was there alone, seated at a table, with half a dozen sketches
of bulls, on small sheets of white paper about 6 by 9 inches,
arranged neatly in a row. One of them, separate, was directly
under his eye, and he kept glancing back and forth from it
to the sheet of my memo pad on which he was working with
my pencil. He looked as concentrated as an artist hell bent for
a masterpiece. I stood and observed operations over his
shoulder for a few minutes, noting that the separate sheet
from which he seemed to be drawing his inspiration was
marked “Hickory Buckinham Pell,” and then gave it up and
sat down.
“What about Bennett keeping his sketches under his eye?”
I demanded. “Did you worm yourself into his confidence, or
bribe him?”
“He went to eat. I’m not hurting his sketches. Keep quiet
and don’t disturb me and don’t scratch.”
“I don’t itch any more.”
“Thank heaven.”
I sat and diverted myself by trying different combinations
on the puzzle we were supposed to be solving. At that point,
thanks to various hints Wolfe had dropped, I was able to
provide fairly plausible answers to most of the questions on
the list, but was still completely stumped by the significance
of the drawing practice he was indulging HI. It seemed fanciful
and even batty to suppose that by copying one of Bennett’s
sketches he was manufacturing evidence that would solve a
double murder and earn us a fee and fulfil his engagement
with Waddell, but the expression on his face left no doubt
about his expectations. He was, by his calculations, sewing
it up. I tried to work it into my combinations somehow, but
couldn’t get it to fit. I quit, and let my brain relax.
Lew Bennett entered with a toothpick in his mouth. As
he did so Wolfe put my memo pad, with the pages he had
worked on still attached, into his breast pocket, and the pencil,
Then he sighed, pushed back his chair and got to his feet,
and inclined his head to Bennett.
“Thank you, sir. There are your sketches intact. Guard
them; preserve them carefully; you already thought them
precious; they are now doubly so. It is a wise precaution for
you to insist that they be made in ink, since that renders any
alteration impossible without discovery. Doubtless Mr. Os-
good will find occasion to thank you also. Come, Archie.”
When we left, Bennett was leaning over the table squinting
at the sketches.
Down at the parking space Wolfe climbed into the front
seat beside me, which meant that he had things to say. As
I threaded my way slowly along the edge of the darting
crowds, he opened up: “Now, Archie. It all depends on the
execution. I’ll go over it briefly for you… .”
AT PRATT’S place I parked in the graveled space
in front of the garage, and we got out. Wolfe left
me and headed for the house. Over at a corner of the lawn
Caroline was absorbed in putting practice, which might have
been thought a questionable occupation for a young woman,
even a Metropolitan champion, on the afternoon of her former
fiance’s funeral, but under the circumstances it was open to
differing interpretations. She greeted me from a distance as
I passed by on my way to meet Lily Rowan as arranged on
the phone.
Lily stayed put in the hammock, extending a hand and
going over me with a swift and comprehensive eye.
I said, “You’re not so hot. Wolfe recognized your voice
on the telephone last night.”
“He didn’t.”
“He did.”
“He agreed to meet me at the hotel at six in the morn-
ing.”
“Bah. You laid an egg, that’s all. However, you got him
out of bed at midnight, which was something. Thank you
for doing me the favor. Now I want to offer to do you one,
and I’m in a hurry. How would you like to take a lesson in
detective work?”
“Who would give it to me?”
“I would.”
“I’d love it.”
“Fine. This may be the beginning of a worthwhile career
for you. The lesson is simple but requires control of the
voice and the facial muscles. You may not be needed, but
on the other hand you may. You are to stay here, or close
by. Sometime in the next hour or two I may come for you,
or send Bert—”
“Come yourself.”
“Okay. And escort you to the presence of Mr. Wolfe and
a man. Wolfe will ask you a question and you will tell a lie.
It won’t be a complicated lie and there is no possibility of
your getting tripped up. But it will help to pin a murder on a
man, and therefore I want to assure you that it is not a frame-
up. The man is guilty. If there were a chance in a million
that he’s innocent—”
“Don’t bother.” The corner of her mouth went up. “Do
I have any company in the lie?”
“Yes. Me; also Wolfe. What we need is corroboration.”
“Then as far as I’m concerned it isn’t a lie at all. Truth
is relative. I see you’ve washed your face. Kiss me.”
“Pay in advance, huh?”
“Not in full. On account.”
After about 30 or 32 seconds I straightened up again and
cleared my throat and said, “Whatever is worth doing at all
is worth doing well.”
She was smiling and didn’t say anything.
‘This is it,” I said. “Now quit smiling and listen.”
It didn’t take long to explain it. Four minutes later I was
on my way to the house.
Wolfe was on the terrace with Pratt and Jimmy and
Monte McMillan. Jimmy looked sullen and preoccupied, and
I judged from his eyes that he was having too many high-
balls. McMillan sat to one side, silent, with his eyes fixed on
Wolfe. Pratt was raving. He appeared to be not only sore
because the general ruction had spoiled his barbecue plans
and ruined the tail end of his country sojourn, but specifically
and pointedly sore at Wolfe for vague but active reasons
which had probably come to him on the bounce from Dis-
trict Attorney Waddell. Even so his deeper instincts pre-
vailed, for when I arrived he interrupted himself to toss me
a nod and let out a yell for Bert.
But Wolfe, who, I noticed, had already disposed of a
bottle of beer, shook his head at me and stood up. “No,” he
said. “Please, Mr. Pratt. I don’t resent your belligerence,
but I think before long you may acknowledge its misdirection.
You may even thank me, but I don’t ask for that either. I
didn’t want to disturb you. I needed to have a talk with Mr.
McMillan in private. When I told him so on the phone this
morning and we tried to settle on a meeting place that would
ensure privacy, I took the liberty of suggesting your house.
There was a special reason for it, that the presence of Miss
Rowan might be desirable.”
“Lily Rowan? What the hell has she got to do with it?”
“That will appear. Or maybe it won’t. Anyhow, Mr. Mc-
Millan agreed to meet me here. If my presence is really
offensive to you we’ll go elsewhere. I thought perhaps that
room upstairs—”
“I don’t give a damn. But if there’s anything on my mind
I’m in the habit of getting it off-”
“Later. Indulge me. It will keep. If youll permit us to use
the room upstairs? …”
“Help yourself.” Pratt waved a hand. “You’ll need some-
thing to drink. Bert! Hey, Bert!”
Jimmy shut his eyes and groaned.
We got ourselves separated. McMillan, who still hadn’t
opened his mouth, followed Wolfe, and I brought up the rear.
As we started up the stairs, with the stockman’s broad back
towering above me, I got my pistol from the holster, to
which it had been previously restored, and slipped it into
my side coat pocket, hoping it could stay there. There was
one item on Wolfe’s bill of fare that might prove to be
ticklish.
The room was in apple-pie order, with the afternoon sun
slanting in through the modem casement windows which
Wolfe had admired. I moved the big upholstered chair around
for him, and placed a couple more for McMillan and me. Bert
appeared, as sloppy and efficient as ever, with beer and the
makings of highballs. As soon as that had been arranged and
Bert had disappeared, McMillan said:
“This is the second time I’ve gone out of my way to
see you, as a favor to Fred Osgood. It’s sort of getting
monotonous. I’ve got 7 cows and a bull at Crowfield that I’ve
just bought that I ought to be taking home.”
He stopped. Wolfe said nothing. Wolfe sat leaning back
in the big upholstered chair, motionless, his hands resting
on the polished wooden arms, gazing at the stockman with