'He just said we ought to hear something and told us to listen, and bang. May I put my ear to the door?'
'What for?'
'To listen to the radio.'
'Yeah, I've heard of you. Full of gags. Should I laugh?'
'No gags tonight, I'm too sleepy. We heard the radio on the phone, and I thought I'd check. If you don't mind?'
'Don't touch the door or the knob.'
'I won't.'
He stepped aside, and I got my ear close to the angle of the door and the jamb. Ten seconds was enough. As I listened there was another sound in the hall, the elevator starting down.
I moved away. 'Right. Bill Stern. WNBC.'
'It was Bill Stern on the phone?'
'No, but it was WNBC. 'The Life of Riley.' Bill Stern goes on at ten-thirty.'
'The Yankees look good, don't they?'
I'm a Giant fan, but I wanted to get inside and had to be tactful. So I said, 'They sure do. I hope Mantle comes through.'
He did too, but he was skeptical. He thought these wonder boys seldom live up to their billing. He thought various other things, and was telling about them when the elevator returned and its door opened, and we had company. One was his colleague and the other was a little runt with very few teeth and a limp, wearing an old overcoat for a dressing gown. The cop, surprised at sight of me, asked his brother, 'Who's this, not precinct?'
'No. Nero Wolfe's Archie Goodwin.'
'Oh, him. How come?'
'Save it. Hey, get away from that door! Gimme that key!'
The runt surrendered it and backed off. The cop in command inserted the key and turned it, used his handkerchief to turn the knob, which made me suppress a snicker, pushed the door, and entered, with his colleague at his heels. I was right behind. We were in a narrow hall with a door at either end and one in the middle. The one at the right was open, and the cop headed for that and on through. Two steps inside he stopped, so I just made the sill.
It was a fairly big living room, furnished comfortably by a man for a man. That was merely the verdict of one sweeping glance, for any real survey of the furniture, if required, would have to wait. On a table at the far side, between two windows, was the phone, with the receiver off, lying on the floor. Also on the floor, six inches from the receiver, was the head of James A. Corrigan, with the rest of him stretched out toward
a window. A third item on the floor, a couple of feet from Corrigan's hip, was a gun-from where I stood I would have said a Marley.32. The lights were on. Also on was a radio at the end of the table, with Bill Stern telling what he thought of the basketball stink. There was a big dark spot, nearly black at that distance, on Corrigan's right temple.
The cop crossed to him and squatted. In ten seconds, which wasn't long enough, he got upright and spoke. 'DOA.' There seemed to be a little shake in his voice, and he raised it. 'We can't use this phone. Go down and call in. Don't break your neck.'
The colleague went. The cop kept his voice up. 'Can you see him from there, Goodwin? Come closer, but keep your hands off.'
I approached. 'That's him. The guy that phoned. James A. Corrigan.'
'Then you heard him shoot himself.'
'I guess I did,' I put one hand on my belly and the other on my throat. 'I didn't get any sleep last night and I'm feeling sick. I'm going to the bathroom.'
'Don't touch anything.'
'I won't.'
I wouldn't have been able to get away with it if the radio hadn't been going. It was plenty loud enough to cover my toe steps through the outer door, which was standing open, and in the hall to the door to the stairs. Descending the four flights, I listened a moment behind the door to the ground-floor hall, heard nothing, opened it, and passed through. The runt was standing by the elevator door, looking scared. He said nothing, and neither did I, as I crossed to the entrance. Outside I turned right, walked the half a short block to Lexington Avenue and stopped a taxi, and in seven minutes was climbing out in front of Wolfe's house.
When I entered the office I had to grin. Wolfe's current book was lying on his desk, and he was fussing with the germination slips. It was comical. He had been reading the book, and, when the sound came of me opening the front door, he had hastily ditched the book and got busy with the germination slips, just to show me how difficult things were for him because I hadn't made the entries from the slips on the permanent record cards. It was so childish I couldn't help grinning.
'May I interrupt?' I asked politely.
He looked up. 'Since you're back so soon I assume you found nothing of interest.'
'Sometimes you assume wrong. I'm back so soon because a flock of scientists would be coming and I might have been kept all night. I saw Corrigan. Dead. Bullet through his temple.'
He let the slips in his hand drop to the desk. 'Please report.'
