'We won't need to. If I am seen going to him so much the better.'
'Then why not call him from here?'
'Because I'm willing, I even wish, to have my visit to him known, but not that I invited myself.'
'What if he can't make it tomorrow?'
'Then as soon as possible.'
I went. As I mounted to the hall and got my coat and hat and let myself out and headed for Ninth Avenue, I was thinking, two rules down the drain in one day-the morning schedule and not leaving the house on business-and why? The Ten for Aristology was a bunch of ten well-heeled men who were, to quote, 'pursuing the ideal of perfection in food and drink.' Seven years back, at the home of one of them, Benjamin Schriver, the shipping tycoon, they had met to pursue their ideal by eating and drinking, and Lewis Hewitt, a member, had arranged with Wolfe for Fritz to cook the dinner. Naturally Wolfe and I had been invited and had gone, and the guy between us at the table had been fed arsenic with the first course, caviar on blinis topped with sour cream, and had died. Quite a party. It had not affected Wolfe's relations with Lewis Hewitt, who was still grateful for a special favor Wolfe had done him long ago, who had a hundred-foot-long orchid house at his Long Island estate, and who came to dinner at the old brownstone about twice a year.
It took a while to get him because the call had to be switched to the greenhouse or the stables or maybe the john, but it was a pleasure for him to hear my voice; he said so. When I told him Wolfe would like to pay him a call he said he would be delighted and that of course we would lunch with him, and added that he would like to ask Wolfe a question regarding the lunch.
'I'm afraid I'll have to do,' I told him. 'I'm calling from a booth in a drugstore. Excuse my glove, but is there any chance that someone is on an extension?'
'Why-why no. There would he no reason…'
'Okay. I'm calling from a booth because our wire is tapped and Mr Wolfe doesn't want it known that he suggested calling on you. So don't ring our number. It's conceivable that you might get a call tomorrow afternoon from someone who says he's a reporter and wants to ask questions. I mention it now because I might forget to tomorrow. The idea is, this appointment, our coming to lunch tomorrow, was made last week. All right?'
'Yes, of course. But good heavens, if you know your phone is tapped-isn't that illegal?'
'Sure, that's why it's fun. We'll tell you about it tomorrow-I guess we will.'
He said he would save his curiosity for tomorrow and would expect us by noon.
There is a TV set and a radio in the office, and when I got back I was expecting to see Wolfe there in his favorite chair, probably with the radio going, but the office was empty, so I proceeded to the rear and down to the basement and found him where I had left him. The television was still on, and Fritz was sitting watching it, yawning. Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes shut, and his lips were going, pushing out and then in, out and in. So he was working, but on what? I stood and looked at him. That's the one thing I never break in on, the lip operation, but that time I had to clamp my jaw to keep my mouth shut because I didn't believe it. There was absolutely nothing he could be hatching. Two full minutes. Three. I decided he was only practicing, it was a dry run, went to a chair, sat, and coughed loud. In a moment he opened his eyes, blinked at me, and straightened up.
I moved my chair closer. 'All set,' I said. 'We're expected by noon, so we should roll by ten- thirty.'
'You're not going,' he growled. 'I telephoned Saul. He'll come at nine.'
'Oh. I see. You want me here in case Wragg sends them to confess.'
'I want you to find Frank Odell.'
'For God's sake. Is that what your lips squeezed out.'
'No.' He turned his head. 'A little louder, Fritz.' Back to me: 'I said after lunch that you had made it clear that it would be futile to establish that the FBI committed that murder. I retract that. I will not bow to futility. We must arrange a situation in which none of the three alternatives would be futile. They are: one, establish that the FBI committed the murder; two, establish that they didn't; and three, establish neither one, let the murder go. We prefer by far the second alternative, and that is why you are to find Frank Odell, but if we are forced to accept the first or the third we must manage circumstances so that we will nevertheless be in a position to fulfill our obligation to our client.'
'You have no obligation except to investigate and use your best efforts.'
'Your pronouns again.'
'All right, 'we' and 'our.' '
'That's better. Just so, our best efforts. The strongest obligation possible for a man with self-esteem, and we both have our full share of that. One point is vital. No matter which alternative circumstances compel us to accept, Mr Wragg must believe, or at least suspect, that one of his men killed Morris Althaus. I can contrive no maneuver by us that would contribute to that; I was trying to when you returned. Can you?'
'No. He either believes it or he doesn't. Ten to one he does.'
'At least we have the odds. Now. I need suggestions regarding the arrangement I intend to make with Mr Hewitt tomorrow. It will take time, and I'm dry. Fritz?'
No response. I turned. He was sound asleep in the chair, probably snoring, but if so the TV covered it. I suggested moving to the office and trying some WQXR music for a change, and Wolfe agreed, so we woke Fritz and thanked him for his hospitality and told him good night. On the way to the office I stopped off for beer for Wolfe and milk for me, and when I joined him he had the radio going and was back of his desk. Since it was going to take time I brought a yellow chair and put it near his. He poured beer, and I took a swallow of milk and said, 'I forgot to say that I didn't ask Hewitt about the Ten for Aristology. You wanted to see him anyway and you can ask him tomorrow. And the program?'
He spoke.
