glad tidings. After parking in front and depositing my hat in the hall, I went to the office, and found to my surprise that it was empty. I sought the bathroom, but it was empty too. I proceeded to the kitchen to inquire of
Fritz, and as soon as I crossed the threshold I stopped and my heart sank to my feet and kept on right through the floor.
Wolfe sat at the kitchen table with a pencil in his hand and sheets of paper scattered around. Fritz stood across from him, with the gleam in his eye that I knew only too well. Neither paid any attention to the noise I had made entering.
Wolfe was saying:
“…but we cannot get good peafowl. Archie could try that place on Long Island, but it is probably hopeless. A peafowl's breast flesh will not be sweet and tender and properly developed unless it is well protected from all alarms, especially from the air, to prevent nervousness, and Long Island is full of airplanes. The goose for this evening, with the stuffing as arranged, will be quite satisfactory. The kid will be ideal for tomorrow. We can phone Mr.
Salzenback at once to butcher one, and Archie can drive to Garfield for it in the morning. You can proceed with the preliminaries for the sauce. Friday is a problem. If we try the peafowl we shall merely be inviting catastrophe. Squabs will do for tidbits, but the chief difficulty remains. Fritz, I'll tell you. Let us try a new tack entirely. Do you know shish-kabob? I have had it in Turkey.
Marinate thin slices of tender lamb for several hours in red wine and spices.
Here, I'll put it down: thyme, mace, peppercorns, garlic-”
I stood and took it in. It looked hopeless. There was no question but that it was the beginning of a major relapse. He hadn't had one for a long while, and it might last a week or more, and while that spell was on him you might as well try to talk business to a lamp post as to Nero Wolfe. When we were engaged on a case, I never liked to go out and leave him alone with Fritz, for this very reason. If only I had got home an hour earlier! It looked now as if it had gone too far to stop it. And this was one of the times when it seemed easy to guess what had brought it on: he hadn't really expected anything from the mess he had cooked up for Cramer and me, and he was covering up.
I gritted my teeth and walked over to the table. Wolfe went on talking, and
Fritz didn't look at me. I said, “What's this, you going to start a restaurant?”
No attention. I said, “I've got a report to make. Forty-five people ate candy out of those boxes, and they all died in agony. Cramer is dead. H. R. Cragg is dead. The goddesses are dead. I'm sick.”
“Shut up, Archie. Is the car in front? Fritz will need a few things right away.”
I knew if the delivery of supplies once started there wouldn't be a chance. I also knew that coaxing wouldn't do it, and bullying wouldn't do it. I was desperate, and I ran over Wolfe's weaknesses in my mind and picked one.
I butted in. “Listen. This cockeyed feast you're headed for, I know I can't stop it. I've tried that before. Okay-”
Wolfe said to Fritz, “But not the pimento. If you can find any of those yellow anguino peppers down on Sullivan Street-”
I didn't dare touch him, but I leaned down close to him. I bawled at him, “And what am I to tell Miss Frost when she comes here at two o'clock? I am empowered to make appointments, am I not? She is a lady, is she not? Of course, if common courtesy is overboard too-”
Wolfe stopped himself, pressed his lips together, and turned his head. He looked me in the eye. After a moment he asked quietly, “Who? What Miss Frost?”
“Miss Helen Frost. Daughter of Mrs. Edwin Frost, cousin of our client, Mr.
Llewellyn Frost, niece of Mr. Dudley Frost Remember?”
“I don't believe it. This is trickery. Birdlime.”
“Sure.” I straightened up. “This is close to the limit. Very well. When she comes I'll tell her I exceeded my authority in venturing to make an appointment.
–I won't be in for lunch, Fritz.” I wheeled and strode out, to the office, and sat down at my desk and pulled the slips of paper from my pocket, wondering if it would work, and trying to decide what I would do if it did. I fooled with the slips pretending to arrange them, not breathing much so I could listen.
It was at least two minutes before I heard anything from the kitchen, and then it was Wolfe sliding back his chair. Next his footsteps approaching. I kept busy with the papers, and so didn't actually see him as he entered the office, crossed to his desk, and got lowered into his seat. I continued with my work.
Finally he said, in the sweet tone that made me want to kick him, “So I am to change all my plans at the whim of a young woman who, to begin with, is a liar.
Or at the least, postpone them.” He suddenly exploded ferociously, “Mr. Goodwin!
Are you conscious?”
I said without looking up, “No.”
Silence. After a while I heard him sigh. “All right, Archie.” He had controlled himself back to his normal tone. “Tell me about it.”
It was up to me. It was the first time I had ever stopped a relapse after it had got as far as the menu stage, but it looked as if it might turn out to be something like curing a headache by chopping off my head. I had to go through with it, and the only way that occurred to me was to take a slender thread that had dangled in front of me up at McNair's that morning, and try to sell it to
Wolfe for a steel cable.
“Well,” I said, and swiveled. “We went and did it.”
