fancy dives.
He wheeled and opened a door, got a hat from a shelf and put it on, emerged to the hall as I backed out, pulled the door shut, marched to the elevator, and pushed the button.
By the time we had descended to the sidewalk, climbed into the taxi, been driven to Wolfe's address, mounted the stoop and entered, and proceeded to the office, he had not uttered another word. Neither had I. I am not the kind that shoves in where he isn't wanted.
XIII
We were back again to the headline we had started with: 'Man Alive.' This time, however, I did not regard it as a letdown. I took it for granted that by the time I got back everyone there would know who was coming with me, even if one or two of them hadn't caught on before I left. I thought it would be interesting to see how they would welcome, under those difficult circumstances, their former employer and associate on his return from a watery grave, but he took charge of the script himself as he entered the office. He strode across to face Bernard and glare down at him. Bernard scrambled to his feet.
Dickson asked, his tone cold and biting, 'What the hell's the matter with you? Can't you handle anything at all?'
'Not this I can't,' Bernard said, and he was by no means whimpering. 'This man Wolfe is one for you to handle, and I only hope to God you can!'
Without moving his shoulders, Dickson pivoted his head to take them in. 'Well, I'm back,' he announced. 'I would have been back soon anyway, but this bright nephew of mine has hurried it up a little. Ward, you're looking like a window display in a fire sale. Still putting up with them, Polly? Now you'll have to put up with me again. Cynthia, I hear you're on the way to lead the whole pack.' His head pivoted some more. 'Where's Henry? I thought he was here.'
I was asking that question myself. Neither Wolfe nor Demarest was in sight. I had turned to ask Fritz where they were, but he had left the room as soon as I appeared. And not only were those two missing, but what was fully as surprising, there had been two additions to the party. Inspector Cramer and my favorite sergeant, Purley Stebbins, were seated side by side on the couch over in the far corner.
I dodged my way through the welcomers, some sitting and some standing, and asked Cramer respectfully, 'Where's Mr. Wolfe?'
'Somewhere with a lawyer,' Cramer growled, 'making up charades. Who's that you brought in?'
'George Dickson, so I'm told. I suppose Mr. Wolfe phoned you to come and get a murderer?'
'He did.'
'Your face is dirty, Purley.'
'Go to hell.'
'I was just starting. Excuse me.'
I began to dodge my way back to the hall door, thinking that I had better find my employer and inform him that I had delivered as usual, but I was only halfway there when he and Demarest appeared, coming in to us. After one swift glance at the assembly, the lawyer sidled off along the wall to a remote chair over by the bookshelves, evidently not being in a welcoming mood. Wolfe headed for his desk, but in the middle of the room found himself blocked. George Dickson was there, facing him.
'Nero Wolfe?' Dickson put out a hand. 'I'm Jean Daumery. This is a real pleasure!'
Wolfe stood motionless. The room was suddenly quiet, painfully quiet, and all eyes were going in one direction, at the two men.
'How do you do, Mr. Daumery,' Wolfe said dryly, stepped around him, and walked to his chair. Except for the sound of that movement the quiet held. Jean Daumery let his hand fall, which is about all you can do with a rejected hand unless you want to double it into a fist and use it another way. After solving the hand problem, Jean turned a half-circle to face Wolfe's desk and spoke in a different tone.
'I was told that my nephew sent for me. He didn't. You got me here by a trick. What do you want?'
'Sit down, sir,' Wolfe said. 'This may take all night.'
'Not all of my night. What do you want?'
'Sit down and I'll tell you. I want to present some facts, offer my explanation of them, and get your opinion. There's a chair there beside your nephew.'
To a man trying to grab the offensive and hold it, it's a comedown to accept an invitation to be seated. But the alternative, to go on standing in a room full of sitters, is just as awkward, unless you intend to walk out soon, and Jean couldn't know what he intended until he learned what he was up against. He took the chair next to Bernard.
'What facts?' he asked.
'I said,' Wolfe told him, 'that this may take all night, but that doesn't mean that I want it to. I'll make it as short as possible.' He reached to his breast pocket and pulled out folded sheets of paper. 'Instead of telling you what this says I'll read it to you.' He glanced around. 'I suppose you all know, or most of you, that tomorrow will be Miss Nieder's twenty-first birthday.'
'Oh, yes!' Polly Zarella said emphatically.
