do.'
'I said no.'
'But I say yes, and the question is what I do.'
A confrontation. Our eyes were meeting. Mine were just the eyes of a friendly equal who knew he had a point so there was no use squabbling, but his were narrowed to slits. He closed them long enough for a couple of good deep breaths, then opened them to normal. 'This is the eighth of August,' he said. 'Thursday.'
'Right.'
'Your vacation ended Wednesday, July thirty-first. As you know, I brought a checkbook. Draw a check for your salary for a week and a half, which will cover it to the end of this week and put you on a weekly basis as usual.'
I raised one brow, which I often find helpful because he can't do it. There were angles both pro and con. Con, I knew the people and the atmosphere and he didn't; and my taking a leave of absence without pay had been by my decision, not by agreement. Pro, his coming to get me back sooner had been by his decision, not by agreement; and while a grand or two might be of no consequence to him it was to me; and the strain of trying to remember to say please was cramping his style. It took pro about a minute to get the verdict. I figured it on a sheet from my notebook-$600 minus federal income tax withheld $153.75, state income tax $33.00, and Social Security tax $23.88-went and got the checkbook from a dresser drawer, drew a check to the order of Archie Goodwin for $389.37, and handed it to him with a pen, and he signed it and forked it over.
'Okay,' I said, 'instructions, please. What's better to do than riding Gil Haight?'
'I don't know.' He stood up. 'It's bedtime. We'll see tomorrow.'
Tomorrow, Friday, the weather horned in. There on the eastern slopes of the Rockies the summer sun bats around.900. There had been only three days in July when you had to bother about a poncho when you saddled your horse. But Friday it was raining, good and steady, when I got up, when I drove to Timberburg, when I got back, late for lunch, and when I drove to Lame Horse a little before five to get the Monroe County Register. I don't accuse Wolfe of stalling. The credentials, which were 'To Whom It May Concern' typed on Jessup's official letterhead and signed by him-one for each of us-cleared the deck, but I agreed that it was a good idea to wait until the Register had spread the news.
Supper was in the kitchen because it was still raining and the creek terrace was cold and clammy. Lily's copy of the Register was there on a shelf; presumably she had thought Mimi should know about the new status of two of the guests. The other two guests had seen it; as Wolfe and I entered the kitchen Diana, at the centre table, stopped dishing her plate to look at us as if she had never seen us before, and Wade said, 'Congratulations! I didn't realize you were that famous. When does the ball start rolling?'
I told him not until after supper because we never talked business during a meal. We had decided, after I had made the phone call to Saul, not to tell Lily about it. It would have made her uncomfortable to know that the pasts of two of her guests were being investigated by the other two, and if Saul drew a blank she needn't ever know. I was a little uncomfortable myself, sitting there passing Diana the salt or asking Wade how the outline was going, and probably Wolfe was too. That made no sense, since they knew darned well they would have been Grade A suspects if they had had any motive, but there was one chance in ten million that Saul would not draw a blank, and in that case there would be a behavior problem not covered by Amy Vanderbilt. Meanwhile, as we dealt with the leg of lamb, green lima beans (from the freezer), Mrs Barnes's bread, sliced tomatoes, and huckleberry pie with coffee ice cream, I enjoyed watching Diana trying to decide if she should change her technique with us, and if so how. Evidently Wade had decided. For him we were still just fellow guests to discuss things with, like baseball (me) or structural linguistics (Wolfe).
The blaze in the fireplace in the big room had attractions on an evening like that, and the others went there with coffee, but Wolfe and I went to his room, I supposed to consider the better things to do tomorrow. But inside, instead of going to his chair by the window, he stood and asked, 'Does Mr Farnham have a telephone?'
I said yes.
'Will he have seen that newspaper?'
I said probably.
'Call him. Tell him we wish to come and discuss matters with him and anyone else available.'
'In the morning?'
'Now.'
I nearly said something silly. My lips parted to say, 'It's raining,' but I closed them before it got out. People get in ruts, including me. Many a time I had known him to postpone sending me on an errand if the weather was bad, and it took something very special, like a chance to get a specimen of a new orchid, to get him out of the house in rain or snow. But evidently this was extra special-getting back home as soon as possible-and, saying nothing, I went down the hall to the big room and across to the table where the phone was, and dialed a number, and after four rings a voice said hello.
'Bill? Archie Goodwin.'
'Oh, hello again. I see you've got a badge.'
'Not a badge, just a piece of paper. Apparently you've seen the Register.'
'I sure have. You and Nero Wolfe. Now the fur will start to fly, huh?'
'Maybe. We hope so. Mr Wolfe and I would like to drop in for a little talk with you and yours- everybody that's around-if it's convenient. Especially Sam Peacock. A good way to pass a rainy evening.'
'Why especially Sam?'
'The man who found the body is always special. But the others too-naturally Mr Wolfe wants to meet the people who saw the most of Brodell. Okay?'
'Sure, why not? Mr DuBois was just saying he would like to meet him. Come ahead.'
