I went.
Chapter 2
The
At the little table in the kitchen where I eat breakfast, with the
At the big table inspecting dried mushrooms, with an eye on me to know when to start the next cake, he shook his head and said, 'No murder is good to work on. When it's a murder the doorbell scares me and I never know if you'll come back alive.'
I told him he was just blowing, I had yet to see him scared, forked a bite of cake and molasses, and Creole sausage, and started the
So far, so good. But if the errand I had tackled for Orrie had been on the level, if he hadn't been playing me, and I didn't really think he had, there would be fur flying soon, and when I finished breakfast and went into the office I turned the radio on. Ten-o'clock news, nothing. When Wolfe came down from the plant rooms at eleven o'clock the radio was still on, and when he had crossed to his desk and settled his bulk in the only chair that holds it to suit him, he scowled at the radio and then at me and demanded, 'Is there an urgency?'
'Yes, sir,' I said. 'Will the Braves play in Milwaukee or in Atlanta? Also it's Sunday, the day of rest.'
'I thought you had an engagement.'
'It's for one o'clock, and I may skip it. The lunch will be all right, but then a man is going to read poetry.'
'Whose poetry?'
'His.'
'Pfui.'
'Sure. I think Miss Rowan knew he was hungry and merely wanted to feed him, but then he said he would do her and her friends a big favor and she was stuck. He calls it an epithon because it's an epic and it takes hours.'
A corner of his mouth was up an eight of an inch. 'Serves you right.'
'Yeah. What she did in the car that night was in the line of duty, but you'll never forgive her. I may not go.'
He flipped a hand. 'You will.' He went at his copy of the Sunday
When the noon news still had nothing new about murder, I decided it would be silly to sit around all afternoon rassling with the
At twenty minutes past four I was in a big roomy chair in the living room of Lily Rowan's penthouse on top of a building on 63rd Street, leaning back with my eyes closed, trying to decide which one I would rather have, Willie Mays or Sandy Koufax, on my team. The poet, a long-faced specimen with whiskers, who didn't look hungry, but of course had recently had a good meal, was still going strong, but I had stopped hearing him an hour back. It was just a background noise. At a poke on my shoulder I opened my eyes, and Mimi, the maid, was there. She moved her lips to say 'Telephone' without saying it. I pulled myself up and to my feet, went to a door at the corner of the room and on through, crossed to the desk where Lily makes out checks for causes which may be worthy, picked up the phone, and told it, 'This is Archie Goodwin.'
Wolfe's voice said, 'I presume you read about the murder of a woman named Isabel Kerr.'
I said yes.
'So did I. Mr. Parker is here. He received a telephone call from Orrie Cather, asking him to come to the police station on Twentieth Street, and he went. Orrie is in custody as a material witness. He gave Mr. Parker some information, not much, and told him to consult you. Why?'
'Because. Parker's still there?'
'Yes.'
'I'll be there in twenty minutes.'
I hung up, went to the kitchen and told Mimi to tell Lily, went to the foyer for my coat and hat, let myself out, and summoned the elevator. The car was around the corner on Madison Avenue. When I was in it and