'I'm sure you did. If I was there I'd pat you on the head. I might even go further than that, so it's just as well I'm not there. Do you want me to come out and go over it again? What you'll say to him?'
'I don't think it's necessary. I remember everything.'
'Okay. He'll want to get to Finch as soon as possible, but
he may ask you a lot of questions. What do you say if he asks to see the letter from your brother in which he mentioned writing a novel?'
'I say I haven't got it. That I didn't keep it.'
'Right. He'll probably get to your place around nine o'clock. What time does your husband leave?'
'Twenty minutes past seven.'
'Well. It's a million to one that you'll be in no danger, even if he's a killer, since he knows you have never seen the manuscript, but we can't take a chance. I can't be there myself because I have to be in Finch's room before he gets there. Now listen. At eight in the morning a man will come and show you his credentials from the Southwest Agency, a detective agency. Hide him where he can hear what goes on, but be darned sure he's well hid. Keep him-'
'No, that's silly! Nothing's going to happen to me!'
'You bet it isn't. Three murders is enough for one manuscript. He'll be there, and you-'
'My husband can take the morning off and stay home.'
'No. I'm sorry, but that's out. Your talk with Corrigan is going to be ticklish to handle, and we don't want anyone joining in, not even your husband. A man will come with credentials, and you'll let him in and hide him and keep him there until an hour after Corrigan has left. Either that or I come myself, and that would ball it up. What hotel is Finch at?'
'The South Seas.'
'Describe him.'
'He's rather tall, in his thirties, with a bony face and hands and dark eyes, and he looks straight at you when he talks.'
'Right. For God's sake don't get careless and describe me. Remember it was Finch who came to see you-'
'Really, Mr. Goodwin! If you have no confidence in me!'
'I have. I sure have.'
'Well, you'd better!'
'I had indeed better. I'll be out part of the afternoon. If you need me, leave word. Good luck, Mrs. Potter.'
'Good luck to you too.'
The albacore had cooled off some, but it was good, and I finished it. I felt wonderful. I called Finch at the South Seas and told him we had had a bite and had a fish on the hook, and it might be the big one, and I would drop in on him at eight in the morning. He said he was all set. I lifted the receiver
to put in a call to New York, then replaced it. It was goofy to suppose there could be any risk in George Thompson's calling Nero Wolfe's number, but I'd rather be goofy than sorry. Taking my raincoat and hat, I went down to the lobby, out into the rain, and to a drugstore in the next block. There I made the call from a booth. When I got Wolfe and reported the development, he grunted across the continent, and that was all. He had no additional instructions or suggestions. I got the impression that I had interrupted him at something important like a crossword puzzle.
I only half drowned finding a taxi to take me to the address of the Southwest Agency. With Dolman I didn't have to be as choosy as the day before, since any mug should be able to keep a man from killing a woman right under his nose, but even so I didn't want any part of Gibson or one like him. He produced a fairly good specimen, and I gave him careful and fully detailed instructions and made him repeat them. From there I went to the South Seas Hotel for a surprise call on Finch, thinking it just as well to check him and also to have a look at the room. He was lying on the bed, reading a book entitled Twilight of the Absolute, which seemed a deep dive for a dick, but then, as Finch, he was a literary agent, so I refrained from comment. The room was perfect, of medium size, with the door to the bathroom in the far corner and one to a good big closet off to one side. I didn't stay long because my nerves were jumpy away from the phone in my room at the Riviera. If anything happened I wanted to know it quick. For instance, Clarence Potter would soon be home from work, or was already. What if he didn't understand it some more and decided to take a hand?
But at bedtime the phone hadn't let out a tinkle.
16
AT 8:02 Thursday morning I entered Finch's room at the South Seas. He was up and dressed but hadn't had breakfast, and I had only had orange juice before leaving the Riviera. Hanging my hat and raincoat, which had been sprinkled again, in the rear of the big closet, I gave him my
order: griddle cakes, ham and eggs, a jar of honey, and coffee. He relayed it to room service, his own requirements being prunes and toast and coffee, which made me dart a glance at him, but he looked okay. When he was through I went to the phone and called the Glendale number and got an answer after four whirrs.
'Archie Goodwin, Mrs. Potter. Good morning. Did the man come?'
'Yes, he got here ten minutes ago. He'll hide in the kitchen. You know I'm all excited?'
