him if his offer of a grand for a piece on Pete Vassos was still open. He said he’d have to see the piece first.
“We haven’t got time to write it,” I said. “We’re busy. But if you want something for nothing, Miss Elma Vassos, his daughter, has engaged the services of Nero Wolfe, the famous private detective, and is staying at his house, and is not accessible. On his advice, she has engaged Nathaniel Parker, the famous counselor, to bring an action against five people: John Mercer, Philip Horan, Frances Cox, Mrs. Dennis Ashby, and Inspector Cramer of the NYPD. She is asking for a million dollars for damages for slander from each of them. They will be served tomorrow, probably in time for your first edition. I’m giving you this, exclusive, on instructions from Mr. Wolfe. Parker has been told that you’ll probably be phoning him for confirmation, and you’ll get it. Yours truly. See you in court.”
“Wait a minute, hold it! You can’t just-”
“Sorry, I’m busy. No use calling back because I won’t be here. Print now, pay later.”
I hung up and went to the kitchen to tell Fritz we were leaving, and by the time I got to the hall rack Elma had her hat and coat on. Since her place was downtown we went to Eighth Avenue for a taxi. She was all right at walking. Walking with a girl, you can tell pretty well if you’d want to dance with her. Not if she keeps step, she may not have the legs for that, but if she naturally stays with you without doing a barnacle.
Another mark for her, she didn’t apologize for the neighborhood she lived in as the cab turned into Graham Street and stopped in front of Number 314. At that, it wasn’t as bad in the December dark as it would have been in daylight; no street is. Dirt doesn’t look so dirty. But I must say the vestibule she led me into would have appreciated some attention, and when she used her key and we entered, the inside was no better. She said, “Up three flights,” and went to the stairs, and I followed. I admit I thought she was overdoing it a little. She might at least have said something like, “When I got a job I thought we ought to move, but my father didn’t want to,” just casually. Not a word.
On the third landing she started down the hall toward the rear, stopped after a couple of steps, and said, “Why, the light’s on!”
I was at her elbow. I whispered, “Which door?” She pointed to the right, to where a strip of light showed through the crack at the bottom of a door. I whispered, “Is there a bell?” and she whispered back, “It isn’t working.” I went to the door and knocked on it, and after a short wait it opened, and facing me was a man about my height with a broad flat face and a lot of tousled brown hair.
“Good evening,” I said.
“Where’s Miss Vassos?” he said. “Are you a police- Oh! Thank God!”
Elma was there. “But you-how did you-this is Mr. Busch, Mr. Goodwin.”
“I seem to be…” he let it hang, apparently undecided how he seemed to be. He looked at me and back at her.
“I’ll trade you even,” I said. “I’ll tell you why I’m here if you’ll tell me why you’re here. I came to carry a bag of clothes and accessories for Miss Vassos. She is staying at Nero Wolfe’s house on Thirty-fifth Street. My name is Archie Goodwin and I work for him. Your turn.”
“Nero Wolfe the detective?”
“Right.”
He went to her. “You’re staying at his house?”
“Yes.”
“You were there last night and today?”
“Yes.”
“I wish you had let me know. I came here from the office, I just got here. I was here last night. I got the janitor to let me in; he’s worried too. I was afraid you might-I’m glad to see-I thought perhaps…”
“I guess I should have phoned,” she said.
“Yes, I wish you had; then at least I would have known…”
He didn’t sound much like Paladin. Or even an office manager. “If you don’t mind,” I said, “Miss Vassos would like to come in and pack a bag. She has hired Nero Wolfe to find out who killed Dennis Ashby, and she’ll stay at his house until he does. Of course, since you think her father killed Ashby, I don’t suppose-”
“I don’t think her father killed Ashby.”
“No? Then why did you tell the police that he had found out that Ashby had seduced her?”
He hauled off and swung at me. He meant well, but was so slow that I could have landed a poke while he was still on his backswing. Elma was quicker, jumping between us. He was going through with it anyhow, looping around her, and he would finally have reached the target if I had moved my head eight inches to the left and waited till he got there, but instead I caught his wrist and jerked it down and gave it a twist. That twist hurts, but he didn’t squeak. Elma, between us, turned to face me, protesting, “I told you he wouldn’t!”
“I didn’t,” he said.
“Do you know who did?”
“No.”
“Okay, you can come along for a talk with Nero Wolfe. You can carry her bag. If there are two, we’ll each take one. Go ahead, Miss Vassos, I won’t let him hurt me. If he gets me down I’ll yell.”
She slipped in past him. Busch looked at his wrist and felt at it, and I told him it might swell a little. He turned and went inside, and I followed. It was a medium-sized room, very neat, good enough chairs and nice plain rugs, a TV set in a corner, magazines on a table, shelves with books. A framed picture on top of the book shelves looked familiar and I crossed over, and darned if it wasn’t Wolfe on the cover of
