary and characteristic:
"Have Mr. Guthrie Judd here at eleven."
Before leaving the office I typed what seemed to me to be a nifty visiting card:
Mr. Judd: I respectfully submit the following schedule of events last evening at the Tingley Building:
7:05: Amy Duncan arrives; is knocked on head.
7:30: Guthrie Judd arrives.
7:35: Guthrie Judd leaves.
8:08: I arrive, find Tingley dead.
May I discuss it with you? Archie Goodwin.
I phoned his office in the financial district a little after nine, but was unable to extract any information from anyone even about the weather, which was fine, so I got out the roadster and drove down there.
After a supercilious receptionist condescended to phone someone, and a sap with slick hair made sure I wasn't Jesse James, I got the envelope dispatched. Then I waited, until finally a retired prize fighter appeared and conducted me through doors and down corridors, and ushered me into a room about the size of a tennis court; and he stayed right at my elbow for the trip across a couple of acres of rugs to where a man sat at an enormous flat-topped desk with nothing on it but a newspaper. On the man's face was the same totalitarian expression that had goaded me into chalking an X on the door of his car the day before. The corner of the card I had typed was held between the tips of a finger and thumb to avoid germs.
"This impertinence," he said, in a tone he must have been practicing from boyhood, in case he had ever been a boy. "I wanted to look at you. Take him out, Aiken."
I grinned at him. "I forgot to bring my chalk. But you're already down. You'll discuss it either with me or the police --"
"Bah. The police have already informed me of Mr. Cliffs false and ridiculous statement. Also, they have just told me on the phone who you are. If you annoy me further I'll have you jailed. Take him out, Aiken."
The ex-pug actually put his hand on my arm. It was all I could do to keep from measuring one of the rugs with him. But I merely set my jaw and walked back across the carpet department to the door. He accompanied me all the way to the elevators. As the elevator door opened I said in a kindly tone, "Here, boy," and flipped a nickel at his face. It got him on the tip of the nose, but luckily his reflex was too slow for him to thank me properly before the door closed.
For the second time in twenty-four hours I had failed to fill an order, and as I went back to where I had parked the roadster and started uptown I was in no mood to keep to the right and stop for lights. It was more than likely that Judd would get away with it. If a
"Where's that man you had with you?"
"Upstairs. On a chair outside Miss Duncan's door. He's going to stay there. And no one but the doctor is going either in or out."
Wolfe's bulk became upright. "This is my house, Mr. Cramer," he said icily, "and you can't use it for the persecution of innocent and battered females. That man can't stay here."
"Try and put him out," Cramer said grimly. "Next time Goodwin stumbles on a man with his head cut off, maybe he'll let us know the same day.Come on,
you two." ...
At ten o'clock the following morning we didn't have a guest any more, but we had a client. Having been kept at headquarters until three A.M., I was peevish from lack of sleep. Fritz was on his feet again, but unstable from his grippe. Wolfe was a seething volcano from a sense of outrage. He had had the minor satisfaction of refusing admission to the police doctor the night before, but at eight in the morning they had come with a warrant for Amy Duncan as a material witness and carted her off, and all he could do was grind his teeth. So when I told him, as he sat propped up in bed sipping chocolate and glowering like a thunderhead, that down at headquarters Leonard Cliff had hired him, through me, to go to work, he didn't even blink an eye. His method of starting the job was customary and characteristic:
"Have Mr. Guthrie Judd here at eleven."
Before leaving the office I typed what seemed to me to be a nifty visiting card:
Mr. Judd: I respectfully submit the following schedule of events last evening at the Tingley Building:
7:05: Amy Duncan arrives; is knocked on head.
7:30: Guthrie Judd arrives.
7:35: Guthrie Judd leaves.
8:08: I arrive, find Tingley dead.
May I discuss it with you? Archie Goodwin.
I phoned his office in the financial district a little after nine, but was unable to extract any information from anyone even about the weather, which was fine, so I got out the roadster and drove down there.
After a supercilious receptionist condescended to phone someone, and a sap with slick hair made sure I wasn't Jesse James, I got the envelope dispatched. Then I waited, until finally a retired prize fighter appeared and conducted me through doors and down corridors, and ushered me into a room about the size of a tennis court; and he stayed right at my elbow for the trip across a couple of acres of rugs to where a man sat at an enormous flat-topped desk with nothing on it but a newspaper. On the man's face was the same totalitarian expression that had goaded me into chalking an X on the door of his car the day before. The corner of the card I had typed was held between the tips of a finger and thumb to avoid germs.
"This impertinence," he said, in a tone he must have been practicing from boyhood, in case he had ever been a boy. "I wanted to look at you. Take him out, Aiken."
I grinned at him. "I forgot to bring my chalk. But you're already down. You'll discuss it either with me or the police --"
"Bah. The police have already informed me of Mr. Cliffs false and ridiculous statement. Also, they have just told me on the phone who you are. If you annoy me further I'll have you jailed. Take him out, Aiken."
The ex-pug actually put his hand on my arm. It was all I could do to keep from measuring one of the rugs with him. But I merely set my jaw and walked back across the carpet department to the door. He accompanied me all the way to the elevators. As the elevator door opened I said in a kindly tone, "Here, boy," and flipped a nickel at his face. It got him on the tip of the nose, but luckily his reflex was too slow for him to thank me properly before the door closed.
For the second time in twenty-four hours I had failed to fill an order, and as I went back to where I had parked the roadster and started uptown I was in no mood to keep to the right and stop for lights. It was more than likely that Judd would get away with it. If a
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