If Death Ever Slept

He swallowed avocado. “Nonsense. You said six o’clock.”

“Yes, sir. She must be on her own.” The bell rang again. “And she wants in.” I aimed a thumb at Orrie. “Archie Goodwin here can take her to the office and shut the door.”

“Confound it.” He was going to have to work sooner than expected. To Orrie: “You are Archie Goodwin.”

“Yes, sir,” Orrie said. “It’s a comedown, but I’ll try. Do I know her?”

“No. You have never seen or heard of her.” The bell rang again. “Take her to the office and come and finish your lunch.”

He went. He closed the door, but the office was just across the hall, and it might startle her if she heard Alan Green’s voice as she went by, so I used my mouth for an avocado depot only. Sounds came faintly, since the walls and doors on that floor are all soundproofed.

When Orrie entered he shut the door, returned to his place, picked up his spoon, and spoke. “You didn’t say to rub it in that I’m Archie Goodwin, and she didn’t ask, so I didn’t mention it. She said her name was Nora Kent, and she wants to see Mr. Wolfe. How long am I going to be Archie Goodwin?”

I put in. “Mr. Wolfe never talks business at the table, you know that, Orrie. You haven’t been told yet, but you were going to be me at a party later on, and now you can practice. Just sit at my desk and look astute. I’ll have my eye on you. I’ll be at the hole-unless Mr. Wolfe has other plans.”

“No,” Wolfe muttered. “I have no plans.”

The hole, ten inches square, was at eye level in the wall twelve feet to the right of Wolfe’s desk. On the office side it was covered by what appeared to be just a pretty picture of a waterfall. On the other side, in a wing of the hall across from the kitchen, it was covered by nothing, and you could not only see through but also hear through. My longest stretch there was one night when we had four people in the front room waiting for Wolfe to show up (he was in the kitchen chinning with Fritz), and we were expecting and hoping that one of them would sneak into the office to get something from a drawer of Wolfe’s desk, and we wanted to know which one. That time I stood there at that hole more than three hours, and the door from the front room never opened.

This time it was much less than three hours. Orrie waited to open the door to the office until I was around the corner to the wing, so I saw his performance when they went in. As Goodwin he was barely adequate introducing Wolfe to her, hamming it, I thought; and crossing to my desk and sitting, he was entirely out of character, no grace or flair at all. I would have to rehearse him before six o’clock came. I had a good view of him and Nora, but could get Wolfe, in profile, only by sticking my nose into the hole and pressing my forehead against the upper edge.

WOLFE: I’m sorry you had to wait, Miss Kent. It is Miss Kent?

NORA: Yes. I am employed by Mr. Otis Jarrell. His stenographer. I believe you know him.

WOLFE: There is no taboo on beliefs, or shouldn’t be. The right to believe will be the last to go. Proceed.

NORA: You do know Mr. Jarrell?

WOLFE: My dear madam. I have rights too-for instance, the right to decline inquisition by a stranger. You are not here by appointment.

(That was meant to cut. If it did, no blood showed.)

NORA: There wasn’t time to make one. I had to see you at once. I had to ask you why you sent your confidential assistant, Archie Goodwin, to take a job with Mr. Jarrell as his secretary.

WOLFE: I wasn’t aware that I had done so. Archie, did I send you to take a job as Mr. Jarrell’s secretary?

ORRIE: No, sir, not that I remember.

NORA: (with no glance at Orrie) He’s not Archie Goodwin. I knew Archie Goodwin the minute I saw him, Monday afternoon. I keep a scrapbook, Mr. Wolfe, a personal scrapbook. Among the things I put in it are pictures of people who have done things that I admire. There are three pictures of you, two from newspapers and one from a magazine, put in at different times, and one of Archie Goodwin. It was in the Gazette last year when you caught that murderer-you remember-Patrick Degan. I knew him the minute I saw him, and after I looked in my scrapbook there was no question about it.

(Orrie was looking straight at the pretty picture of the waterfall, at me though he couldn’t see me, with blood in his eye, and I couldn’t blame him. He had been given to understand that the part was a cinch, that he wouldn’t have to do or say anything to avert suspicion because she wouldn’t have any. And there he was, a monkey. I couldn’t blame him.)

WOLFE: (not visibly fazed, but also a monkey) I am flattered, Miss Kent, to be in your scrapbook. No doubt Mr. Goodwin is also flattered, though he might challenge your taste in having three pictures of me and only one of him. It will save-

NORA: Why did you send him there?

WOLFE: If you please. It will save time, and also breath, to proceed on an assumption, without prejudice. Obviously you’re convinced that Mr. Goodwin took a job as Mr. Jarrell’s secretary, and that I sent him, and it would be futile to try to talk you out of it. So we’ll assume you’re right. I don’t concede it, but I’m willing to assume it for the sake of discussion. What about it?

NORA: I am right! You know it!

WOLFE: No. You may have it as an assumption, but not as a fact. What difference does it make? Let’s get on. Did Mr. Goodwin take the job under his own name?

NORA: Certainly not. You know he didn’t. Mr. Jarrell introduced him to me as Alan Green.

WOLFE: Did you tell Mr. Jarrell that that wasn’t his real name? That you recognized him as Archie Goodwin?