Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 25 by Before Midnight Page B

had hired Nero Wolfe.
    “He’s engaged,” I said, “and if I disengage him for a phone call it would have to be good. Can’t you use me for a relay?”
    “I want to ask him if he’s made any progress.”
    “If he has it’s in his head. He told you he would report later this evening. He has seen Miss Frazee and Mrs. Wheelock. How about the others?”
    “That’s why I’m calling. Susan Tescher will be there at six, and Harold Rollins at seven, but Younger can’t come. He’s in bed at the hotel with heart flutters. They sent him up from the District Attorney’s office in an ambulance. He wouldn’t go to a hospital. My doctor saw him and says it’s not serious, but he’s staying in bed until the doctor sees him tomorrow.”
    I said I’d tell Wolfe and got the number of Younger’s room. After I hung up I got at the house phone and buzzed the plant rooms, and in a minute Wolfe’s voice blurted at me, “Well?”
    “O’Garro just phoned. One’s coming at six and one at seven, but at the DA’s office Philip Younger’s heart began to flutter and he’s at the hotel in bed. Shall I go up and sit with him?”
    “You must be back by six o’clock.”
    I said I would and the connection went.
    There was a slight problem. Years before, after a certain episode, I had made myself promise that I would never go on any errand connected with a murder case without a gun, but this wasn’t a murder case by the terms agreed upon. The job was to nail a thief. I decided that was quibbling, got my shoulder holster from the drawer and put it on, got the Marley .32 and loaded it and slipped it into the holster, went to the hall, and called to Fritz to come and bolt the door after me.

 Chapter 6 
    I t was safe to assume that the floor clerk on the eighteenth floor of the Churchill would be stubborn about it, since journalists were certainly stalking the quintet, so I anticipated her by first finding Tim Evarts, the hotel’s first assistant security officer, not to be called a house dick, who owed me a little courtesy from past events. He obliged by phoning her, after I promised to set no fires and find no corpses, and all she did was look at both sides of my card and one side of me and wave me on.
    Eighteen-twenty-six was about halfway down a long corridor. There was no one in sight anywhere except a chambermaid with towels, and I concluded that the city employees hadn’t invaded the hotel itself for surveillance. My first knock on the door of eighteen-twenty-six got me an invitation to come in, not too audible, and I opened the door and entered, and saw that LBA had done well by their guests. It was the fifteen-dollar size, with the twin beds headed against the wall at the left. On one of them, under the covers, was Old King Cole with a hangover, his mop of white hair tousled and his eyes sick.
    I approached. “My name’s Archie Goodwin,” I toldhim. “From Nero Wolfe, on behalf of Lippert, Buff and Assa.” There was a chair there, and I sat. “We need to clear up a few little points about the contest.”
    “Crap,” he said.
    “That won’t do it,” I stated. “Not just that one word. Is the contest crap, or am I, or what?”
    He shut his eyes. “I’m sick.” He opened them. “I’ll be all right tomorrow.”
    “Are you too sick to talk? I don’t want to make you worse. I don’t know how serious a heart flutter is.”
    “I haven’t got a heart flutter. I’ve got paroxysmal tachycardia, and it is never serious. I’d be up and around right now if it wasn’t for one thing—there are too many fools. The discomfort of paroxysmal tachycardia is increased by fear and anxiety and apprehension and nervousness, and I’ve got all of ’em on account of fools.”
    He raised himself on an elbow, reached to the bed-stand for a glass of water, drank about a spoonful, and put the glass back. He bounced around and settled on his side, facing me.
    “What kind of fools?” I asked politely.
    “You’re one of ’em.