concentrate for a while on how to wake me up in the morning without my resenting it. It may be that a bevy of beautiful maidens in pure silk yellow very sheer gowns, barefooted, singing Oh, What a Beautiful Morning and scattering rose petals over me would do the trick, but I'd have to try it.
That Tuesday morning it was terrible. I had been in bed only three hours, and what woke me was the phone, about the worst way of all. I rolled over, opened my eyes to see the alarm clock at seven-twenty-five, reached, and yanked the damn thing off the cradle.
'Yeah?'
'Good morning, Archie. Can you be down in thirty minutes? I'm breakfasting with Saul, Fred, Orrie, and Bill.'
That woke me all right, though it had no effect on the resentment. I told Wolfe I'd try, rolled out, and headed for the bathroom. Usually I yawn around for a couple of minutes before digging in, but there wasn't time. As I shaved I wished I had asked him what kind of a program it was, so I would know what to dress for, but if it had been anything special he would have said so, and I just grabbed the shirt on top.
When I made it to the ground floor, in thirty minutes flat, they were in the dining room with coffee. As I greeted them Fritz came with my orange juice, and I sat and took a healthy swallow.
'This is a hell of a time,' I said, still resenting, 'to spring a surprise party on me.'
Bill Gore laughed. I said something funny to him once back in 1948, and ever since he has had a policy of laughing whenever I open my trap. Bill is not too smart to live, but he's tough and hangs on. Orrie Gather is smarter and is not ashamed of it, and since he got rid of the idea that it would be a good plan for him to take over my job, some years ago, he has helped Wolfe with some very neat errands when called upon. Fred Durkin is just Fred Durkin and knows it. He thinks Wolfe could prove who killed Cock Robin any time he felt like spending half an hour on it. He thinks Wolfe could prove anything whatever. You've met Saul Panzer, the one and only.
As I finished my orange juice and started on griddle cakes, Wolfe expounded. He said the surprise was incidental; he had phoned them after I had gone to bed, when he had conceived a procedure.
'Fine,' I approved, spreading butter to melt, 'we've got a procedure. For these gentlemen?'
'For all of us,' he said. 'I have described the situation to them, as much as they'll need. It is a procedure of desperation, with perhaps one chance in twenty of success. After hours on it, most of the night, this was the best I could do. As you know, I was assuming that one of four men--Hansen, Buff, O'Garro, Heery--had killed Dahlmann and taken the wallet, and that because Assa had learned of it or suspected it he had been killed too.'
'I know that's what you told Cramer.'
'It's also what I told myself.'
'Why would one of them kill Dahlmann?'
'I don't know, but if he did he had a reason. That remains, along with his identity. To search into motives would take long and toilsome investigation, and even then motive alone is nothing. I preferred to focus on identity. Which of the four? I went over and over every word they have uttered, to you and to me; all their tones and glances and postures. There was no hint--at least, not for me. I considered all possible lines of inquiry, and found that all of them either had already been pursued by the police, or were now being pursued, or were hopelessly tenuous. All I had left, at five o'clock this morning, that gave the slightest promise of some result without a prolonged and laborious siege, was the possibility of a satisfactory answer to the question: where did he get the poison?'
Chewing griddle cake and ham, I looked at him. 'Good lord, if that's the best we can do. Cramer has an army on it right now. There are six of us and we have no badges, and if--' I stopped because I saw his eyes. 'You've got something?'
'Yes. A straw to grab at. Can't it be reasonably supposed that the decision to kill Mr. Assa was made only yesterday afternoon, resulting from the situation caused by the contestants' receipt of the answers by mail? Various circumstances support such--'
'Don't bother. I've gone over it too a little. I'll buy that.'
'Then some time yesterday afternoon, not before, he decided that Mr. Assa would have to be killed, and he conceived the idea of using cyanide and putting it in his drink. Correct?'
'Yes.'
'Then where the devil did he get the cyanide?'
'I couldn't--oh. That does make it a little special.'
'It does indeed. Did he choose cyanide as something he knew to be lightning--swift and go out and buy some? Hardly. He could of course have procured it easily--a photographic supply house, for one--but he was not an imbecile. No. He knew where some was, handy; he knew where he could get some without being observed. Where? There are a thousand possibilities, and it may have been any one of them, but I didn't bother speculating about them because one of them was looking at me--or rather, at you. I hadn't seen it, but you had.'
'Hold it.' I put my coffee cup down. 'I've seen it?'
'Yes.'
'And told you about it?'
'Yes.'
'That's interesting.' I closed my eyes, opened them, and slapped the table. 'Oh, sure. The display cases at the LBA office. I might have thought of it myself if I had stayed up all night--but I don't remember seeing any cyanide.'
'You weren't looking for it. You said there are thousands of items from hundreds of firms. We're going to look for it.'
