“Meaning, not her honesty, but her name. Yes, you have heard the name. If you happen to be phoning Wolfe and he happens to ask, you can tell him yes, and also tell him I’ll bring her to see him but I don’t know when. I have to find out whether I’m still working here or not. There’s to be a directors’ meeting—you’re not listening.” “I’m looking. Do you know that man”— his eyes were pointing—“gray coat and hat, big and broad, fleshy face, now his back is to us—he’s stepping on the elevator—” “Yeah, I know him. Why?” “I’ve seen him.” “I wouldn’t doubt it.” The combination of Saul’s eyes and the filing equipment in his skull is the equal of any card system yet invented. “You probably saw him August seventeenth, nineteen hundred and thirty-eight, crossing Madison Avenue against a light—” “No. I saw him Friday, twice. When Naylor met the woman at First Avenue and Fifty-second Street that man was standing across the street in a doorway looking at them. An hour later, when they parted at Second Avenue and Fifty-seventh Street, he was standing forty feet away, again in a doorway, and when the woman walked downtown on Second Avenue he started after her. That’s all I saw because Naylor was on his way and I was tailing him.” “Is this certified?” “For me it is.” “Then me too. In case this head-flattener is going on with his career and picks me next, the man’s name is Sumner Hoff. He works for Naylor-Kerr and his office is in the stock department. File it.” “I will. Is that all here?” I said it was, and Saul went.
I took an elevator to the thirty-fourth floor, not knowing what to expect. It was quite possible that a delegation of executives would be waiting for me, to tell me to get the hell out and stay out. But nobody at all was waiting for me.
It is true that when I got to the arena, skirted it, and started down the long aisle, I was on the receiving end of plenty of assorted glances, but that was only more of the same as last week. I left my coat and hat in my room, emerged immediately, crossed to the other side of the arena, opened the door of Hester Livsey’s room, entered, and shut the door behind me.
“What do you want?” she demanded.
She had straightened up from dusting off her desk. She looked nervous, unhappy, and annoyed. Fritz would have said that she did not have the appearance of a good eater. I did not entirely lose the impression that she was in some kind of trouble that no one but me could understand and no one but me could help her out of, but the most vulgar eye could have seen at a glance that she was in trouble.
That much of it I would have to share.
My name,” I said, “is Archie Goodwin and I work for Nero Wolfe.” “I know that. What do you want?” Evidently everybody in the stock department knew everything. “I’m afraid,” I told her, “that I can’t make my answer quite as direct and to the point as your question. I can tell you what I want, but I’ll have to leave it more or less blank why I want it. I want to date you up—to meet me at five o’clock this afternoon and go to Nero Wolfe’s office with me. He wants to have a talk with you—” “What about?” “You’re so damn gruff,” I complained. “I can’t tell you what about except that it’s connected with the murder of Kerr Naylor, and you could guess that with both eyes shut. Let me try it that way first, just ask you, will you do it?” “Certainly not. Why should I?” “In that case that comes next, why you should. I would have liked it much better without that, but I can’t have everything. Mr. Wolfe has learned a certain fact which has to do with you and Kerr Naylor, and he wants to ask you about it. The nature of the fact is such—” “What is it?” I shook my head. “Its nature is such that if you don’t go and let him ask you about it he will be obliged to give the fact to the police and then there will be no question of letting. You won’t go, you’ll be taken, and the asking atmosphere will be different.” “My God,” she said in a tone with no expression at all, as if she were too stunned to feel anything.
It irritated me. “It’s a good thing for you I’m not a policeman,” I declared.
“You’d better think up a better entrance than that for them if it goes that far.
Your chin’s sagging.” She came to me, abruptly and swiftly, put her hands on me, her open palms flat against my chest so I had to brace myself, raised her face to me, and half commanded, half implored, “What—is—the—fact?” She nearly got the desired result at that. But I stopped it before it reached my tongue and shook my head firmly. “Nope. You’ll get it from Mr. Wolfe.” “You won’t tell me?” “No.” “There isn’t any. I don’t believe it. There isn’t any fact.” “The hell there isn’t.” I was disgusted with her for not doing better. “You’re just like glass to look through. You have just told me that there’s not one fact, but two and maybe more, and you’ve got to know which one Wolfe has.” She had certainly uncovered herself, but she was not floored, and she now showed that she could grab a nettle. She went to the rack in the corner and got her coat and stuck an arm in it.
“I’ll go now,” she said.
“You can’t.” I went to relieve her of the coat. “The one appointment Mr. Wolfe wouldn’t break is the one with the orchids from nine to eleven in the morning.” I glanced at my wrist. “We can leave in an hour and a quarter. I’ll meet you in the lobby at a quarter to eleven.” But she knew what she wanted. “I’m not going to just sit here,” she said, “and if I tried to take dictation—I couldn’t. We can go now and wait for him. Wait here a minute while I tell Mr. Rosenbaum.” Having her coat, I hung it up, and explained that anyway I had an errand in the building that had to be attended to before I could leave. She gave in, but only because she couldn’t help it. I got out of there, not being absolutely sure how I would react if she snapped out of it and started to work on me in earnest. She agreed to meet me in the lobby at 10:45, and I returned to my room, picked up the phone, and called Wolfe and told him to expect us at eleven. I also told him of Saul’s recognition of Sumner Hoff. Then I got the Naylor-Kerr switchboard and gave the extension number of the office of the president.
I had to fight for him that time. He was in an important meeting and couldn’t be disturbed, but I finally persuaded his secretary that no meeting was more important than me that morning and was told to hold the wire. It was a long hold. After five minutes I wondered who was kissing her now, and after three more I suspected I had been left to starve. I had my finger poised ready to start jiggling when the secretary’s voice came.
“Mr. Goodwin?” “Still here and still hoping.” “Please come up to the Board Room on the thirty-sixth floor. You will be admitted.” Her tone implied that that was a break in a thousand, so I thanked her warmly.
On the thirty-sixth floor the executive receptionist told me where the Board Room was, and when I reached it an executive sentinel, outside the door, made sure my name was mine and then opened for me. I walked in looking dignified.
It was up to snuff. The room was big, high-ceilinged, well lighted, and impressive to a rank-and-filer like me, who had only been on the payroll three-fifths of a week. An enormous rug nearly covered the floor. The table, of bleached walnut, was about the size of my bedroom though not the same shape. All around it were roomy armchairs, upholstered in brown leather, twenty or more, with all but four or five of them occupied. There were two chairs at each end of the table and the others were along the sides.
In one of the chairs at the far end sat Jasper Pine. In the other one was a man of whose bulk there was so little left that most of the chair was being wasted.
Age had certainly withered him. At the first glance I recognized him, from a portrait of him on the wall of the president’s office, as old George Naylor, one of the founders of the firm and the father of Mrs. Jasper Pine, Cecily to me, and of Kerr Naylor, deceased.