The Rubber Band by Rex Stout Page A

anything about him?”
    Wolfe shook his head. “Except that he’s dead. Not, that is, at this moment. If I knew his name, perhaps …”
    “Yeah. His name was on a hunting license, also in his pocket. State of Wyoming. Harlan Scovil.”
    “Indeed. It is possible Mr. Goodwin can help you out. Archie’?”
    I was thinking to myself, hell, he didn’t come for her after all. But I was just as well pleased she wasn’t in the room.

Chapter 5
    Slim Foltz was looking at me.
    I said, “Harlan Scovil? Sure. He was here this afternoon.”
    Foltz got in his pocket again and fished out a little black memo book and a pencil stub. “What time?”
    “He got here around four-thirty, a little before maybe, and left at fivetwenty-six.”
    “What did he want?”
    “He wanted to see Nero Wolfe.”
    “What about?”
    I shook my head regretfully. “There you’ve got me, mister. I told him he’d have to wait until six o’clock, so he was waiting.”
    “He must have said something.”
    “Certainly he said something. He said he wanted to see Nero Wolfe.”
    “What else did he say?”
    “He said there seemed to be very little spittin’ done east of the Mississippi River, and he wanted to know if there were any honest men this side of the mountains. He didn’t say specifically what he wanted to see Mr. Wolfe about We’d never seen him or heard of him before. Oh yes, he said he just got to New York this morning, from Wyoming. By the way, just because that license was in his pocket—was he over six feet, around sixty, blue serge suit with sleeves too short and the lapel torn a little on the right side, with a leathery red face and a cowboy hat.”
    That’s him,” the dick grunted. “What did he come to New York for?”
    “To see Nero Wolfe, I guess.” I grinned. “That’s the kind of a rep we’ve got If you mean, did he give any hint as to who might want to bump him off, he didn’t.”
    “Did he see Wolfe?”
    “No. I told you, he left at five-twenty-six, Mr. Wolfe never comes down until six o’clock.”
    “Why didn’t he wait?”
    “Because he got a phone call.”
    “He got a phone call here?”
    “Right here in this room. I wasn’t here. I had gone out, leaving this bird here waiting for six o’clock. The phone was answered by Fritz Brenner, Mr. Wolfe’s chef and household pride. Want to see him?”
    “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”
    Wolfe rang. Fritz came. Wolfe told him he was to answer the gentleman’s questions, and Fritz said “Yes, sir” and stood up straight All Foltz got out of Fritz was the same as I had got. He had put down the time of the phone call, 5:26, in accordance with Wolfe’s standing instructions for exactness in all details of the household and office. It was a roan phoning, and he had not given his name and Fritz had not recognized his voice. Fritz had not overheard any of the conversation. Harlan Scovil had immediately left, without saying anything.
    Fritz went back to the kitchen.
    The dick frowned at the piece of paper. “I wasn’t expecting to draw a blank here. I came here first. There’s other names on this paper—Clara Fox, Michael Walsh, Michael spelled wrong, Hilda Lindquist, that’s what it looks like, and a Marquis of Clivers. I don’t suppose you—”
    I homed in, shaking my head. “As I said, when this Harlan Scovil popped in here at half past four today, I had never seen him before. Nor any of those others. Strangers to me. I’m sure Mr. Wolte hadn’t either. Had you, sir?”
    “Seen them? No. But I believe I had heard of one of them. Wasn’t it the Marquis of Clivers we were discussing yesterday?”
    “Discussing? Yes, sir. When you dropped that javelin. That piece in the paper.” I looked at Foltz helpfully. “There was an article in the Times yesterday, magazine section—”
    He nodded. “I know all about that. The sergeant was telling me. This marquis seems to be something like a duke, he’s immune by reason of a foreign power or something. It