He looked pleased. “See,” he said, “you remembered that.”
“I remember everything. So the choice is merely whether I tell Mr. Wolfe or you tell him, and if you do you can use his library.”
He was no wobbler. He went and opened a closet door and got out a hat and topcoat. As he was putting an arm in he said, “I don’t suppose you drink in the morning.”
“No, thanks.” I was headed for the door. “But if you want one go ahead.”
“I quit twenty-six years ago.” He motioned for me to precede him, followed, pulled the door shut, and tried it to make sure it was locked. “But,” he added, “now that I can afford little luxuries, thanks to my son-in-law, I like to have some around for other people.” As we turned the corner of the hall he finished, “Some other people.” On the way down in the elevator it occurred to me that he would want the verses to refer to, and I asked if he had them with him, and he said yes.
To make sure whether your taxi is being followed in midtown traffic takes a lot of maneuvering, which takes time, and Younger and I decided we didn’t really give a damn, so except for a few backward glances out of curiosity we skipped it. At the curb in front of the old brownstone on West Thirty-fifth I paid the driver, got out, led the way up the steps to the stoop, and pushed the button. In a moment the door was opened by Fritz, who, as I was taking Younger’s coat, made sure I saw his extended forefinger, meaning that a visitor was in the office with Wolfe. Acknowledging it with a nod, I ushered Younger across the hall into the front room, told him it would be a short wait, and, instead of using the connecting door to the office, which was soundproofed, went around by way of the hall.
Wolfe was in his chair, with half a dozen books hi front of him on his desk, but he wasn’t reading. He was frowning at Mrs. James R. Wheelock of Richmond, Virginia, who was in the red leather chair, frowning back at him. The frowns switched to me as I approached. I was a little slow meeting them because it took me a second to get the title of the book on top of the pile: The Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple. With that, which was enough, I told Mrs. Wheelock good morning, informed Wolfe that Fritz wanted him in the kitchen for something, and walked out.
When he joined me in the kitchen the frown was gone and there was a gleam hi his eye. I spoke first. “I just wanted to ask you if she has any idea who mailed her the answers.”
It got him for half a second. Then he said, “Oh. Mr. Younger got them too?”
“He did. That’s what he wanted to see me about. He’s in the front room. He wanted to find out if the answers are the real thing, and I told him he could use your library, but I see Mrs. Wheelock had the same idea.”
“No. She merely wished to tell me, and consult me. I suggested looking at the books; luckily I had all of them. I hadn’t hoped for anything as provocative as this. Very satisfactory.”
“Yeah. Worth waiting for. A slight comedown for me, to bring home a slab of bacon and find you’re already slicing one just like it, but anyhow we’ve got it. Shall I send mine back?”
“By no means.” He pursed his lips, and in a moment continued, “I’ll tell her. You tell him. Bring him in in three minutes.” He was gone.
I returned to the front room and found Younger on a chair by a window with a sheet of paper in each hand, one presumably being the verses. “You’re not the only one,” I told him. “Mrs. Wheelock got it too, and came to show it to Mr. Wolfe. She’s in there with him now. He has the books, and they’ve checked the answers, and it’s not a gag.”
He squinted at me. “She got—just like this?”
“I haven’t seen it, but of course it is.”
“And they’ve checked it?”
“Right.”
He stood up. “I want to see hers. Where is she?”
“You will.” I looked at my wrist. “In one minute and twenty seconds.”
“I’ll be damned. Then it’s not a frame. That was one thing I thought, that someone was trying to frame me, but I couldn’t see how. She got it in the mail this morning?” I told him she would no doubt be glad to supply all details, and right at the deadline crossed to open lie door to the office and invited him in. He brushed on by, went straight to Mrs. Wheelock, and demanded, “Where’s the one you got?”
I went and took his elbow, called his attention to Wolfe, steered him to a chair, and told Wolfe, “Mr. Younger wants details. Is hers like his and when did she get it and so on.”
Wolfe lifted a sheet of paper from his desk blotter. Younger popped up from his chair and went to him. I joined them, and so did Mrs. Wheelock. It didn’t take much comparing to see that hers was a carbon copy of his. The envelopes, including the postmarks, were the same except for the names. When Younger had satisfied himself on those points he picked up one of the books, Casanova’s Memoirs, and opened it. Mrs. Wheelock told him that wasn’t necessary, they were the right answers, no question about it. She didn’t look as if she had changed her attitude to the food at the Churchill, but the fire back of her dark deep-set eyes was shining through in her excitement. Younger went ahead anyway, finding a page in the book, and we were still grouped at Wolfe’s desk when the phone rang.
I went to my desk to answer it, and got from the receiver the same old refrain. “I want to speak to Mr. Wolfe. This is Talbott Heery.”
But the lid was off, maybe. I told Wolfe, and he took bis instrument, and I kept mine.
“This is Nero Wolfe. Yes, Mr. Heery?”
“I’m calling from my office. Harold Rollins, one of the contestants, is here. He just came, a few minutes ago, to show me something he received in the mail this moming. I have it here in my hand. It’s a typewritten sheet of paper, headed, ‘Answers to the five verses distributed on April twelfth,’ and then the names of five women and comments on each. Of course I don’t know whether they are the correct answers or not, but Rollins says they are. He says he came to me because this nullifies the contest, and my company is responsible. I’ll consult my lawyer on that—not Rudolph Hansen— but I’m calling you first. What have you got to say?”
“Not much offhand. Mr. Rollins is with you?”
“He’s in my office. I came to another room to phone. By God, this does it. Now what?”
“That needs a little thought. You may tell Mr. Rollins that he was not singled out. Mrs. Wheelock and Mr. Younger also received sheets in the mail like the one you describe. They are here on my desk—that is, the sheets are. Mrs. Wheelock and Mr. Younger are here with me. Probably all five—”
“We’ve got to do something! We’ve got—”
“Please, Mr. Heery.” For years I have studied Wolfe’s trick of stopping a man without raising his voice, but I still don’t get it. “Something must indeed be done, I agree, but this doesn’t heighten the urgency. Rather the contrary. I can’t discuss it now, and anyway I’m not working for you, but I think this will require a conference of everyone concerned. Please tell Mr. Rollins that he will be expected at a meeting at my office at nine o’clock this evening. I’ll invite the others, and I invite you now. At my office at nine o’clock, unless you hear otherwise.”
“But what are we going—”
“No, Mr. Heery. You must excuse me. I’m busy. Goodbye, sir.”
We hung up, and he turned to the company. “Mr. Rollins got one too and took it to Mr. Heery. It may reasonably be presumed that the other two–Miss Frazee and Miss Tescher— were not excluded. You heard what I said about a meeting here at nine o’clock this evening, and we shall want you with us. You’ll come?”
“We’re here now,” Younger said. “This blows the whole thing sky high and you know it. Why put it off? Get them here now!”
“I don’t want to wait until this evening,” Mrs. Wheelock said, her voice so tense that I inspected her for signs of trembling, but saw none.
“You’ll have to, madam.” Wolfe was blunt. “I have to digest this strange finesse, and consult my clients.” He looked up at the clock. “Only nine hours.”