'He always gave it to me in the afternoon. Monday afternoon, yes, sir.'
'There was nothing peculiar about it that morning, I suppose.'
'No, sir.'
Apparently Wolfe caught some faint flicker in her eye, some faint movement that I missed. Anyway he insisted.
'Nothing peculiar about it?'
'No, sir. Except-of course, the cut-out.'
'The cut-out?'
'A piece cut out. A big piece.'
'Did he often cut out pieces?'
'Yes, sir. Mostly the ads. Maybe always the ads. I used the papers to take the dirt up in and I had to watch for the holes.'
'But this was a big piece.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Not an advertisement then. You will pardon me, Miss Fiore, if I do not say ad. I prefer not to. Then it wasn't an advertisement he cut out of Monday's paper.'
'Oh no, it was on the front page.'
'Indeed. Had there ever been a piece cut out on the front page before?'
'No, sir. I'm sure not.'
'Never anything but advertisements before?'
'Well, I'm not sure of that. Maybe only ads, I think it was.'
Wolfe sat for a minute with his chin on his chest. Then he turned to me. 'Archie, run up to Forty- second Street and get twenty copies of Monday's Times.'
I was glad for something to wake me up. Not that it was anything to get excited about, for I could see that Wolfe was just taking a wink at the only crack that had shown any chance of light; I wasn't expecting anything and I didn't think he was. But it was a fine June night, cool but soft and pleasant, and I filled my lungs with good air snatched from the breeze I made as I rolled crosstown to Broadway and turned north. At Times Square I saw a cop I knew, Marve Doyle who used to pound the cement down on Fourteenth Street, and he let me leave the car against the Broadway curb while I ran across the street to the Times office. The theater and movie mob was slopping off the sidewalks into the street, deciding between two dollars at a speak and two nickles at a Nedick's.
When I got back to the office Wolfe was giving the girl a rest. He had had Fritz bring in some beer and she was sipping at a glass like it was hot tea, with a stripe of dried foam across her upper lip. He had finished three bottles, though I couldn't have been gone more than twenty minutes at the outside. As I came in he said: 'I should have told you city edition.'
'Sure, that's what I got.'
'Good.' He turned to the girl. 'If you don't mind, Miss Fiore, it would be better if you did not overlook our preparations. Turn her chair around, Archie; there, the little table for her beer. Now the papers. No, don't rip it off; better intact I think; that's the way she first saw it. Remove the second sections, they'll be a find for Miss Fiore, think of all the dirt they'll hold. Here.'
I spread open a first section on the desk before him and he pulled himself up in his chair to hunch over it. It was like seeing a hippopotamus in the zoo get up for a feed. I took out all the second sections and stacked them on a chair and then took a front page for myself and went over it. At the first glance it certainly looked hopeless; miners were striking in Pennsylvania, the NRA was saving the country under three different headings, two boys had crossed the Atlantic in a thirty-foot boat, a university president had had heart failure on a golf course, a gangster had been tear-gassed out of a Brooklyn flat, a negro had been lynched in Alabama, and someone had found an old painting somewhere in Europe. I glanced at Wolfe; he was drinking the whole page. The only thing that looked to me worth trying at all was the painting which had been found in Switzerland and was supposed to have been stolen from Italy. But when Wolfe finally reached for the scissors out of the drawer it wasn't that one he clipped, it was the gangster piece. Then he laid the paper aside and called for another one. I handed it to him, and this time I grinned as I saw him go after the article about the painting; I came in second anyhow. When he called for a third paper I was curious, and as he ran the scissors around the edges of the story about the university president I stared at him. He saw me. He said without looking up, 'Pray for this side, Archie. If it's this one we shall have an Angrsecum sesquipedale for Christmas.' I could spell that because I kept his accounts for him on orchids as on everything else, but I could no more have pronounced it than I could have imagined any connection between the university president and Carlo Maffei.
Wolfe said, 'Show her one.'
The last one he had clipped was on top, but I reached under it and got the next one; the painting piece had been in a large box in the lower right quarter of the page. As I held it out, spread open, to Anna, Wolfe said, 'Look at that, Miss Fiore. Is that the way the piece was cut out Monday morning?'
She gave it only a glance. 'No, sir. It was a big piece out of the top, here, let me show you-'
I snatched it out of the way before she could get hold of it, tossed it back to the table, and picked up another. I spread it in front of her. This time she took two glances, then she said, 'Yes, sir.'
'You mean that's it?'
'It was cut out like that, yes, sir.'
For a moment Wolfe was silent, then I heard him breathe and he said, 'Turn her around, Archie.' I took the arm of her chair and whirled it around with her in it. Wolfe looked at her and said, 'How sure are you,
