The eleven-o’clock council of war in the office was a big success, with no real argument from anyone. Mrs Jaffee was ten minutes late, but aside from that I was proud of her, and by the time it was over I was seriously considering calling her Sarah. She was by no means a mere gump, nodding to it just because she didn’t know any better. It had to be explained to her in full, exactly what was to be done and why and when and by whom, and for the most part that was left to Parker, since she was his client.
Parker, who is six feet four with nothing to protect his bones from exposure to the weather but tough-looking leathery skin, was so skeptical that at one point I thought he was going to pass, but he finally conceded that the move might be undertaken without undue risk to juridical virtue, to his own reputation, or to his client’s life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness. When all details had been settled and money passed—a dollar bill from Sarah to Parker as a token retainer—I got at the phone and dialed a number.
It took persistence. A thin and sour female voice told me that Mr Perry Helmar was engaged and asked what I wanted. I said that Mr Nathaniel Parker would tell Mr Helmar and asked how soon he would be accessible. She said she didn’t know. It went on according to pattern, and in order to win I had to drop the name of Mrs Jaffee. In another minute Helmar was on, and Parker took it at the extension on Wolfe’s desk, leaning over on his elbows. I kept my receiver at my ear and got it in my notebook.
After Parker had identified himself as a confrere he dived right in. “I’m preparing to start an action for a client, counselor, and I’m calling you as a matter of professional courtesy. The client is Mrs Sarah Jaffee. I believe you know her?”
“I’ve known her all her life. What kind of action?”
Parker was easygoing and anything but pugnacious. “Perhaps I should explain that Mrs Jaffee was referred to me by Mr Nero Wolfe. It was on—”
“That crook?” Helmar was outraged. “That damned scoundrel?”
Parker laughed a little, tolerantly. “I won’t stipulate that, and I doubt if you can establish it. I was saying that I understand that it was on Mr Wolfe’s advice that Mrs Jaffee determined on this action. She wants it begun immediately. It is to be directed at Jay L. Brucker, Bernard Quest, Oliver Pitkin, Viola Duday, and Perry Helmar. She wants me to ask a court to enjoin those five people from assuming ownership of any of the capital stock of Softdown, Incorporated, under the provisions of the will of the late Nathan Eads, and from attempting to exercise any of the rights of such ownership.”
“What?” Helmar was incredulous. “Will you repeat that?”
Parker did so, and added, “I think it must be admitted, counselor, that this is a new approach and an extremely interesting one. Her idea is that the injunction is to stand until it is determined to the satisfaction of the court whether one or more of those five people has acquired the stock by the commission of a crime—the crime in question, manifestly, being the murder of Priscilla Eads. Frankly, at first I doubted whether such an injunction would be granted, but on consideration I’m not at all sure. It is certainly worth trying, and Mrs Jaffee, as a stockholder in the corporation, has a legitimate interest at stake. I have told her I’ll move in the matter, and at once.”
He paused. Nothing for four seconds; then Helmar: “This is an act of malice. Nero Wolfe put Mrs Jaffee up to this. I intend to speak with Mrs Jaffee.”
“I don’t think that will help.” Parker was a little chillier. “As Mrs Jaffee’s attorney, I have advised her to discuss the matter with no one—except with Mr Wolfe, of course, if she sees fit. She is here in Mr Wolfe’s office with me now. As I said, I called you as a matter of professional courtesy, and also because I believe, as I hope you do, that a meeting of minds is always preferable to a meeting of fists or weapons.”
“No judge would grant such an injunction.”
“That remains to be seen.” Parker was close to icy. “I have been discussing it with Mr Wolfe, who referred Mrs Jaffee to me. He thinks there should be no delay, and I am leaving now for my office to draft the application, but I told him I thought an effort should be made to protect all interests without going to court. He said he believed any such effort would be fruitless, but he is willing that it be tried, conditionally. The conditions are that it occur this evening, at his office, and that all those involved be present.”
“At Wolfe’s office?” Helmar was outraged again.
“Yes.”
“Never. Never! He’s a murderer himself!”
“I think, counselor, you’re a little free with words. I know you have been under a strain, but what if you were seriously challenged?”
“All right. But don’t think you can get me to agree to come to Wolfe’s office. I won’t!”
Nevertheless, he did. He didn’t come right out and say it, even after he had fully realized that his choice was between that and a summons from a judge to appear and wrangle in public, but he pleaded that he couldn’t possibly commit his four associates to such a meeting without consulting them, and he wasn’t sure how soon he could get in touch with them. He wanted the afternoon until six o’clock, but Parker said nothing doing. The limit was three-thirty. Parker would proceed to draft the application and have everything in readiness, including a date with a judge, and he would keep the date if by half-past three he had not received word that the Softdown quintet would be at Wolfe’s office at nine o’clock that evening.
Parker cradled the phone and straightened up, all seventy-six inches of him. “They’ll come,” he said confidently but not jubilantly. “Damn you, Wolfe. I have theater tickets.”
“Use them,” Wolfe told him. “I won’t need you.”
Parker snorted. “With my client here defenseless? Between them, one of them presumptively a murderer, and you—you a wild beast when you are smelling prey? Ha!” He turned. “Mrs Jaffee, one of my functions as your attorney is to keep you away, as far as practicable, from dangerous persons and influences, and these two men together represent all the perils and pitfalls of all the catalogues. Will you have lunch with me?”
They left together. That made me proud of her some more from another angle—or should I say curve?—because Nat Parker, a bachelor, was well and widely known for his particular taste in women and did not invite one to lunch absentmindedly; and I was not jealous. I had too good a head start, since there was no more coat and hat in her foyer for him to cart off to the Salvation Army.
Now, of course, Wolfe was committed. He didn’t move a finger toward a book or crossword puzzle or any of his other toys. Until lunch time he sat leaning back with his eyes closed, his lips moving now and then, pushing out and pulling in, and I left him to his misery, which I knew was fairly acute. When the going gets really hot and we’re closing in, he can get excited as well as the next one, though he refuses to show it, but on this one he was still trying to get set for some kind of a start, and I had to admit he was working at it. Before lunch I phoned Pan-Atlantic and was told that Flight 193 was expected in early, around two-thirty; and I called Irby to tell him that if he could get Eric Hagh to our place by half-past three he should bring him, but otherwise make it six o’clock.
After lunch it was more of the same, with Wolfe being so patient and uncomplaining it was painful, and I would have welcomed a couple of nasty remarks. Shortly before three Parker phoned to say that he had just talked with Helmar and the party was on. The Softdown five would arrive at nine o’clock, and he and Mrs Jaffee a little earlier. I asked if he was escorting Mrs Jaffee.
“Certainly,” he said virtuously. “She is my client. What’s that noise you’re making?”
“It’s something special,” I told him, “and takes a lot of practice. Don’t try it offhand. It’s a derisive chortle.”
I went to the kitchen to discuss the supply of liquid refreshments with Fritz. It was a strict rule that for an evening gathering in that house, whatever the business at hand, assorted drinks must be available, and Fritz and I always collaborated on it unless I was too busy. It always got into an argument, with Fritz insisting that two wines, a red and a white, should be included, and me maintaining that wine was out because it puts Americans to sleep and we wanted them wide awake. We were about ready for the usual compromise—a couple of bottles of white but no red—when the doorbell rang and I went to answer it.