sure he’s going to be killed unless he—unless …” His hands on his knees were fists, and he opened them, palms up. “I’ve just got to tell Mr. Wolfe.”
“Okay. Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. What time do you go to work?”
“I won’t go tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “Just ten hours. If I could—there on that couch? I won’t need covers or anything. I won’t disturb anything. I won’t make any noise.”
So he was really wide open, or thought he was. The couch, in the corner beyond my desk, was perfectly sleepable, as I knew from experience, having spent quite a few nights on it in emergencies, and on the other side of the projecting wall that made the corner was an equipped bathroom. But leaving anyone loose all night in the office, with the ten thousand items in the files and drawers, many of them with no locks, was of course out of the question. There were four alternatives: persuade him to tell me, go up and wake Wolfe, give him a bed, or bounce him. The first might take an hour, and I was tired and sleepy. The second was inadvisable. If I bounced him, and he couldn’t come at eleven in the morning because he was dead, the next time Wolfe lunched or dined in the little upstairs room at Rusterman’s he would be served by a new waiter, and that would be regrettable. Also, of course, I would be sorry.
I looked at him. Should I frisk him? Was there any chance that he had it in for Wolfe personally for some reason unknown to me, or that he had been hired by one of the thousand or so people who thought it would be a better world with no Nero Wolfe? Of course it was possible, but if so, this complicated stunt wasn’t the way to do it. It would have been much simpler and surer for Pierre just to put something in a sauce, in anything, the next time Wolfe went there for a meal. Anyway, not only had Pierre seen me at close quarters; I had seen him.
I said, “My pajamas would be too big for you.”
He shook his head. “I’ll keep my clothes on. Usually I sleep with nothing on.”
“All right, there’s plenty of cover on the bed in the South Room. It’s two flights up, on the same floor as my room, above Mr. Wolfe’s room. I was on my way up when you rang the doorbell.” I stood. “Come along.”
“But Mr. Goodwin, I don’t want—I can just stay here.” He stood up.
“No, you can’t. Either you go up or you go out.”
“I don’t want to go out. Sunday night a car tried to run over me. He tried to kill me. I’m
afraid
to go out.”
“Then follow me. Maybe when you sleep on it …”
I moved, crossed to the door, and he came. I flipped the light switch. I don’t dawdle going upstairs, and I had to wait for him at the top of the first flight because he was only halfway up. At the second landing I turned left, swung the door of the South Room open, and turned the light on. I didn’t have to check on the bed or towels in the bathroom because I knew everything was in order; all I had to do was turn the radiator on.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Goodwin,” he said. “I’m very sorry.”
“So am I,” I said. “I’m sorry you’re in a jam. Stick right here until I tell you I’ve told Mr. Wolfe about you.That will be around nine o’clock. If you open the door and go into the hall before eight o’clock, it will set off a gong in my room and you’ll see me coming with guns in both hands. Security. I should have offered you a shot of something. Whisky? Would it help you go to sleep?”
He said no and he was sorry, and I went, shutting the door. As I entered my room, down the hall, I looked at my watch. Seventeen minutes past one. I wouldn’t get my eight hours. When I get in that late I usually set my radio-alarm at nine-thirty, but now that wouldn’t do. I would have to be up and dressed and telling Wolfe about the company before he went up to the plant rooms at nine o’clock.
Of course I have figured how many minutes had passed after I entered my room when it happened.
“Okay. Eleven o’clock tomorrow morning. What time do you go to work?”
“I won’t go tomorrow.” He looked at his watch. “Just ten hours. If I could—there on that couch? I won’t need covers or anything. I won’t disturb anything. I won’t make any noise.”
So he was really wide open, or thought he was. The couch, in the corner beyond my desk, was perfectly sleepable, as I knew from experience, having spent quite a few nights on it in emergencies, and on the other side of the projecting wall that made the corner was an equipped bathroom. But leaving anyone loose all night in the office, with the ten thousand items in the files and drawers, many of them with no locks, was of course out of the question. There were four alternatives: persuade him to tell me, go up and wake Wolfe, give him a bed, or bounce him. The first might take an hour, and I was tired and sleepy. The second was inadvisable. If I bounced him, and he couldn’t come at eleven in the morning because he was dead, the next time Wolfe lunched or dined in the little upstairs room at Rusterman’s he would be served by a new waiter, and that would be regrettable. Also, of course, I would be sorry.
I looked at him. Should I frisk him? Was there any chance that he had it in for Wolfe personally for some reason unknown to me, or that he had been hired by one of the thousand or so people who thought it would be a better world with no Nero Wolfe? Of course it was possible, but if so, this complicated stunt wasn’t the way to do it. It would have been much simpler and surer for Pierre just to put something in a sauce, in anything, the next time Wolfe went there for a meal. Anyway, not only had Pierre seen me at close quarters; I had seen him.
I said, “My pajamas would be too big for you.”
He shook his head. “I’ll keep my clothes on. Usually I sleep with nothing on.”
“All right, there’s plenty of cover on the bed in the South Room. It’s two flights up, on the same floor as my room, above Mr. Wolfe’s room. I was on my way up when you rang the doorbell.” I stood. “Come along.”
“But Mr. Goodwin, I don’t want—I can just stay here.” He stood up.
“No, you can’t. Either you go up or you go out.”
“I don’t want to go out. Sunday night a car tried to run over me. He tried to kill me. I’m
afraid
to go out.”
“Then follow me. Maybe when you sleep on it …”
I moved, crossed to the door, and he came. I flipped the light switch. I don’t dawdle going upstairs, and I had to wait for him at the top of the first flight because he was only halfway up. At the second landing I turned left, swung the door of the South Room open, and turned the light on. I didn’t have to check on the bed or towels in the bathroom because I knew everything was in order; all I had to do was turn the radiator on.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Goodwin,” he said. “I’m very sorry.”
“So am I,” I said. “I’m sorry you’re in a jam. Stick right here until I tell you I’ve told Mr. Wolfe about you.That will be around nine o’clock. If you open the door and go into the hall before eight o’clock, it will set off a gong in my room and you’ll see me coming with guns in both hands. Security. I should have offered you a shot of something. Whisky? Would it help you go to sleep?”
He said no and he was sorry, and I went, shutting the door. As I entered my room, down the hall, I looked at my watch. Seventeen minutes past one. I wouldn’t get my eight hours. When I get in that late I usually set my radio-alarm at nine-thirty, but now that wouldn’t do. I would have to be up and dressed and telling Wolfe about the company before he went up to the plant rooms at nine o’clock.
Of course I have figured how many minutes had passed after I entered my room when it happened.