back. There was a neat little vegetable garden, no weeds, and I pulled some radishes and ate them. Then I went to the car and got a book from my bag, I forget what, but it wasn't The Moth That Ate Peanuts, sat on one of two garden chairs in the shade of the house, and read. The mutt curled up at my feet and shut his eyes.
She came at five-twenty-eight. A '58 Ford station wagon came bumping along the ruts and stopped back of the Heron, and she scrambled out and headed for me. The mutt went bounding to meet her, and she halted to give him a pat. I shut my book and stood up.
'You looking for me?' she asked.
'I am if you're Miss Alice Porter,' I said.
She knew who I was. It's easy to make a mistake on a thing like that, I had made plenty in my time, but it was in her eyes that she had recognized me or I had better quit the detective business and take up truck-driving or window-washing. That was nothing startling; it happened now and then. My picture hadn't been in the papers as often as President Eisenhower's, but it had once made the front page of the Gazette.
'That's my name,' she said.
From her photograph I had guessed 150, but she had put on ten pounds. Her round face was bigger and her nose smaller, and her eyes were closer together. There was sweat on her brow.
'Mine's Archie Goodwin,' I said. 'I work for Nero Wolfe, the private detective. Could you give me maybe ten minutes?'
'I can if you'll wait till I put some stuff in the refrigerator. While I'm doing that you might get your car around back of mine. Take it easy on the grass.'
I did so. The grass was nothing like that at 78 Haddon Place, but no doubt she would see to that after she collected from Amy Wynn. I moved the Heron forward a car length, cramped the wheels and backed, and swung around past the Ford and back into the ruts. She had got an armload of bags from the Ford, declining my offer to help, and entered the house. I returned to the chair, and soon she came out and took the other one.
'I've been thinking,' she said. 'If you're Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe sent you clear out here, it's not hard to guess what for. Or I should say who for. I might as well come right out with it. The Victory Press has hired him, or Amy Wynn has, to try to find something wrong about my claim for damages. If that's what it is you've wasted a lot of gas. I'm not going to talk about it, not a word. I may not be very bright, but I'm not exactly a fool. Unless you came to make an offer. I'll listen to that.'
I shook my head. 'That's not a very good guess, Miss Porter. It's about your claim against Amy Wynn, that much is okay, but she hasn't hired Mr Wolfe and neither has the Victory Press. I'm here on behalf of a New York newspaper that's looking for a scoop. Nothing has been published about your claim, so I don't know how the paper got onto it, but you know how that is, word gets around. What the paper is after, it wants to publish your story, 'Opportunity Knocks,' on which you base your claim, with an introductory statement by you. It wants to know how much you will take for what it calls first serial rights, and it's not breaking any confidence to tell you that you can go pretty high. The reason they got Nero Wolfe to handle it instead of coming to you direct is that they want him to check on certain details. You understand that; it's sort of tricky.'
'There's nothing tricky about my claim.'
'I didn't say there is. But there would be a risk of a libel suit against the paper, whether there is ground for it or not. Of course before the paper makes a definite commitment it would want to see the story. Mr Wolfe thought you might have a carbon copy and would let me take it. Have you got one?'
Her eyes met mine. They had been slanting off, first in one direction and then another, but now they came to me straight. 'You're pretty good,' she said.
'Thanks.' I grinned at her. 'I like to think so, but of course I'm biased. Good how?'
'Good with your tongue. I'll have to think
She came at five-twenty-eight. A '58 Ford station wagon came bumping along the ruts and stopped back of the Heron, and she scrambled out and headed for me. The mutt went bounding to meet her, and she halted to give him a pat. I shut my book and stood up.
'You looking for me?' she asked.
'I am if you're Miss Alice Porter,' I said.
She knew who I was. It's easy to make a mistake on a thing like that, I had made plenty in my time, but it was in her eyes that she had recognized me or I had better quit the detective business and take up truck-driving or window-washing. That was nothing startling; it happened now and then. My picture hadn't been in the papers as often as President Eisenhower's, but it had once made the front page of the Gazette.
'That's my name,' she said.
From her photograph I had guessed 150, but she had put on ten pounds. Her round face was bigger and her nose smaller, and her eyes were closer together. There was sweat on her brow.
'Mine's Archie Goodwin,' I said. 'I work for Nero Wolfe, the private detective. Could you give me maybe ten minutes?'
'I can if you'll wait till I put some stuff in the refrigerator. While I'm doing that you might get your car around back of mine. Take it easy on the grass.'
I did so. The grass was nothing like that at 78 Haddon Place, but no doubt she would see to that after she collected from Amy Wynn. I moved the Heron forward a car length, cramped the wheels and backed, and swung around past the Ford and back into the ruts. She had got an armload of bags from the Ford, declining my offer to help, and entered the house. I returned to the chair, and soon she came out and took the other one.
'I've been thinking,' she said. 'If you're Archie Goodwin and Nero Wolfe sent you clear out here, it's not hard to guess what for. Or I should say who for. I might as well come right out with it. The Victory Press has hired him, or Amy Wynn has, to try to find something wrong about my claim for damages. If that's what it is you've wasted a lot of gas. I'm not going to talk about it, not a word. I may not be very bright, but I'm not exactly a fool. Unless you came to make an offer. I'll listen to that.'
I shook my head. 'That's not a very good guess, Miss Porter. It's about your claim against Amy Wynn, that much is okay, but she hasn't hired Mr Wolfe and neither has the Victory Press. I'm here on behalf of a New York newspaper that's looking for a scoop. Nothing has been published about your claim, so I don't know how the paper got onto it, but you know how that is, word gets around. What the paper is after, it wants to publish your story, 'Opportunity Knocks,' on which you base your claim, with an introductory statement by you. It wants to know how much you will take for what it calls first serial rights, and it's not breaking any confidence to tell you that you can go pretty high. The reason they got Nero Wolfe to handle it instead of coming to you direct is that they want him to check on certain details. You understand that; it's sort of tricky.'
'There's nothing tricky about my claim.'
'I didn't say there is. But there would be a risk of a libel suit against the paper, whether there is ground for it or not. Of course before the paper makes a definite commitment it would want to see the story. Mr Wolfe thought you might have a carbon copy and would let me take it. Have you got one?'
Her eyes met mine. They had been slanting off, first in one direction and then another, but now they came to me straight. 'You're pretty good,' she said.
'Thanks.' I grinned at her. 'I like to think so, but of course I'm biased. Good how?'
'Good with your tongue. I'll have to think
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