'All right,' I said. I sat down across from him. 'Do I get to ask questions? There's three things I want to know. Or am I supposed to go up front and do my homework?' I was a little sore, of course; I always was when I knew that he had tied up a nice neat bundle right in front of me without my even being able to see what was going in it.
'No homework,' he said. 'You are about to go for the car and drive with reasonable speed to White Plains. If the questions are brief-'
'They're brief enough, but if I've got work to do they can wait. Since it's White Plains, I suppose I'm to take a look at the hole in Carlo Maffei and any other details that seem to me unimportant.'
'No. Confound it, Archie, stop supposing aloud in my presence; if it is inevitable that in the end you are to be classed with-for instance-Mr. O'Grady, let us at least postpone it as long as possible.'
'O'Grady did a good job this morning, two hours from a coat label and a laundry mark to that phone call.'
Wolfe shook his head. 'Cerebrally an oaf. But your questions?'
'They can wait. What is it at White Plains if it's not Maffei?'
Wolfe gave me his substitute for a smile, an unusually prolonged one for him. Finally he said, 'A chance to make some money. Does the name Fletcher M. Anderson mean anything to you without referring to your files?'
'I hope so.' I snorted. 'No thanks for a bravo either. Nineteen-twenty-eight. Assistant District Attorney on the Goldsmith case. A year later moved to the country and is now District Attorney for Westchester County. He would admit that he owes you something only if the door were closed and he whispered in your ear. Married money.'
Wolfe nodded. 'Correct. The bravo is yours, Archie, and I shall manage without the thanks. At White Plains you will see Mr. Anderson and deliver a provocative and possibly lucrative message. At least that is contemplated; I am awaiting information from a caller who is expected at any moment.' He reached across his rotundity to remove the large platinum watch from his vest pocket and glance at it. 'I note that a dealer in sporting goods is not more punctual than a skeptic would expect. I telephoned at nine; the delivery would be made at eleven without fail; it is now eleven-forty. It really would be well at this point to eliminate all avoidable delay. It would have been better to send you-Ah!'
It was the buzzer. Fritz passed the door down the hall; there was the sound of the front door opening and another voice and Fritz's in question and answer. Then heavy footsteps drowning out Fritz's, and there appeared on the threshold a young man who looked like a football player bearing on his shoulder an enormous bundle about three feet long and as big around as Wolfe himself. Breathing, he said, 'From Corliss Holmes.'
At Wolfe's nod I went to help. We got the bundle onto the floor and the young man knelt and began untying the cord, but he fumbled so long that I got impatient and reached in my pocket for my knife. Wolfe's murmur sounded from his chair, 'No, Archie, few knots deserve that,' and I put my knife back. Finally he got it loose and the cord pulled off, and I helped him unroll the paper and burlap, and then stood up and stared. I looked at Wolfe and back again at the pile on the floor. It was nothing but golf clubs, there must have been a hundred of them, enough I thought to kill a million snakes, for it had never seemed to me that they were much good for anything else.
I said to Wolfe, 'The exercise will do you good.'
Still in his chair, Wolfe told us to put them on the desk, and the young man and I each grabbed an armload. I began spreading them in a long row on the desk; there were long and short, heavy and light, iron, wood, steel, chromium, anything you might think of. Wolfe was looking at them, each one as I put it down, and after about a dozen he said, 'Not these with iron ends. Remove them. Only those with wooden ends.' To the young man, 'You do not call this the end?'
The young man looked amazed and superior. 'That's the head.'
'Accept my apologies-your name?'
'My name? Townsend.'
'Accept my apologies, Mr. Townsend. I once saw golf clubs through a shop window while my car was having a flat tire, but the ends were not labeled. And these are in fact all varieties of a single species?'
'Huh? They're all different.'
'Indeed. Indeed, indeed. Plain wooden faces, inset faces, bone, composition, ivory-since this is the head I presume that is the face?'
'Sure, that's the face.'
'Of course. And the purpose of the inset? Since everything in life must have a purpose except the culture of Orchidacese.'
'Purpose?'
'Exactly. Purpose.'
'Well-' The young man hesitated. 'Of course it's for the impact. That means hitting the ball, it's the inset that hits the ball, and that's the impact.'
'I see. Go no further. That will do nicely. And the handles, some wood, really fine and sensitive, and steel-I presume the steel handles are hollow.'
'Hollow steel shaft, yes, sir. It's a matter of taste. That one's a driver. This is a brassie. See the brass on the bottom? Brassie.'
'Faultless sequitur,' Wolfe murmured. 'That, I think, will be all, the lesson is complete. You know, Mr. Townsend, it is our good fortune that the exigencies of birth and training furnish all of us with opportunities for snobbery. My ignorance of this special nomenclature provided yours; your innocence of the elementary mental processes provides mine. As to the object of your visit, you can sell me nothing; these things will forever remain completely useless to me. You can reassemble your bundle and take it with you, but let us assume that I should
