“It is indeed.” He put the box down. “Who brought it?”
“A stranger. Too bad I didn’t invite him in.”
“Yes. Of course there are various possibilities-among them, that some prankster sent it.”
“Yeah. So I toss it in the wastebasket?”
“I don’t think so. There is at least one other possibility that can’t be ignored. You’ve had a long day and I dislike asking it, but you might take it to Mr. Cramer, tell him how we got it, and suggest that it be compared with the bullets that killed Mr. Eber and Mr. Brigham.”
“Uh-huh. In time, say in a week or so, that might have occurred to me myself. My mind’s not as quick as yours.” I replaced the top layer of cotton and put the lid on. “I’d better take the wrapping paper too. If the bullet matches, and it just might, he’ll want it. Incidentally, he’ll want me too. If I take him a thirty-eight bullet, with that suggestion, and with that story of how we got it, I’ll have to shoot my way out if you want to see me again tonight.”
“The devil.” He was frowning, “You’re quite right. That won’t do.” He thought a moment. “Your notebook. A letter to Mr. Cramer.”
I got at my desk and took notebook and pen.
He dictated: “Dear Mr. Cramer. I send you herewith a package which was delivered at my door a few minutes ago. It bore no name or address, but the messenger told Mr. Goodwin it was for me and departed. It contains a bullet which Mr. Goodwin says is a thirty-eight. Doubtless it is merely a piece of tomfoolery, but I thought it best to send it to you. You may think it worthwhile to have the bullet compared with those that killed Mr. Eber and Mr. Brigham. Then discard it. Don’t bother to return it. Sincerely.”
“By mail?” I asked.
“No. Take it, please. Immediately. Hand it in and return at once.”
“Glad to.” I pulled the typewriter around.
Chapter 16
THAT MONDAY NIGHT may not have been the worst night Fritz ever spent, for he has had some tough ones, but it was bad enough. When I had got back after delivering the package at 20th Street, a little after ten o’clock, Wolfe had called him to the office.
“Some instructions, Fritz.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Archie and I will go up to bed shortly, but we are not here and will not be here. You will answer the phone. You do not know where we are or when we will return. You do not know exactly when we left. You may be bullyragged, by Mr. Cramer or others, but you will maintain that position. You will take messages if any are given, to be delivered to us when we return. You will ignore the doorbell. You will open no outside door, stoop or basement or back, under any circumstances whatever. If you do, a search warrant may be thrust at you and the house will be overrun. A contingency might arise that will make you consider it necessary to disturb Archie or me, but I think not and hope not. Bring my breakfast an hour early, at seven o’clock. Archie will have his at seven also. I shall be sorry if you fail of a proper night’s sleep, but it can’t be helped. You can take a nap tomorrow.”
“Yes, sir.” Fritz swallowed. “If there is danger, may I suggest-” He stopped and started over. “I know you are reluctant to leave the house, that is understood, but there are times when it is better to leave a house, at least for a short time. Especially in your profession.” He looked at me. “You know that, Archie.”
Wolfe reassured him, “No, Fritz, there is no danger. On the contrary, this is the preamble to triumph. You understand the instructions?”
He said he did, but he wasn’t happy. For years he had been expecting the day to come when Wolfe would be dragged out of the house in handcuffs, not to mention me, and he was against it. He gave me a reproachful look, which God knows I didn’t deserve, and left, and Wolfe and I, not being there anyway, went up to bed.
Seven o’clock is much too early a breakfast hour unless you’re a bird or a bird watcher, but I made it to the kitchen by 7:08. My glass of orange juice was there, but Fritz wasn’t, and the phone was ringing. It was a temptation to take it and see how well I could imitate Fritz’s voice, but I let it ring. By the time Fritz came it had given up. I told him he must have been late taking Wolfe’s breakfast tray up, and he said no, he had got it there on the dot at seven, but had stayed to report on the night.
While I dealt with toast, bacon, fresh strawberry omelet, and coffee, he reported to me, referring to notes. The first call from Lieutenant Rowcliff had come at 11:32, and he had been so empathic that Fritz had hung up on him. The second had been at 11:54, less emphatic but stubborner. At 12:21 Cramer had called, and had got both personal and technical, explaining the penalties that could be imposed on a man, Fritz for instance, for complicity in withholding evidence and obstructing justice in a murder investigation. At 12:56 the doorbell had started to ring, and at 1:03 pounding on the front door had begun. From 1:14 to a little after six peace had reigned, but at 6:09 Cramer had phoned, and at 6:27 the doorbell had started up again, and through the one-way glass panel Sergeant Stebbins had been visible. He had kept at it for five minutes and was now in a police car with a colleague out at the curb.
I got up, went to the font door for a look, came back, requested more toast, and poured more coffee. “He’s still there,” I told Fritz, “and there’s one danger. As you know, Mr. Wolfe can’t bear the idea of a hungry man in his house, and while Stebbins isn’t actually in the house he’s there in front and wants to be, and he looks hungry. If Mr. Wolfe sees him and suspects he hasn’t had breakfast there’ll be hell to pay. Could I borrow a little wild thyme honey?”
I was on the last bite of toast and honey and the last inch of coffee when the sound of Wolfe’s elevator came, and by the time I was through swallowing and got to the office he was there behind his desk. We
