and I didn't know where. Something occurred to me, and I held on to the window jamb and leaned out enough so I could see below.
There was the roadster, where I had parked it, its fender shining with the reflection from a street light. I had an idea that if I could get down there and get it started I could drive it all right.
I decided to do that, but before I moved away from the window I thought I ought to decide where to go. One man in one roadster, even if he had a head on jhim that would work, wouldn't get far looking for that taxi. It was absolutely hopeless. But I had a notion that there was something important I could do, somewhere important I could go, if only I could figure out where it was. All of a sudden it came to me that where I wanted to go was home. I wanted to see Fritz, and the office, and go over the house and see for myself that Wolfe wasn't there, look at things…
I didn't hesitate. I let go of the window jamb and started across the room, and just as I got to the hall the telephone rang.
I could walk a little better. I went back to the telephone stand and picked up the receiver and said hello. A voice said:
'Chelsea-two three-ninetwo-four?
Please give me Mr. Chapin's apartment.'
I nearly dropped the receiver, and I went stiff. I said, 'Who is this?' The voice said:
'This is someone who wishes to be connected with Mr. Chapin's apartment.
Didn't I make that clear?'
I let the phone down and pressed it against one of my ribs for a moment, not wanting to make a fool of myself. Then I put it up to my mouth again: 'Excuse me for asking who it is. It sounded like Nero Wolfe. Where are you?'
'Ah! Archie. After what Mrs. Chapin has told me, I scarcely expected to find you operating an apartment house switchboard. I am much relieved. How are you feeling?'
'Swell. Wonderful. How are you?'
'Fairly comfortable. Mrs. Chapin drives staccato, and the jolting of that infernal taxicab… ah well. Archie. I am standing, and I dislike to talk on the telephone while standing. Also I would dislike very much to enter that taxicab again. If it is practical, get the sedan and come for me. I am at the Bronx River Inn, near the Woodlawn railroad station.
You know where that is?'
'I know. I'll be there.^
'No great hurry. I am fairly comfortable.' – '^ 'Okay.'
The click of his ringing off was in my ear. I hung up and sat down.
I was damn good and sore. Certainly not at Wolfe, not even at myself, just sore. Sore because I had phoned Cramer an SOS, sore because Wolfe was to hell and gone up beyond the end of the Grand Concourse and I didn't really know what shape he was in, sore because it was up to me to get there and there was no doubt at all about the shape I was in. I felt my eyes closing and jerked my head up. I decided that the next time I saw Dora Chapin, no matter when or where, I would take my pocketknife and cut her head off, completely loose from the rest of her. I thought of going to the kitchen and asking the doctor for another shot of the brown stuff, but didn't see how it could do me any good.
I picked up the phone and called the garage, on Tenth Avenue, and told them to fill the sedan with gas and put it at the curb. Then I got up and proceeded to make myself scarce. I would rather have done almost anything than try walking again, except go back to crawling. I made it to the hall, and opened the door, and on out to the elevator. There I was faced by two new troubles: the elevator was right there, the door standing wide open, and I didn't have my hat and coat. I didn't want to go back to the kitchen for the elevator man because in the first 'Ah! Archie/After what Mrs. Chapin has told me, I scarcely expected to find you operating an apartment house switchboard. I am much relieved. How are you feeling?' ^ 'Swell. Wonderful. How are you?'
'Fairly comfortable. Mrs. Chapin drives staccato, and the jolting of that infernal taxicab… ah well. Archie. I am standing, and I dislike to talk on the telephone while standing. Also I would dislike very much to enter that taxicab again. If it is practical, get the sedan and come for me. I am at the Bronx River Inn, near the Woodlawn railroad station.
You know where that is?'
'I know. I'll be there.'
'No great hurry. I am -fairly comfortable.' r / 'Okay.' 'W The click of his ringing off was in my ear. I hung up and sat down.
I was damn good and sore. Certainly •not at Wolfe, not even at myself, just ft sore. Sore because I had phoned Cramer an SOS, sore because Wolfe was to hell 1 | I and gone up beyond the end of the Grand Concourse and I didn't really know what shape he was in, sore because it was up to me to get there and there was no doubt at all about the shape I was in. I felt my eyes closing and jerked my head up. I decided that the next time I saw Dora Chapin, no matter when or where, I would take my pocketknife and cut her head off, completely loose from the rest of her. I thought of going to the kitchen and asking the doctor for another shot of the brown stuff, but didn't see how it could do me any good.
I picked up the phone and called the garage, on Tenth Avenue, and told them to fill the sedan with gas and put it at the curb. Then I got up and proceeded to make myself scarce. I would rather have done almost anything than try walking again, except go back to crawling. I made it to the hall, and opened the door, and on out to the elevator. There I was faced by two new troubles: the elevator was right there, the door standing wide open, and I didn't have my hat and coat. I didn't want to go back to the kitchen for the elevator man because in the first place it was too far, and secondly if the flatfoot found out I was leaving he would probably want to detain me for information and there was no telling how I would act if he tried it. I did go back to the hall, having left the door open. I got my hat and coat and returned to the elevator, inside, and somehow got the door closed, and pulled the lever, hitting down by luck.
It started down and I leaned against the wall.
