Clara Fox stopped. She ran her eyes over the last sentence again, then placed that sheet at the back, folded them up, and returned them to her handbag. She put her hand up and brushed back her hair, and sat and looked at Wolfe. No one said anything.
Finally Wolfe sighed. He opened his eyes at her. “Well, Miss Fox. It appears to be the moon that you want after all.”
She shook her head. “I know who George Rowley is. He is now in New York.”
“And this, I presume”-Wolfe nodded- “is Mr. Victor Lindquist’s daughter.” He nodded again. “And this gendeman is the Mr. Walsh who emptied two guns at Mr. Rowley without hitting him.”
Mike Walsh blurted, “I could have hit him!”
“Granted, sir. And you. Miss Fox, would very much like to have twenty-six thousand dollars, no doubt with accrued interest, to discharge debts of your dead father. In other words, you need something a little less than thirty thousand.”
She stared at him. She glanced at me, then back at him, and asked coolly, “Am I here as your client, Mr. Wolfe, or as a suspected thief?”
He wiggled a finger at her. “Neither as yet. Please do not be so foolish as to be offended. If I show you my mind, it is only to save dme and avoid irrelevancies. Haven’t I sat and listened patiently for ten minutes although I dislike being read aloud to?”
“That’s irrelevant.”
“Indeed. I believe it is. Let us proceed. Tell me about Mr. George Rowley.”
But that had to be postponed. I had heard the doorbell, and Fritz going down the hall, and a murmur from outside. Now I shook my head at Clara Fox and showed her my palm to stop her, as the office door opened and Fritz came in and closed it behind him.
“A man to see you, sir. I told him you were engaged.”
I bounced up. There were only two kinds of men Fritz didn’t announce as gentlemen; one he suspected of wanting to sell something, and a policeman, uniform or not. He could smell one a mile off. So I bounced up and demanded, “A cop?”
“Yes, sir.”
I whirled to Wolfe. “Ever since I saw Muir looking at Miss Fox today I’ve been thinking she ought to have a lightning rod. Would you like to have her pinched in here, or out in the hall?”
Wolfe nodded and snapped, “Very well, Archie.”
I crossed quick and got myself against the closed office door, and spoke not too loud to Fritz, pointing to the door that opened into the front room. “Go through that way and lock the door from the front room to the hall.” He moved. I turned to the others. “Go in there and sit down, and if you don’t talk any it won’t disturb us.” Walsh and Miss Lindquist stared at me.
Clara Fox said to Wolfe, “I’m not your client yet.”
He said, “Nor yet a suspect. Here. Please humor Mr. Goodwin.” She got up and went and the others followed her. Fritz came back and I told him to shut that door and lock it and give me the key. Then I went back to my desk and sat down, while Fritz, at a nod from Wolfe, went to the hall for the visitor.
The cop came in, and I was surprised to see that it was a guy I knew. Surprised, because the last time I had heard of Slim Foltz he had been on the Homicide Squad, detailed to the District Attorney’s office.
“Hello, Slim.”
“Hi, Goodwin.” He had his own clothes on. He came on across with his hat in his hand. “Hello, Mr. Wolfe. I’m Foltz, Homicide Squad.”
“Good evening, sir. Be seated.”
The dick put his hat on the desk and sat down, and reached in his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. “There was a man shot down the street an hour or so ago. Shot plenty, five bullets in him. Killed. This piece of paper was in his pocket, with your name and address on it. Along with other names. Do you know 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.
V
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 litde black memo book and a pencil stub. “What time?”
“He got here around four-thirty, a little before maybe, and left at five-twenty-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 litde 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 man 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. Wolfe 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 don’t even have to be a friendly foreign power. The sergeant says this business might possibly be an international plot. Captain Devore is going to make arrangements to see this marquis and maybe warn him or protect him.”
“Splendid.” Wolfe nodded approvingly. “The police earn the gratitude or all of us. But for them, Mr. Foltz, we private investigators might sit and wait for clients in vain.”
“Yeah.” Foltz got up. “Much obliged for the compliment, even if that’s all I get. I mean, I haven’t got much information. Except that telephone call, that may lead to something. Scovil was shot only four blocks from here, on Thirty-first Street, only nine minutes after he got that phone call, at five-thirty-five. He was walking along the sidewalk and somebody going by in a car reached out and plugged him, filled him full. He was dead right then. It was pretty dark around there, but a man nearby saw the license, and the car’s already been found, parked on Ninth Avenue. Nobody saw anyone get out of it”