it and I jerked away and told him to get up and sit down, and backed off a little to examine the loot.
'My word.' I whistled. 'Here's an accumulation of cur- rency out of all proportion. A couple of thousand or more. Pipe down, you. I don't steal from blackguards. But I don't see… ah, here we are. Secret compartments you might say.' I unfolded it and ran my eye over it, and handed it to Wolfe. 'Return the balance?'
He nodded, reading. I handed the wallet back to Bronson, who was back on his feet. He looked a little disarranged, but he met my eye as he took the wallet from me, and I had to admit there was something to him, although misplaced; it isn't usual to meet the eye of a bird who has just knocked you down and made you like it. Wolfe said, 'Here, Archie,' and handed me the paper, and from my own breast pocket I took the brown ostrich cardcase, gold-tooled, given to me by Wolfe on a birthday, in which I carried my police and fire cards and operator's license. I slipped the folded paper in- side and returned it to my pocket.
Wolfe said, 'Mr. Bronson. There are other questions I meant to ask, such as the purpose of your trip to Mr. Pratt's place this afternoon, but it would be futile. I am even begin- ning to suspect that you are now engaged in an enterprise which may prove to be a bigger blunder than your conduct here with me. As for the paper Mr. Goodwin took from you, I guarantee that within 10 days you will get it back, or your money. Don't try any stratagems. I'm mad enough already. Good night, sir.'
'I repeat… I've told you…'
'I don't want to hear it. You're a fool. Good night.'
Bronson went.
Wolfe heaved a deep sigh. I poured out a glass of milk, and sipped, and saw that he had an eye cocked at me. In a minute he murmured:
'Archie. Where did you get that milk?'
'Refrigerator.'
'In the kitchen?'
'Yes, sir.'
'Well?'
'Yes, sir. There's 5 or 6 bottles in there. Shall I bring you one?'
'You might have saved yourself a trip.' His hand dived into his side coat pocket and came out clutching a flock of beer bottle caps. He opened his fist and counted them, frown- ing, and told me, 'Bring two.'
14
AT 10 O'CLOCK the next morning, Wednesday, a motley group piled into Osgood's sedan, bound for Crowfield. All except Nero Wolfe looked the worse for wear- I couldn't say about me. Osgood was seedy and silent, and during a brief talk with Wolfe had shown an inclination to bite. Bronson no longer looked disarranged, having again donned the Crawnley suit he had worn Monday, but the right side of his jaw was swollen and he was sullen and not amused. Nancy, who took the wheel again, was pale and had blood- shot eyes and moved in jerks. She had already made one trip to Crowfield and back, for a couple of relatives at the rail- road station. The funeral was to be Thursday afternoon, and the major influx of kin would be 24 hours later. Apparently Wolfe had changed his mind about immediately relieving the pressure on the woman he admired, for I had been in- structed that there was no hurry about telling Miss Osgood that the paper her brother had signed was in my possession. Which, considering how I had got it, was in my judgment just as well.
During the 30-minute drive to Crowfield no one said a word, except for a brief discussion between Osgood and Nancy to arrange for meeting later in the day, after errands had been performed. First we dropped Osgood on Main Street in front of an establishment with palms and ferns in the win- dow and a small sign painted down in a corner which said Somebody or other, MORTICIAN. Our next stop was two blocks down, at the hotel, where Bronson left us, in a dismal all-around silence and unfriendly atmosphere that is prob- ably the chief occupational hazard of the blackguard business.
Nancy muttered at me, 'Thompson's Garage, isn't it?' and I told her yes, and three minutes later she let me out there, around on a side street, the idea being that since there might be a delay about the car she would proceed to deliver Wolfe at the exposition grounds, for which I was grateful, not want- ing him muttering around underfoot.
The hill was $66.20, which was plenty, even including the towing in. Of course there was no use beefing, so I con- tented myself with a thorough inspection to make sure every- thing was okay, filled up with gas and oil; paid in real money, and departed.
Then I was supposed to find Lew Bennett, secretary of the National Guernsey League. I tried the hotel and drew a blank, and wasted 20 minutes in a phone booth, being met with busy lines, wrong numbers, and general ignorance. There seemed to be an impression that he was somewhere at the exposition, so I drove out there and after a battle got the car parked in one of the spaces reserved, for exhibitors. I plunged into the crowd, deciding to start at the exposition offices, where I learned that this was a big cattle day and Bennett was in up to his ears. He would be around the exhibition sheds, which were at the other end of the grounds. Back in the crowd again, I fought through men, women, children, balloons, horns, pop- corn and bedlam, to my objective.
I hadn't seen this part before. There was a city of enormous' sheds, in a row, each one 50 yards long or more and half as wide. There weren't many people around. I popped into the first shed. It smelled like cows, which wasn't surprising, be- cause it was full of them. A partition 5 feet high ran down the middle of the shed its entire length, and facing it, tied to it, were cattle, on both sides. Bulls and cows and calves. Two more rows of them faced the walls. But none of them looked like the breed I was most familiar with after my association with Hickory Caesar Grindon. A few spectators straggled down the long aisle, and I moseyed along to where a little squirt in overalls was combing tangles out of a cow's tail, and told him I was looking for Lew Bennett of the Guernsey League.
'Guernsey?' He looked contemptuous. 'I wouldn't know. I'm a Jersey man.'
'Oh. Excuse me. Personally, I fancy Guernseys. Is there a shed where they allow Guernseys?'
