sidewalk.'
'It's only Monday,' he said gloomily. 'Got a whole week.'
We finally made it to the Churchill, and I went in and took an elevator, ignored the floor clerk on the eighteenth, went to the door of eighteen-twenty-six, knocked, and was told to come in. Younger, looking a little less like Old King Cole when up and dressed, wanted to shake hands and I had no objection.
'It took you long enough,' he complained. 'I know, I know, I live in Chicago. Sit down. I want to ask you something.'
I thought, my God, all for nothing, he's got another idea about splitting the pot and yanked me up here to sell it. I took a chair and he sat on the edge of the bed, which hadn't been made.
'I just got something in the mail,' he said, 'and I'm not sure what to do with it. I could give it to the police, but I don't want to. The ones I've seen haven't impressed me. Do you know a Lieutenant Rowcliff?'
'I sure do. You can have him.'
'I don't want him. Then there's those advertising men with Dahlmann at that meeting, that's where I met them, but I've seen them since, and they don't impress me either. I was going to phone a man I know in Chicago, a lawyer, but it would take a lot of explaining on the phone, the whole mess. So I thought of you. You know all about it, and when you were here the other day I offered you a drink. When I offer a man a drink without thinking, that's a good sign. I can go by that as well as anything. I've got to do something about this and do it quick, and the first thing is to show it to you and see what you say.'
He took an envelope from his pocket, looked at it, looked at me, and handed it over. I inspected the envelope of ordinary cheap white paper, which had jagged edges where it had been torn open. Typewritten address to Mr. Philip Younger, Churchill Hotel. No return address front or back. Three-cent stamp, postmarked Grand Central Station 11:00 PM APR 17 1955. It contained a single sheet of folded paper, and I took it out and unfolded it. It was medium-grade sulphide bond, with nothing printed on it, but with plenty of something typewritten. It was headed at the top in caps: ANSWERS TO THE FIVE VERSES DISTRIBUTED ON APRIL 12TH. Below were the names of five women, with a brief commentary on each. I kept my face deadpan as I ran over them and saw that they were the real McCoy.
'Well,' I said, 'this is interesting. What is it, a gag?'
'That's the trouble--or one trouble. I'm not sure. I think it's the real answers, but I don't know. I'd have to go to a library and check. I was going to, and then I thought this is dynamite, and I thought of you. Isn't that the first--hey, I want that! That's mine!'
I had absent-mindedly folded the paper and put it in the envelope and was sticking it in my pocket. 'Sure,' I said, 'take it.' He took it. 'It's somewhat of a problem. Let me think.' I sat and thought a minute. 'It looks to me,' I said, 'that you're probably right, the first thing to do is to check it. But the police are probably still tailing all of you. Have you been going to libraries the last few days?'
'No. I decided not to. I don't know my way around in any library here, and those two women, Frazee and Tescher, have got too big an advantage. I decided to fight it instead.'
I nodded sympathetically. 'Then if a cop tails you to a library now, only two days to the deadline, they'll wonder why you started in all of a sudden, and they'll want to know. The man I work for, Nero Wolfe, is quite a reader and he has quite a library. I noticed the titles of the books mentioned on that thing, and I wouldn't be surprised if he has all of them. Also it wouldn't hurt any for you to consult him about this.'
'I'm consulting you.'
'Yeah, but I haven't got the library with me. And if a cop tails you to his place it won't matter. They know he's representing Lippert, Buff and Assa about the contest, and all the contestants have been there except you.'
'That's what I don't like. He's representing them and I'm fighting them.'
'Then you shouldn't have showed it to me. I work for Mr. Wolfe, and if you think I won't tell him about it you'll have to take back what you said the other day about not making a fool of yourself for twenty-six years. Crap.'
He looked pleased. 'See,' he said, 'you remembered that.'
'I remember everything. So the choice is merely whether I tell Mr. Wolfe or you tell him, and if you do you can use his library.'
He was no wobbler. He went and opened a closet door and got out a hat and topcoat. As he was putting an arm in he said, 'I don't suppose you drink in the morning.'
'No, thanks.' I was headed for the door. 'But if you want one go ahead.'
'I quit twenty-six years ago.' He motioned for me to precede him, followed, pulled the door shut, and tried it to make sure it was locked. 'But,' he added, 'now that I can afford little luxuries, thanks to my son-in-law, I like to have some around for other people.' As we turned the corner of the hall he finished, 'Some other people.' On the way down in the elevator it occurred to me that he would want the verses to refer to, and I asked if he had them with him, and he said yes.
To make sure whether your taxi is being followed in midtown traffic takes a lot of maneuvering, which takes time, and Younger and I decided we didn't really give a damn, so except for a few backward glances out of curiosity we skipped it. At the curb in front of the old brownstone on West Thirty-fifth I paid the driver, got out, led the way up the steps to the stoop, and pushed the button. In a moment the door was opened by Fritz, who, as I was taking Younger's coat, made sure I saw his extended forefinger, meaning that a visitor was in the office with Wolfe. Acknowledging it with a nod, I ushered Younger across the hall into the front room, told him it would be a short wait, and, instead of using the connecting door to the office, which was soundproofed, went around by way of the hall.
Wolfe was in his chair, with half a dozen books hi front of him on his desk, but he wasn't reading. He was frowning at Mrs. James R. Wheelock of Richmond, Virginia, who was in the red leather chair, frowning back at him. The frowns switched to me as I approached. I was a little slow meeting them because it took me a second to get the title of the book on top of the pile: The Letters of Dorothy Osborne to Sir William Temple. With that, which was enough, I told Mrs. Wheelock good morning, informed Wolfe that Fritz wanted him in the kitchen for something, and walked out.
