Barrett, and he said authoritatively, no, it isn't, put Mr Wolfe on, please, and I asked who it was that wanted to talk to Mr Wolfe, and he said Mr Barrett, and I said put him on and he said hold the wire. That kind of a shenanigan. There was more to it than that, but after a terrific and exhausting struggle I finally heard something definite, in a leisurely cultivated male voice: 'This is Barrett, Mr Wolfe?'
'Donald Barrett?'
'No, no, John P. Barrett.'
'Oh, Donald's father. Of Barrett & De Russy?'
'That's right, Mr Wolfe, could you-'
'Hold it. This is Archie Goodwin, Mr Wolfe's confidential assistant.'
'I thought I had Wolfe.'
'Nope. I wore 'em out. Mr Wolfe will be engaged until eleven o'clock. I'll take any message.'
'Well.' Hesitation. 'That will do, I suppose. I would like to have Mr Wolfe call at my office as soon after eleven as possible.'
'No, sir. I'm sorry. He never makes calls.'
'But this is important. In fact, urgent. It will be well worth his while-'
'No, sir. There's no use prolonging it. Mr Wolfe transacts business only at his office. He wouldn't go across the street to receive the keys to the Bank of England.'
'That's ridiculous!'
'Yes, sir. I've always said so. But there's no use discussing it except as an interesting case of cussedness.'
For ten seconds I heard nothing. Then, 'Where is your office?'
'506 West 35th Street.'
'Mr Wolfe is there throughout the day?'
'And night. Office and home.'
'Well… I'll see. Thank you.'
Wolfe came down from the plant room a few minutes later, and after he had run through the mail, tested his pen, rung for beer, and glanced at the three pages of the report I had managed to finish, I told him about it. He listened impressively and thanked me with a disinterested nod. Thinking a little prodding was in order, I observed that he was in the case anyway, on account of family obligations, spending money right and left, and that it was therefore shortsighted and unintelligent not to permit Miss Tormic to have a co-client, when the co- client was of the nature of John P. Barrett, obviously anxious to join in the fun and ready to ante. I told him about the hundred bucks of Barrett dough which had already passed through our hands and said what a pity it would be to stop there, but before I could really get worked up about it I was interrupted by the arrival of the client herself. Fritz announced Miss Neya Tormic and escorted her in.
She greeted Wolfe in a hurry and me not at all, and without taking time to sit down, demanded of him: 'The paper? Have you got the paper?'
She looked drawn and she acted jerky.
Wolfe said, 'Yes, it's here. Please sit down, won't you?'
'I… the paper!'
'Give it to her, Archie.'
I went to the safe and got it. It was still in the envelope addressed to Saul Panzer. I removed it, tossed the envelope in the waste-basket, and handed the paper to her. She unfolded it and inspected it.
Wolfe said, extending his hand, 'Let me see it, please.'
That didn't appeal to her. She made no move to comply. He frowned at her and repeated his request in a crisper tone, and she handed it over but kept her eyes glued to it. He gave it a glance, folded it up, and asked her:
'Where is Miss Lovchen?'
'I suppose she's at the studio. She said she was going there.'
'Surely there'll be no fencing lessons there to-day.'
'I don't know. That's what she said.'
'You saw her this morning?'
'Of course. We live together in a little flat on 38th Street.' She put her hand out. 'Give me-'
'Wait a minute. I don't know why I assumed that Miss Lovchen would accompany you here this morning-it was stupid of me to do so, but I did. Anyway, it was she who left this paper here, and I'd rather return it to her. If she-'
'I'll take it to her.'
'No. I think not. Here, Archie. Go along with Miss Tormic to Miltan's and deliver this to Miss Lovchen. I like it better that way-'
'That's absurd!' the client protested. 'What's the difference whether it's me or Carla?'
