Prisoner's Base Read Free

Nero Wolfe feels about women, so I knew I’d have to see you first.”
    “That was sensible,” I agreed. “I like gags, and I’ll bet this is a pip. How does it go?”
    “It is not a gag.” She wasn’t heated, but she was earnest. “For a certain reason I had to be—I had to go away. I had to go somewhere and stay there until June thirtieth—some place where no one would know and no one could possibly find me. I didn’t think a hotel would do, and I didn’t think—anyhow, I thought it over and decided the best place would be Nero Wolfe’s house. Nobody knows I came; nobody followed me here, I’m sure of that.”
    She got up and went to the red leather chair for her bag, which she had left there with her jacket. Back in her seat, she opened the bag and took out a purse and let me have the eyes again. “One thing you can tell me,” she said, as if I not only could but naturally would, “—about paying. I know how he charges just for wiggling his finger. Would it be better for me to offer to pay him or to go ahead and pay you now? Would fifty dollars a day be enough? Whatever you say. I’ll give you cash instead of a check, because that way he won’t have to pay income tax on it, and also because a check would have my name on it, and I don’t want you to know my name. I’ll give it to you now if you’ll tell me how much.”
    “That won’t do,” I objected. “Hotels and rooming houses have to know names. We can make one up for you. How would Lizzie Borden do?”
    She reacted to that crack as she had to the Coke and rum—she flushed a little. “You think it’s funny?” she inquired.
    I was firm. “So far,” I declared, “the over-all effect is comical. You aren’t going to tell us your name?”
    “No.”
    “Or where you live? Anything at all?”
    “No.”
    “Have you committed a crime or been accessory to one? Are you a fugitive from justice?”
    “No.”
    “Prove it.”
    “That’s silly! I don’t have to prove it!”
    “You do if you expect to get bed and board here. We’re particular. Altogether four murderers have slept in the south room—the last one was a Mrs. Floyd Whitten, some three years ago. And I am personally interested, since that room is on the same floor as mine.” I shook my head regretfully. “Under the circumstances, there’s no point in continuing the chinning, which is a pity, since I have nothing special to do and you are by no means a scarecrow, but unless you see fit to open up—”
    I stopped short because it suddenly struck me that in any case I could do better than shoo her out. Even if she couldn’t be cast as a client, I could still use her.
    I looked at her. “I don’t know,” I said doubtfully. “Tell me your name.”
    “No,” she said positively.
    “Why not?”
    “Because—what good would it do unless you checked on it? How would you know it was my real name? And I don’t want you checking on it. I don’t want anyone to have the faintest idea where I am for a week—until June thirtieth.”
    “What happens on June thirtieth?”
    She shook her head, smiling at me. “You’re good at asking questions, I know that, so I’m not going to answer any at all. I don’t want you to do anything, or Nero Wolfe either, except to let me stay here for a week, right in that room, for my meals too. I think I’ve already talked too much. I think I should have said—no, I guess that wouldn’t have worked.” She laughed alittle, a low running ripple. “If I had said I had read about you and seen a picture of you, and you fascinated me, and I wanted to be near you for one wonderful week, you’d have known I was lying.”
    “Not necessarily. Millions of women feel like that, but they can’t afford the fifty bucks a day.”
    “I said I would pay more. Whatever you say.”
    “Yeah, I know. Let’s get this settled. Are you going to stick to this—no naming or identifying?”
    “I certainly intend to.”
    “Then you’d better leave Mr. Wolfe to