wide. There weren’t many people around. I popped into the
first shed. It smelled like cows, which wasn’t surprising, be-
cause it was full of them. A partition 5 feet high ran down
the middle of the shed its entire length, and facing it, tied to
it, were cattle, on both sides. Bulls and cows and calves. Two
more rows of them faced the walls. But none of them looked
like the breed I was most familiar with after my association
with Hickory Caesar Grindon. A few spectators straggled
down the long aisle, and I moseyed along to where a little
squirt in overalls was combing tangles out of a cow’s tail, and
told him I was looking for Lew Bennett of the Guernsey
League.
“Guernsey?” He looked contemptuous. “I wouldn’t know.
I’m a Jersey man.”
“Oh. Excuse me. Personally, I fancy Guernseys. Is there a
shed where they allow Guernseys?”
“Sure. Down beyond the judging lot. He might be at the
lot. They’re judging Ayrshires and Belted Swiss this morning,
but they begin on Guernseys at 1 o’clock.”
I thanked him and proceeded. After I had passed three
sheds there was a large vacant space, roped off into divisions,
and that was where the crowd was, several hundred of them,
up against the ropes. Inside were groups of cattle, black with
belts of white around their middles, held by men and boys
with tie-ropes. Other men walked or stood around, frowning
at the cattle, accompanied by still others armed with foun-
tain pens and sheets of cardboard. One guy was kneeling
down, inspecting an udder as if he expected to find the Clue
of the Month on it. I couldn’t see Bennett anywhere.
I found him in the second shed ahead, which was devoted
to Guernseys. It was full of activity and worriment— brushing
coats, washing hoofs and faces, combing tails, discussing and
arguing. Bennett was rushing back and forth. He didn’t rec-
ognize me, and I nearly had to wrestle him to stop him. I re-
minded him of our acquaintance and said that Nero Wolfe
wanted to see him at the main exhibits building, or some
more convenient spot, as soon as possible. Urgent.
“Out of the question,” he declared, looking fierce. “I haven’t
even got time to eat. They’re judging us at 1 o’clock.”
“Mr. Wolfe’s solving a murder for Mr. Frederick Osgood.
He needs important information from you.”
“I haven’t got any.”
“He wants to ask you.”
“I can’t see him now. I just can’t do it. After 1 o’clock …
when they start judging … you say he’s at the main exhibits
building? I’ll see him or let him know …”
“He’ll lunch at the Methodist tent. Make it soon. Huh?”
He said just as soon as possible.
It was noon by the time I got to our space in the main ex-
hibits building. It was judgment day for more than Guernseys,
as 4 o’clock that afternoon was zero hour for the orchids.
Wolfe was there spraying and manicuring. The sprayer was
a pippin, made specially to his order, holding two gallons,
with a compression chamber and a little electric motor, weigh-
ing only 11 pounds empty. His rival and enemy. Shanks, was
with him admiring the sprayer when I joined them. I told
him the car was okay and named the extent of the damage,
and described the plight of Mr. Bennett.
He grimaced. “Then I must wait here.”
“Standing is good for you.”
“And the delay. It is Wednesday noon. We have nothing
left but shreds. I telephoned Mr. Waddell. The club carried
to Mr. Pratt’s place has not been found, and the police took
no photographs of the bull. Pfui. Inspector Cramer’s inde-
fatigable routine has its advantages. Miss Osgood reports
that none of the servants saw Bronson return. Our next move
depends on Mr. Bennett.”
“He says he has no information.”
“But he has. He is ignorant of its application. Perhaps if
you went back and explained? …”
“Not without using force. He says he hasn’t got time to eat.”
That of course silenced him. He grunted and returned to
Shanks.
I propped myself against the edge of the dahlia table
across the aisle and yawned. Dissatisfaction filled my breast.
I had failed to bring what I had been sent for, which was
infrequent and irritating. I had been relieved of $66.20 of
Wolfe’s money. We were going to dine and sleep that night
in a house where family and relatives were preparing for a
funeral. Wolfe had just stated that in the murder case we were
supposed to be solving we had nothing left but shreds. Alto-
gether, the outlook was not rosy. Wolfe and Shanks went on
chewing the rag, paying no attention to the visitors passing
up and down the aisle, and I stood propped, with no enthusi-
asm for any effort to combat the gloom. I must have shut my
eyes for the first I knew there was a tug at my sleeve and a
voice:
“Wake up, Escamillo, ‘and show me the flowers.”
I let the lids up. “How do you do. Miss Rowan. Go away.
I’m in seclusion.”
“Kiss me.”
I bent and deposited a peck on her brow. “There. Thank
you for calling. Nice to see you.”
“You’re a lout.”
“I have at no time asked you to submit bids.”
The comer of her mouth went up. “This is a public ex-
position. I paid my way in. You’re an exhibitor. Go ahead
and exhibit. Show me.”
“Not exhibitionist. Exhibitor. Anyway, I’m only an em-
ployee.” I took her elbow and eased her across the aisle. “Mr.
Wolfe, you know Miss Rowan, She wants to be shown the
orchids.”
He bowed. “That is one compliment I always surrender to.”
She looked him in the eye. “I want you to like me, Mr.
Wolfe. Or not dislike me. Mr. Goodwin and I are probably
going to be friends. Will you give me an orchid?”
“I rarely dislike women, and never like them. Miss Rowan.
I have only albinos here. I’ll give you orchids at 5 o’clock,
after the judging, if you’ll tell me where to send them.”
“I’ll come and get them.”
The upshot of that was that she went to lunch with us.
The Methodist tent was fuller than the day before, prob-
ably because we got there earlier. Apparently Mrs. Miller
had no off days, for the fricassee with dumplings was as good
as the memory of it, and, thinking it might be my last ap-
pearance among the devout, I permitted myself to run the
meal in two sections, as did Wolfe. He, as always in the com-
pany of good food, was sociable and expansive. Discovering
that Lily had been in Egypt, he told about his house in Cairo,
and they chatted away like a pair of camels, going on to
Arabia and making quite a trip of it. She let him do most
of the talking but made him chuckle a couple of times, and
I began to suspect she wasn’t very obvious and might even
be smooth.
As I put down my empty coffee cup Wolfe said, “Still no
Bennett. It’s 1:30. Is it far to the cattle sheds?”
I told him not very.
“Then if you will please find out about him. Confound it,
I must see him. If he can’t come at once, tell him I’ll be here
until 3 o’clock, and after that at the exhibit.”
“Right.”
I got up. Lily arose too, saying that she was supposed to
be with Mr. Pratt and Caroline and they were probably look-
ing for her. She left the tent with me, whereupon I informed
her that it was now working hours and I would be moving
through the throngs too energetically for pleasant companion-
ship. She stated that up to date she had failed to detect any
taint of pleasantness in my make-up and would see me at 5
o’clock, and departed in the direction of the grandstand. My
errand was the other way.
They were going strong at the judging lot. I was pleased
to note that Guernseys were evidently a more popular breed
than Belted Swiss or Ayrshires, as the crowd was much larger
than it had been 2 hours earlier. Bennett was within the en-
closure, along with judges, scorekeepers and cattle with at-
tendants. For a second my heart stopped, as I caught sight
of a bull I would have sworn was Hickory Caesar Grindon;
then I saw he was a lighter shade of tan and had a much
smaller white spot on his face. I maneuvered around to the
other side where the crowd wasn’t so thick, and stood there,
and when I felt a pull at my sleeve I thought for an instant
that Lily Rowan had tailed me.
But it was Dave, dressed up in coat and pants and shirt
and tie, and a shiny straw hat. He cackled: “Didn’t I say