Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 41 Read Free Page A

car door to hand her in. Before she went to it she slanted the brown-black eyes up at me and said, “Thank you, Mr. Goodwin. Of course there will be a check for you, personally.”
    The chauffeur didn’t touch her; apparently she preferred to do it herself, so she wasn’t the kind of middle-agedwidow who likes to feel a grip on her arm from a big strong male. When she was in he shut the door, got in front behind the wheel, and rolled; and thirty yards to the east, toward Ninth Avenue, a car whose lights had gone on and whose engine had started slid out and forward and came on by. Two men in the front seat. I stood there in the cold January wind long enough to see it take the turn into Tenth Avenue. It was laughable, so I laughed as I mounted the stoop, but I shut it off before I entered the hall.
    Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed, but his mouth was tight, no curl at the corner. As I crossed to his desk he opened the eyes to slits. I picked up the check and inspected it. I had never seen one for an even, round, plain hundred grand, though I had seen bigger ones. I dropped it, went to my desk, sat, scribbled the license number of the tail car on the scratch pad, swung the phone around, dialed a number and got a man, a city employee for whom I had once done a king-size favor. When I gave him the license number he said it might take an hour, and I said I would hold my breath.
    As I hung up Wolfe’s voice came. “Is that flummery?”
    I swiveled. “No, sir. She is in real danger. A pair of them were in a car down the block. They switched on their lights as she got in, and as her Rolls turned into Tenth Avenue they were so close behind they nearly bumped it. An open tail, but they’re overdoing it. If the Rolls stops short they’ll bang it. She’s in danger.”
    “Grrrhh,” he said.
    “Yes, sir. I agree. The point is, who are they? If it’s something private, that hundred grand could be earned maybe. Of course if it’s really G-men she’ll just have to endure her afflictions,
as you said.
We’ll know in an hour or so.”
    He glanced at the clock on the wall. Twelve minutes to seven. He focused on me. “Is Mr. Cohen at his office?”
    “Probably. He usually quits around seven.”
    “Ask him to dine with us.”
    That was very foxy. If I said there was no point in it since the thing was preposterous, he would say that I was certainly aware of the importance of maintaining good relations with Mr. Cohen, which I was, and that he personally had not seen him for more than a year, which was true.
    I swiveled and got the phone and dialed.

Chapter 2
    A t nine o’clock we were back in the office, Lon in the red leather chair and Wolfe and I at our desks, and Fritz was serving coffee and brandy. The hour and a half in the dining room across the hall had been quite sociable, what with the clam cakes with chili sauce, the beef braised in red wine, the squash with sour cream and chopped dill, the avocado with watercress and black walnut kernels, and the Liederkranz. The talk had covered the state of the Union, the state of the feminine mind, whether any cooked oyster can be fit to eat, structural linguistics, and the prices of books. It had got hot only on the feminine mind, and Lon had done that purposely to see how sharp Wolfe could get.
    Lon took a sip of brandy and looked at his wristwatch. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “let’s get at it. I have to be somewhere at ten o’clock. I know you don’t expect me to pay for my dinner, but I also know that ordinarily, when there’s something you want to get or give, Archie just phones or drops in, so this must be something special. It will have to be fantastic to be as special as this cognac.”
    Wolfe picked up a slip of paper that was there on his desk, frowned at it, and put it down. I had put it therehalf an hour before. My dinner had been interrupted by a phone call from the city employee with the information I had wanted, and before returning to the