Please Pass the Guilt

glared at me and muttered, 'Part of his proposal is worth considering. Returning the retainer.' He considered it for two days and three nights. In the office at noon Sunday, after another two-hour session with us--as I reported six pages back--he told me to call Mrs. Odell and tell her he was quitting and to draw a check to her for the full amount of the retainer; and Saul and Fred and Orrie looked at me and I looked at Wolfe, especially the left corner of his mouth, to see how bad it was. Please Pass the Guilt 99 It was bad all right, it was final, but I did not reach for the phone. 'Okay,' I said. 'Since I started it, I admit I should be the one to finish it, but not with a phone call. I'd rather finish it the way I started it, face to face with her, and to do it right I should take the check and hand it to her instead of mailing it. No deduction for expenses?' 'No. The full amount Very well, take it.' If we had been alone I might have tried discussing it, but with them there it was hopeless. Discussion would have to be with her, and then with him maybe. I went and got the checkbook from the safe, filled out the stub, tore the check out, and swung the typewriter around. I type all checks. That was the first one I had ever drawn for an even hundred grand, and with all the 0's it was a nice round figure. I took it to Wolfe and he signed it and handed it back. As I took it, Saul said, 'I've asked so many people so many questions the last ten days, it's a habit, and I'd like to ask one more. How much is it?' Even from Saul that was a mouthful, and my eyes opened at him. But Wolfe merely said, 'Show it to him. Them.' I did so, and their eyes opened, and Saul said, 'For her that's petty cash, she's really loaded. Sometimes you ask us for suggestions, and I'd like to make one. Or just another question. Instead of returning it to her, why not offer it to someone who needs it? A two-column ad in the Times and the Gazette with a heading like could you use a hundred thousand dollars? Then, TO pay that amount in cash to the person who gives me information that will satisfactorily identify the person responsible for the death of Peter Odell by the explosion of a bomb on May twentieth.' Your name at the bottom. Of course the wording would--' Wolfe's 'No' stopped him. He repeated it. 'No. I will not make a public appeal for someone to do my job for me.' 'You have,' Saul said. 'You have advertised for help twice that I know of.' 100 Please Pass the Guilt 'For an answer to a particular question. Specific knowledge on a specified point. Not a frantic squawk to be pulled out of a mudhole. No.' So when they left a few minutes later, they weren't expected back. By noon Monday Fred and Orrie would be on chores for Bascom or some other outfit, and Saul too if he felt like it. As for me, my chore wouldn't wait--or I didn't want it to. As someone said, probably Shakespeare, ' 'twere better done,' and so forth. Of course a person such as a Mrs. Peter Odell would ordinarily not be in town on a June Sunday, but she would be. She was ignoring weekends, and from a phone call by her Saturday morning she knew there would be a Sunday conference. So I rang her and asked if I could come at five o'clock, because earlier she would probably have the television on and I didn't want to share her attention with Cleon Jones at bat or Torn Seaver on the mound. Wolfe had gone to the kitchen. For Sunday lunch with Fritz away he usually does something simple like eggs au beurre noir and a beet and watercress salad, but that time it was going to be larded shad roe casserole with anchovy butter and parsley and chervil and shallots and marjoram and black pepper and cream and bay leaf and onion and butter. It would take a lot of tasting, and he can taste. I went to the kitchen to tell him Mrs. Odell would see me at five o'clock, and he nodded, and I mounted the two flights to my room. That was a busy four hours; shaving and changing from the skin out, going down for my third of the shad roe, which we ate in the kitchen, looking at the telecast from Montreal- where the Mets were playing the Expos--on the color set, which, like everything else in my room, was bought and paid for by me, and writing. Not on the typewriter, because when I'm being particular, I do better longhand, and that had to be done right. When I went downstairs a little before four-thirty, the third draft was in my pocket, with the check. Wolfe was up in Please Pass the Guilt 101 the plant rooms and I buzzed him on the house phone to tell him I was leaving. Since parking shouldn't be a problem Sunday afternoon, I went to the garage for the Heron, crossed town on Thirtyfourth, and turned uptown on Park. Driving in midtown Manhattan can still be a pleasure--from two to eight a.m. and a couple of hours on Sunday. There was actually a gap at the curb on Sixty-third Street between Fifth and Madison. The LPS man at the entrance to the stone mansion was not the same one, and this one had better manners; he said thank you when he returned my card case. Inside I was ushered to the elevator by the same woman in a neat gray uniform and was told to push the button with a 4. In the upper hall, the client's voice came through the open door to the big room, 'In here!' She was on the oversized couch, one leg on it straight and the other one dangling over the edge, with sections of the Sunday Times scattered around. The television was not on--but of course the game was over. As I crossed to her she said, 'You'd better have something. You certainly don't on the telephone.' 'We got careless once when our phone was tapped and we're leery. I don't suppose it's tapped now, but once was enough. Yes, I have something.' I got the check from my pocket. 'I thought I should bring it instead of mailing it.' She took it, frowned at it, frowned at me, again at the check, and back at me. 'What's the idea?' 'Mr. Wolfe is bowing out. Quite a bow, since he has spent more than three thousand dollars. Three thousand dollars in twelve days and we haven't got a smell. One reason I'm bringing it instead of mailing it, I wanted to tell you that that's all there is to it, he's simply pulling out. He thinks it shows strength of character to admit he's licked. I can't see it and don't intend to, but I'm not a genius.' She surprised me. Up to that moment she had given me no reason to suppose that the arrangements inside her skull were any better than average, but she had reached a conclusion be102 Please Pass the Guilt fore I finished. Her eyes showed it, and she said it, with a question: 'How much did Browning pay him?' 'Uh-huh,' I said, and turned a chair to face her, and sat. 'You would, naturally. If I talked for five hours, giving cases, I might be able to convince you that he couldn't possibly double-cross a client, on account of his opinion of himself, but I think there's a shorter way. I've told you on the phone about the three men we have called in to help. They were there this morning when he said it was hopeless and he was quitting. When he told me to draw a check to return the retainer, Saul Panzer suggested that instead of returning it, he might put an ad in the Times saying that he would pay it to anyone who would give him information that would indentify the murderer, and Mr. Wolfe said no, he would not make a frantic squawk to be pulled out of a mudhole. That was--' 'Of course! He would say that!' 'Please hold it, I've just started. So I drew the check and he signed it, and I phoned you. But I think I can prove that he didn't sell out, and I want to try. I think I can get him to tear the check up and go on with the job, with your help. May I use your typewriter?' 'What for? I don't believe it.' 'You will. You'll have to.' I got up and crossed to a desk, the one with a typewriter on an extension. As I pulled the chair out and sat, I asked where I would find paper and she said, 'The top drawer, but you're not fooling me,' and I said, 'Wait and see,' and got out paper and a sheet of carbon. She preferred not to wait. As I got the third draft from my pocket and spread it out on the desk, she kicked the sections of the Times aside, left the couch, and came and stood at my elbow, and I hit the keys. I didn't hurry because I wanted it clean. No exing. As I pulled it out, I said, 'I had to type it here because he might recognize it from my machine, and this is going to be your idea.' I handed her the original and gave the carbon a look: Please Pass the Guilt 103 NERO WOLFE HAS $50,000 in cash, given to him by me. He will pay it, on my behalf, to any person or persons who supply information to him that leads to the conclusive identification of the man or woman who placed a bomb in a drawer of the desk of Amory Browning on Tuesday, May 20th, resulting in the death of my husband. The information is to be given directly to Nero Wolfe, who will use it on my behalf, and the person or persons supplying it will do so under these conditions: 1. All decisions regarding the significance and value of any item of information will be made solely by Nero Wolfe and will be final. 2. The total amount paid will be $50,000. If more than one person supplies useful information, the determination of their relative value and of the distribution of the $50,000 will be made solely by Nero Wolfe and will be final. 3. Any person who communicates with Nero Wolfe or his agent as a result of this advertisement thereby agrees to the above conditions. 'With your name at the bottom,' I said. 'A reproduction of your signature, Madeline Odell, like on your check, and below it 'Mrs. Peter J. Odell' in parenthesis, as usual, printed. Now hear this. Of course he'll know I wrote it, but if he thinks I wrote it at home and brought it, he'll balk. No go. As I said, that's why I didn't type it there. It has to be your idea, suggested by you after I told you about his reaction to Saul Panzer's suggestion. He may phone you. If he does, you'll have to do it right. Then of course the question will be, what will happen? I think it will work, and certainly it may work. It's ten to one that someone knows something that would crack it open, and fifty grand is a lot of bait.' 104 Please Pass the Guilt I was on my feet. 'So if you'll sign it, the original, and keep the carbon, and I'll need two samples of your signature on plain paper, one for the Times and one for the Gazette, to make cuts.' 'You're pretty good,' she said. 'I try hard. Whence all but me have fled.' 'What?' 'The burning deck.' 'What burning deck?' 'You don't read the right poems.' I swiveled the chair. 'Sit here? That pen is stingy, I tried it. Mine's better.' 'So is the one on my desk.' She moved, went to the other desk, which was bigger, and sat. 'I'm not convinced, you know. This could be an act. You can phone to say it didn't work.' 'If I do, it won't be an act, it will be because he is pigheaded. I mean strong-minded. It will depend on you if he phones.' 'Well.' She reached for the pen in an elegant jade stand. 'I have a suggestion. It shouldn't be fifty thousand. Figures like that, fifty thousand or a hundred thousand, they don't hit. Inbetween figures are better, like sixty-five thousand or eightyfive.' 'Right. Absolutely. Change it. Make it sixty-five. Just draw a line through the fifty thousand.' She tried the pen on a scratch pad. I