rooms among a lot of foliage. Of course that wouldn’t work if Bynoe was along, but that’s not very-”
The phone rang. I got up and went to the kitchen extension on a shelf, and got it.
“Nero Wolfe’s residence, Archie Goodwin speaking.”
An educated male voice, low and even, said that it wished to speak with Mr. Wolfe, please, and I asked for its name, please, and it said it preferred not to give its name on the phone, and that made it a problem. But after I had explained that Mr. Wolfe was at the dinner table and not to be disturbed, and I was his confidential assistant, and I wasn’t permitted to make an appointment without a name, he decided to come clean.
The rest was easy. I hung up and returned to my biscuits and molasses, and told Wolfe, “That makes it even more interesting. Excuse me for not checking with you, but I was sure you would want to see him. Mr. Millard Bynoe will be here in half an hour.”
Chapter 4
MILLARD BYNOE SAT ON the red leather chair, but not in it. He had probably never lolled once in all his fifty-five years; and now he sat straight with his fanny only halfway back on the seat, his feet neatly together, and his fists resting on his thighs. “Fists” may give a wrong impression. For a man who has spent his whole life giving away an inherited pile in big chunks, it’s only natural to keep his fingers curled tight.
Like everybody else, I was of course familiar with the wide mouth and big ears of Millard Bynoe, but the man he had brought with him, whom he had introduced as Mr. Henry Frimm, was a comparative stranger. I had seen him once before as he had left the church beside Mrs. Bynoe. He was a lot younger than Bynoe and a lot better looking, and he wasn’t afraid to unbend. On the yellow chair I had placed for him near the corner of Wolfe’s desk, he leaned back and even crossed his legs.
Bynoe had trouble getting started. He told Wolfe twice that he had come to consult him on a delicate matter, and apparently the idea of such a thing was too much for him. He sat through a long moment and then tried again.
“I should explain, Mr. Wolfe, that I have come to you in this emergency because I have full confidence in your ability, your discretion, and your integrity. My friend Lewis Hewitt has often spoken to me of a service you performed for him some years ago, and of your talents and character, and he is a good judge of men. He has also spoken of Mr. Goodwin. So when I learned from the police that Mr. Goodwin was there today, in front of the church, and when I found myself confronted by a delicate problem, I decided to bring it to you.”
He stopped. Delicate again. Wolfe prompted him. “And the problem?”
“It is highly confidential. I must rely on your discretion.”
“Short of complicity in crime, you may.” Wolfe’s eyes, steady at him, were half closed. “And if the problem is connected with the death of your wife, I may save time by saying that I am fairly well informed. I know how she was killed. Inspector Cramer has been here to question Mr. Goodwin, and Mr. Goodwin has told me what happened in front of the church. Accept my condolence.”
“Thank you.” Bynoe tilted his head and straightened it again. “You will understand that I am controlling myself with some difficulty. Then you know about the needle?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that the police assume that it was shot at her from a camera?”
“Yes. Do you challenge that?”
“By no means. I suggested that idea to the police, and found that they were already considering it. I see no other possible explanation. I was beside her in the church, and as we left the church, and every moment until she-” He stopped and his jaw stiffened. After a little it came loose and he went on, “You will excuse me. Until she was overcome. So was Mr. Frimm, and we are positive that no one touched her. In front of the church a man was apparently trying to, but he didn’t succeed. Mr. Frimm warded him off. Immediately after that she made a sudden movement and caught her lip with her teeth, and we asked her if something had happened, but she shook her head.” His jaw worked. “My wife would not want to make a scene in public. I fully accept the police theory, though my problem arises from it.” His head turned. “Henry, I prefer that you explain it. If you will?”
“Of course, Mr. Bynoe, if you wish.” Frimm was not enthusiastic. Looking at Wolfe, he cleared his throat. “You probably don’t know who I am, or what I am. I am the executive secretary of the Bynoe Rehabilitation Fund, one of Mr. Bynoe’s major interests. It was also one of Mrs. Bynoe’s major interests; she was quite active in the Fund’s work. But that is only to tell you who I am; what Mr. Bynoe wants me to explain is the unfortunate circumstance that I am acquainted with one of the persons with a camera in front of the church. A young woman named Iris Innes.”
His eyes went to Bynoe, but Bynoe merely said, “Go ahead, Henry,” and Frimm returned to Wolfe.
“In fact, Miss Innes and I were engaged to be married, and it was broken off only a month ago. The police have learned that fact and have questioned me about it. They have also questioned me about my relations with Mrs. Bynoe, and some of their questions indicate a suspicion that my engagement with Miss Innes was broken off on account of my feelings about Mrs. Bynoe-a suspicion that is utterly without foundation. But from their questions it appeared that they were actually considering the possibility that Miss Innes had sufficient reason to want to-uh-to harm Mrs. Bynoe. It was absolutely ridiculous, but I felt it was necessary-more than that, it was my duty-to tell Mr. Bynoe about it.”
He looked at Bynoe again, but the philanthropist had his eyes on Wolfe. Frimm asked, “Will that do, Mr. Bynoe?”
Bynoe, not answering, said to Wolfe, “You can see why I said it is a delicate problem. I have spoken
