“Keep your seat, Mr. Frost. It is four o’clock, and I now spend two hours with my plants upstairs. Mr. Goodwin will take the details of the poisoning of Miss Molly Lauck—and of your family complications if they seem pertinent. For the fourth time, I believe it is, good day, sir.” He headed for the door.
Frost jumped up, sputtering. “But you’re coming uptown—” Wolfe halted and ponderously turned. “Confound you, you know perfectly well I ami But I’ll tell you this, if Alec Martin’s signature had been on that outlandish paper I would have thrown it in the wastebasket. He splits bulbs.
Splits them!—Archie. We shall meet Mr. Frost at the McNair place tomorrow morning at ten minutes past eleven.” He turned and went, disregarding the client’s protest at the delay. Through the open office door I heard, from the hall, the grunt of the elevator as he stepped in it, and the bang of its door.
Llewellyn Frost turned to me, and the color in his face may have been from gratification at his success, or from indignation at its postponement. I looked him over as a client—his wavy light brown hair brushed back, his wide-open brown eyes that left the matter of intelligence to a guess, his big nose and broad jaw which made his face too heavy even for his six feet.
“Anyhow, I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Goodwin.” He sat down. “You were clever about it, too, keeping that Martin out of it. It was a big favor you did me, and I assure you I won’t forget—” “Wrong number.” I waved him off. “I told you at the time, I keep all my favors for myself. I suggested that round robin only to try to drum up some business, and for a scientific experiment to find out how many ergs it would take to jostle him loose. We haven’t had a case that was worth anything for nearly three months.” I got hold of a notebook and pencil, and swiveled around and pulled my desk-leaf out. “And by the way, Mr. Frost, don’t you forget that you thought of that round robin yourself. I’m not supposed to think.” “Certainly,” he nodded. “Strictly confidential. I’ll never mention it.” “Okay.” I flipped the notebook open to the next blank page. “Now for this murder you want to buy a piece of. Spill it.”
CHAPTER Two
So the next morning I had Nero Wolf e braving the elements—the chief element for that day being bright warm March sunshine. I say I had him, because I had conceived the persuasion which was making him bust all precedents. What pulled him out of his front door, enraged and grim, with overcoat, scarf, gloves, stick, something he called gaiters, and a black felt pirate’s hat size 8 pulled down to his ears, was the name of Winold Glueckner heading the signatures on that letter— Glueckner, who had recently received from an agent in Sarawak four bulbs of a pink Coelogyne pandurata, never seen before, and had scorned Wolfe’s offer of three thousand bucks for two of them. Knowing what a tough old heinie Glueckner was, I had my doubts whether he would turn loose of the bulbs no matter how many murders Wolfe solved at his request, but anyhow I had lit the fuse.
Driving from the house on 35th Street near the Hudson River—where Wolfe had lived for over twenty years and I had lived with him for nearly half of them—to the address on 52nd Street, I handled the sedan so as to keep it as smooth as a dip’s fingers. Except for one I couldn’t resist; on Fifth Avenue near Forty-third there was an ideal little hole about two feet across where I suppose someone had been prospecting for the twenty-six dollars they paid the Indians, and I maneuvered to hit it square at a good clip. I glanced in the mirror for a glimpse of Wolfe in the back seat and saw he was looking bitter and infuriated.
I said, “Sorry, sir, they’re tearing up the streets.” He didn’t answer.
From what Llewellyn Frost had told me the day before about the place of business of Boyden McNair Incorporated —all of which had gone into my notebook and been read to Nero Wolfe Monday evening—I hadn’t realized the extent of its aspirations in the way of class. We met Llewellyn Frost downstairs, just inside the entrance. One of the first things I saw and heard, as Frost led us to the elevator to take us to the second floor, where the offices and private showrooms were, was a saleswoman who looked like a cross between a countess and Texas Guinan, telling a customer that in spite of the fact that the little green sport suit on the model was of High Meadow Loom hand-woven material and designed by Mr. McNair himself, it could be had for a paltry three hundred. I thought of the husband and shivered and crossed my fingers as I stepped into the elevator. And I remarked to myself, “I’ll say it’s a sinister joint.” The floor above was just as elegant, but quieter. There was no merchandise at all in sight, no saleswomen and no. customers. A long wide corridor had doors on both sides at intervals, with etchings and hunting prints here and there on the wood paneling, and in the large room where we emerged from the elevator there were silk chairs and gold smoking stands and thick deep-colored rugs. I took that in at a glance and then centered my attention on the side of the room opposite the corridor, where a couple of goddesses were sitting on a settee. One of them, a blonde with dark blue eyes, was such a pronounced pippin that I had to stare so as not to blink, and the other one, slender and medium-dark, while not as remarkable, was a cinch in a contest for Miss Fifty-second Street.
The blonde nodded at us. The slender one said, “Hello, Lew.” Llewellyn Frost nodded back. “Lo, Helen. See you later.” As we went down the corridor I said to Wolfe, “See that? I mean, them? You ought to get around more. What are orchids to a pair of blossoms like that?” He only grunted at me.
Frost knocked at the last door on the right, opened it, and stood aside for us to precede him. It was a large room, fairly narrow but long, and there was only enough let-up on the elegance to allow for the necessities of an office. The rugs were just as thick as up front, and the furniture was Decorators’ Delight.
The windows were covered with heavy yellow silk curtains, sweeping in folds to the floor, and the light came from glass chandeliers as big as barrels.
Frost said, “Mr. Nero Wolfe. Mr. Goodwin. Mr. McNair.” The man at the desk with carved legs got up and stuck out a paw, without enthusiasm. “How do you do, gentlemen. Be seated. Another chair, Lew?” Wolfe looked grim. I glanced around at the chairs, and saw I’d have to act quick, for I knew that Wolfe was absolutely capable of running out on us for less than that, and having got him this far I was going to hold on to him if possible. I stepped around to the other side of the desk and put a hand on Boyden McNair’s chair. He was still standing up.
“If you don’t mind, sir. Mr. Wolfe prefers a roomy seat, just one of his whims.
The other chairs are pretty damn narrow. If you don’t mind?” By that time I had it shoved around where Wolfe could take it. McNair stared. I brought one of the Decorators’ Delights around for him, tossed him a grin, and went around and sat down by Llewellyn Frost.
McNair said to Frost, “Well, Lew, you know I’m busy. Did you tell these gentlemen I agreed to give them fifteen minutes?” Frost glanced at Wolfe and then looked back at McNair. I could see his hands, with the fingers twined, resting on his thigh; the fingers were pressed tight.
He said, “I told them I had persuaded you to see them. I don’t believe fifteen minutes will be enough—” “It’ll have to be enough. I’m busy. This is a busy season.” McNair had a thin tight voice and he kept shifting in his chair—that is, temporarily his chair. He went on, “Anyway, what’s the use? What can I do?” He spread out his hands, glanced at his wrist watch, and looked at Wolfe. “I promised Lew fifteen minutes. I am at your service until 11:20.” Wolfe shook his head. “Judging from Mr. Frost’s story, I shall need more. Two hours or more, I should say.” “Impossible,” McNair snapped. “I’m busy. Now, fourteen minutes.” “This is preposterous.” Wolfe braced his hands on the arms of the borrowed chair and raised himself to his feet. He stopped Frost’s ejaculation by showing him a palm, looked down at McNair and said quietly, “I didn’t need to come here to see you, sir. I did so in acknowledgment of an idiotic but charming gesture conceived and executed by Mr. Frost. I understand that Mr. Cramer of the police has had several conversations with you, and that he is violently dissatisfied with the lack of progress in his investigation of the murder of one of your employees on your premises. Mr. Cramer has a high opinion of my abilities. I shall telephone him within an hour and suggest that he bring you—and other persons—to my office.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. ‘Tor much longer than fifteen minutes.” He moved. I got up. Frost started after him.