Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 27 by Three Witnesses Page B

rather have an hour alone with her than a blue orchid. You know Saul.”
    Another silence. He broke it. “You have Mr. Donovan’s home address.”
    “Right. East Seventy-seventh Street.”
    “How long will it take to drive there?”
    “Ten minutes.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “Yes, sir. Sit back and relax.” I fed gas.
    It took only nine minutes at that time of evening, and I found space to park right in the block, between Madison and Park. As we walked to the number a cop gave us a second glance, but Wolfe’s size and carriage rated that much notice without any special stimulation. It was just my nerves. There were a canopy and a doorman, and rugs in the lobby. I told the doorman casually, “Donovan. We’re expected,” but he hung on.
    “Yes, sir, but I have orders—Your name, please?”
    “Judge Wolfe,” Wolfe told him.
    “One moment, please.”
    He disappeared through a door. It was more like five moments before he came back, looking questions but not asking them, and directed us to the elevator. Twelve B, he said.
    Getting off at the twelfth floor, we didn’t have to look for B because a door at the end of the foyer was standing open, and on the sill was Jimmy Donovan himself. In his shirt sleeves, with no necktie, he looked more like a janitor than a champion of the bar, and he sounded more like one when he blurted, “It’s you, huh? What kind of a trick is this?
Judge
Wolfe!”
    “No trick.” Wolfe was courteous but curt. “I merely evaded vulgar curiosity. I had to see you.”
    “You can’t see me. It’s highly improper. You’re a witness for the prosecution. Also a warrant has been issued for you, and I’ll have to report this.”
    He was absolutely right. The only thing for him to do was shut the door on us and go to his phone and call the DA’s office. My one guess why he didn’t, which was all I needed, was that he would have given his shirt, and thrown in a necktie, to know what Wolfe was up to. He didn’t shut the door.
    “I’m not here,” Wolfe said, “as a witness for the prosecution. I don’t intend to discuss my testimony with you. As you know, your client, Leonard Ashe, came to me one day in July and wanted to hire me, and I refused. I have become aware of certain facts connected with what he told me that day which I think he should know about, and I want to tell him. I suppose it would be improper for me to tell you more than that, but it wouldn’t be improper to tell him. He is on trial for first-degree murder.”
    I had the feeling I could see Donovan’s brain working at it behind his eyes. “It’s preposterous,” he declared. “You know damn well you can’t see him.”
    “I can if you’ll arrange it. That’s what I’m here for. You’re his counsel. Early tomorrow morning will do, before the court sits. You may of course be present if you wish, but I suppose you would prefer not to. Twenty minutes with him will be enough.”
    Donovan was chewing his lip. “I can’t ask you what you want to tell him.”
    “I understand that. I won’t be on the witness stand, where you can cross-examine me, until tomorrow.”
    “No.” The lawyer’s eyes narrowed. “No, you won’t. I can’t arrange for you to see him; it’s out of the question. I shouldn’t be talking to you. It will be my duty to report this to Judge Corbett in the morning. Good evening, gentlemen.”
    He backed up and swung the door shut, but didn’t bang it, which was gracious of him. We rang for the elevator, were taken down, and went out and back to the car.
    “You’ll phone Saul,” Wolfe said.
    “Yes, sir. His saying he’ll report to the judge in the morning meant he didn’t intend to phone the DA now, but he might change his mind. I’d rather move a few blocks before phoning.”
    “Very well. Do you know the address of Mrs. Leonard Ashe’s apartment?”
    “Yes, Seventy-third Street.”
    “Go in that direction. I have to see her, and you’d better phone and arrange it.”
    “You mean