'By noon tomorrow?'
'Quite possibly, yes.'
'Then proceed, please. Mr. Koven has destroyed, by slander, my means of livelihood. I wish to bring an action 156
demanding payment by him of the sum of one million dollars.'
'M-m-m-m,' Parker said. He was frowning.
I addressed Wolfe. 'I want to apologize,' I told him, 'for jumping to a conclusion. I was supposing you had lost control for once and buried it too deep in Cramer. Whereas you did it purposely, getting set for this. I'll be damned.'
Wolfe grunted.
'In this sort of thing,' Parker said, 'it is usual, and desirable, to first send a written request for recompense, by your attorney if you prefer. It looks better.'
'I don't care how it looks. I want immediate action.'
'Then we'll act.' That was one of the reasons Wolfe stuck to Parker; he was no dilly-dallier. 'But I must ask, isn't the sum a little flamboyant? A full million?'
'It is not flamboyant. At a hundred thousand a year, a modest expectation, my income would be a million in ten years. A detective license once lost in this fashion is not easily regained.'
'All right. A million. I'll need all the facts for drafting a complaint.'
'You have them. You've just heard Archie recount them. Must you stickle for more?'
'No. I'll manage.' Parker got to his feet. 'One thing, though, service of process may be a problem. Policemen may still be around, and even if they aren't I doubt if strangers will be getting into that house tomorrow.'
'Archie will send Saul Panzer to you. Saul can get in anywhere and do anything.' Wolfe wiggled a finger. 'I want Mr. Koven to get that. I want to see him in this room. Five times this morning I tried to get him on the phone, without success. If that doesn't get him I'll devise something that will.'
'He'll give it to his attorney.'
'Then the attorney will come, and if he's not an imbecile I'll give myself thirty minutes to make him send for his client or go and get him. Well?'
Parker turned and left, not loitering. I got at the typewriter
*57
to make out a bill for half a grand, which seemed like a waste of paper after what I had just heard.
t midnight that Tuesday the office was a sight. It has often been a mess, one way and another, including the time the strangled Cynthia Brown was lying on the floor with her tongue protruding, but this was something new. Dazzle Dan, both black-and-white and color, was all over the place. On account of our shortage in manpower, with me tied up on my typing job, Fritz and Theodore had been drafted for the chore of tearing out the pages and stacking them chronologically, ready for Wolfe to study. With Wolfe's permission, I had bribed Lon Cohen of the Gazette to have three years of Dazzle Dan assembled and delivered to us, by offering him an exclusive. Naturally he demanded specifications.
'Nothing much,' I told him on the phone. 'Only that Nero Wolfe is out of the detective business because Inspector Cramer is taking away his license.'
'Quite a gag,' Lon conceded.
'No gag. Straight.'
'You mean it?'
'We're offering it for publication. Exclusive, unless Cramei's office spills it, and I don't think they will.'
'The Getz murder?'
'Yes. Only a couple of paragraphs, because details are not yet available, even to you. I'm out on bail.'
'I know you are. This is pie. We'll raid the files and get it over there as soon as we can.'
He hung up without pressing for details. Of course that meant he would send Dazzle Dan COD, with a reporter. When the reporter arrived a couple of hours later, shortly after Wolfe had come down from the plant rooms at six o'clock, it wasn't just a man with a notebook, it was Lon Cohen himself. He came to the office with me, dumped a big heavy carton on the floor by my desk, removed his coat and 158
dropped it on the carton to show that Dazzle Dan was his property until paid for, and demanded, 'I want the works. What Wolfe said and what Cramer said. A picture of Wolfe studying Dazzle Dan--'
I pushed him into a chair, courteously, and gave him all we were ready to turn loose of. Naturally that wasn't enough; it never is. I let him fire questions up to a dozen or so, even answering one or two, and then made it clear that that was all for now and I had work to do. He admitted it was a bargain, stuck his notebook in his pocket, and got up and picked up his coat.
'If you're not in a hurry, Mr. Cohen,' muttered Wolfe, who had left the interview to me.
Lon dropped the coat and sat down. 'I have nineteen years, Mr. Wolfe. Before I retire.'
'I won't detain you that long.' Wolfe sighed. 'I am no longer a detective, but I'm a primate and therefore curious. The function of a newspaperman is to satisfy curiosity. Who killed Mr. Getz?'
Lon's brows went up. 'Archie Goodwin? It was his gun.'
'Nonsense. I'm quite serious. Also I'm discreet. I am excluded from the customary sources of information by
