You would suppose that at ten minutes to ten Monday morning, as I sat in a taxicab headed uptown, with the box on the seat beside me and the breast pocket of my jacket bulging with envelopes containing letters to twelve savings banks because I never lug a brief case if I can help it, my mind would be on the morning's program, but it wasn't. It was on the hour just past, or part of it, instead of the one just ahead. I don't like to have people bellow at me, particularly not Wolfe.
Also I had had only six hours' sleep, a full two hours less than I need and nearly always get. Getting home after midnight Sunday, I had decided against typing twelve letters before turning in, and so had to set the alarm for seven o'clock. When it went off I opened one eye to glare at it, but I knew I would have to hustle, much as I hate hustling before breakfast, and in six minutes, maybe seven, I was on my feet. At 7:45 I was at the little table in the kitchen where I eat breakfast, on the last swallow of orange juice, and Fritz was crossing to me with the grilled ham and corn fritters, and at 8:10 I was in the office at the typewriter. At 9:15 I had finished the twelfth letter and had started folding and putting them in envelopes when the doorbell rang, and I went to the hall for a look through the one-way glass in the front door, and saw a big burly male with a big round red face topped by a big battered broad-brimmed felt hat. The hat alone would have been enough. Inspector Cramer of Homicide South must be the only man in New York who wears such a hat on a hot sunny day in August.
Nuts, I thought, let him ring. But it must be just for
me, since he knew Wolfe was never available before eleven o'clock, so I went and opened the door and said, 'Good morning and greetings, but I'm busy and I'm in a rush. I really mean it.'
'So am I.' It was gruff, but it always is. 'I'm just stopping by on my way down. Why did you call Stebbins on that hit-and-run?'
'What the hell, I told him why.'
'I know you did. Also I know you and I know Wolfe. Discussing crime my ass. All right, discuss it with me now. I want to know why you're working on that hit-and-run.'
'I'm not. Mr. Wolfe isn't.' I glanced at my wrist. 'I would like to ask you in for some give and take, you know I enjoy that, but I've got a date. Except for what was in the papers, I know absolutely nothing about that hit-and-run, and neither does Mr. Wolfe. No one has consulted with us about it. The only client we've got is a girl who can't find her father and wants us to.' I glanced at my wrist. 'Damn it, I'll be late.' I started the door around. He opened his mouth, clamped it shut, about-faced, and started down the seven steps of the stoop. His PD car was there, double-parked. By the time he reached it I was back in the office.
Time was short, but it was quite possible that Cramer would phone while I was gone, and Wolfe didn't know about my call to Purley Stebbins. He is not to be disturbed short of an emergency when he is up in the plant rooms, but he had to be told, so I took the house phone and pushed a button, and after a wait his voice came.
'Me in a hurry. Cramer was here just now, stopping on his way downtown. I haven't had a chance to tell you that Saturday afternoon I rang Stebbins and-'
I assumed he had just found a thrip on a favorite plant or dry rot on a pseudobulb, but as I said, I do not like to be bellowed at. If Cramer called they could discuss crime. When the letters were in the envelopes and in my pocket I still had a chore left, ringing Mortimer M. Hotchkiss, the vice-president who bossed the Thirty-fourth Street branch of the Continental Bank and Trust Company. That didn't take long; he was always glad to
be of service to a depositor-not me, Nero Wolfe-whose balance never went below five figures and sometimes hit six. That done, I got the box from the safe and was off. Nothing was in it but the money; the letter was on a shelf with some other classified items.
At the Eighty-sixth Street branch I found that Hotchkiss had been prompt. I was only six steps inside when a man at a desk got up and motioned me over and asked if I was Mr. Goodwin, and then took me inside the rail and along an aisle to a door at the front. He opened it and bowed me in, and there was Amy Denovo on a chair facing a big glass-topped desk. Behind the desk was a middle-aged banker with a shiny dome and rimless cheaters. As I crossed he rose and offered a hand, saying that it was a pleasure, Mr. Goodwin, a real pleasure, which was par, since Hotchkiss was a vice-president and he wasn't. I said, 'Mr. Atwood?' and he said yes and told me to sit, but after telling Amy good morning I put the box on the desk, fished the key from my pocket and used it, and opened the lid wide. Then I sat. Atwood had started to, but was up again, staring at the contents of the box. It rated a stare, even from a banker.
'That belongs to Miss Denovo,' I said. 'I assume that Mr. Hotchkiss told you that I work for Nero Wolfe. Miss Denovo has engaged Mr. Wolfe's services, and I'm here for her. That's two hundred and forty-four thousand dollars, all in centuries. Miss Denovo would like to have twelve bank checks for twenty grand each, payable to her, and the remaining four grand deposited in her account.'
'Certainly,' he said. He looked at her and back at me. 'That's quite a… quite a… certainly. Do you want… it will take a while, a little while-counting it and making out the checks.'
I nodded. 'Sure. Certainly. Anyway, if you're not too busy, we'd like to discuss something with you.'
'Cer-I'll be glad to, Mr. Goodwin.' His hand started for the phone on the desk, but he changed his mind. He closed the lid of the box, tucked it under his arm, said he would be back soon, and went.
When the door was shut Amy asked, 'What's he going to do?'
'His duty,' I said. 'The slogan of this bank is: the
bank you can bank on. You have crossed and uncrossed your ankles three times. Relax.'
What 'soon' means depends on the circumstances. For there and then I would have supposed about five minutes, but twelve had passed when the door opened and At-wood entered, closed the door, crossed to his desk, and sat. He looked at me, then at her, and back at me, trying to decide which one the bank wanted to bank on it 'It will take a little while,' he said. 'You wanted to discuss something?'
