'I see.' He considered that. 'But the police refuse to tell us.'
'Yeah, I know. I’ve had experiences with them. I’ve just had one with Inspector Cramer.'
He regarded me. Four seconds. 'You’re in the detective business, Goodwin. People hire you to get information for them, and they pay for it. That’s all I want, information, an answer to my question. I’ll give you five thousand dollars for it. I have it in my pocket in cash. Of course, I would expect a definitive answer.'
'You would deserve one, for five grand,' I was finding that meeting his eyes halfway, not letting them come on through me, took a little effort. 'Five grand in cash would suit me fine, since the salary Mr Wolfe pays me is far from extravagant. But I’ll have to say no even if you double it. This is how it is. When the police make up their minds about it one way or the other, that I’m right or I’m wrong, no matter which, I’ll feel free to tell you or anybody else. But if I go spreading it around before then they will say I am interfering with an official investigation, and they will interfere with me. If I lost my licence as a private detective your five grand wouldn’t last long.'
'Ten would last longer.'
'Not much.'
'I own a publishing business. I’d give you a job.'
'You’d soon fire me. I’m not a very good speller.'
His eyes were certainly straight and steady. 'Will you tell me this? How good is your reason for thinking it was murder? Is it good enough to keep them on it the whole way, in spite of the influence of a woman in Mrs Robilotti’s position?'
I nodded. 'Yes, I’ll answer that. It was good enough to bring Inspector Cramer here when he hadn’t had much sleep. In my opinion it is good enough to keep them from crossing it off as suicide until they have dug as deep as they can go.'
'I see.' He rubbed his palms together. Then he rubbed them on the chair arms. He had transferred his gaze to a spot on the rug, which was a relief. It was a full minute before he came back to me. 'You say you have told only the police, the District Attorney, and Nero Wolfe. I want to have a talk with Wolfe.'
I raised my brows. 'I don’t know.'
'You don’t know what?'
'Whether…' I let it trail, screwing my lips. 'He doesn’t like to mix in when I’m involved personally. Also he’s pretty busy. But I’ll see.' I arose. 'With him you never can tell.' I moved.
As I turned left in the hall Wolfe appeared at the corner of the wing. He stood there until I had passed and pushed the swing door, and then followed me into the kitchen. When the door had swung shut I spoke.
'I must apologize for that crack about salary. I forgot you were listening.'
He grunted. 'Your memory is excellent and you shouldn’t disparage it. What does that man want of me?'
I covered a yawn. 'Search me. If I had had some sleep I might risk a guess, but it’s all I can do to get enough oxygen for my lungs so my brain’s doing without. Maybe he wants to publish your autobiography. Or maybe he wants you to make a monkey of me by proving it was suicide.'
'I won’t see him. You have supplied a reason: that you are involved personally.'
'Yes, sir. I am also involved personally in the income of your detective business. So is Fritz. So is the guy who wrote you that letter from New Guinea, or he’d like to be.'
He growled, as a lion might growl when it realizes it must leave its cosy lair to scout around for a meal. I admit that for him a better comparison would be an elephant, but elephants don’t growl. Fritz, at the table shucking clams, started humming a tune, very low, probably pleased at the prospect of a client. Wolfe glared at him, reached for a clam, popped it into his mouth, and chewed. When I pushed the door open and held it, he waited until the clam was down before passing through.
He doesn’t like to shake hands with strangers, and when we entered the office and I pronounced names he merely gave Laidlaw a nod en route to his desk. Before I went to mine I asked Laidlaw to move to the red leather chair so I wouldn’t have him in profile as he faced Wolfe. As I sat, Laidlaw was saying that he supposed Goodwin had told Wolfe who he was, and Wolfe was saying yes, he had.
Laidlaw’s straight, steady eyes were now at Wolfe instead of me. 'I want,' he said, 'to engage you professionally. Do you prefer the retainer in cash, or a cheque?'
Wolfe shook his head. 'Neither, until I accept the engagement. What do you want done?'
'I want you to get some information for me. You know what happened at Mrs Robilotti’s house last evening. You know that a girl named Faith Usher was poisoned and died. You know of the circumstances indicating that she committed suicide. Don’t you?'
Wolfe said yes.
'Do you know that the authorities have not accepted it as a fact that she killed herself? That they are continuing with the investigation on the assumption that she might have been murdered?'
Wolfe said yes.
'Then it’s obvious that they must have knowledge of some circumstance other than the ones I know about-or that any of us know about. They must have some reason for not accepting the fact that it was suicide. I don’t know what that reason is, and they won’t tell me, and as one of the people involved-involved simply because I was there-I have a legitimate right to know. That’s the information I want you to get for me. I’ll give you a retainer now, and your bill can be any amount you think is fair, and I’ll pay it.'
I was not yawning. I must say I admired his gall. Though he didn’t know that Wolfe had been at the hole, he must have assumed that I had reported the offer he had made, and here he was looking Wolfe straight in
