The girl asked, 'Dr. Livingstone, I presume?'
Wolfe's lips twitched a little. 'Miss Stanley? How do you do. My name is Nero Wolfe.'
Her eyes widened. 'Good lord! Not the Nero Wolfe?'
'Well… the one in the Manhattan telephone book.'
'Then I did pick a funny one! Get in.'
As he grunted his way into the convertible he observed, 'You did a lot of bouncing. I dislike bouncing.'
She laughed. 'I'll take it easy. Anyway, it's better than being bounced by a bull, don't you think?' I had climbed to the back of the seat, since Wolfe's presence left no room below, and she started off, swinging to the left. I had noticed that she had good strong wrists and fingers, and with the jacket off her arms were bare and I could see the rippling of her fore- arm muscles as she steered expertly to avoid hummocks and holes. I glanced at the bull and saw he had got tired of playing rocking horse and was standing with his head up and his tail down, registering disdain. He looked bigger than ever. The girl was telling Wolfe, 'Stanley would be a nice name, but mine is Caroline Pratt. Excuse me, I didn't see that hole. I'm nothing like as famous as you are, but I've been Metropolitan golf champion for two years. This place seems to be collecting champions. You're a champion detective, and Hickory Caesar Grindon is a National champion bull, and I'm a golf champion…'
I thought, so that accounts for the wrists and arms, she's one of those. When we got to the gate Dave opened it, and closed it against our tail as we went through. She eased it along under the trees, with overhanging branches trying to scrape me off, and finally emerged onto a wide graveled space in front of a big new concrete building with four garage doors at one end, where she stopped. Dave had come hopping along behind us, still lugging the gun, and the girl in yellow slacks was sauntering our way. I vaulted over the side of the car to the gravel. The golf champion was inquiring of Wolfe if she could drop him somewhere, but he already had his door open and was lifting his bulk to descend, so she got out. Dave bustled up to Wolfe and began to make de- mands in a loud voice, but Wolfe gave him an awful look and told him, 'Sir, you are open to prosecution for attempted murder! I don't mean the gun, I mean jumping off that fence!' Then Wolfe walked around the rear of the car and confronted his rescuer and bowed to her:
'Thank you. Miss Pratt, for having intelligence and for using it.'
'Don't mention it. It was a pleasure.'
He grimaced. 'Is that bull your property?'
'No, he belongs to my uncle. Thomas Pratt.' She waved a hand. 'This is his place. He'll be here shortly. Meanwhile… if I can do anything… do you want some beer?'
'No thanks. I do want beer, but God knows when I'll drink beer again. We had an accident. Mr. Goodwin was unable to restrain our car – I beg your pardon. Miss Pratt, this is Mr. Goodwin.'
She politely put her hand out and I took it. Wolfe was repeating, 'Mr. Goodwin was unable to restrain our car from crashing into a tree. After inspecting the damage he claimed he had run it over glass. He then persuaded me to trespass in that pasture. It was I, not he, who first saw the bull after it had emerged from behind the thicket. He boasted complete ignorance of the way a bull will act-'
I had known when I saw his face as we approached the boulder that he was going to be childish, but he might at least have saved it for privacy. I put in brusquely:
'Could I use a telephone?'
'You interrupted Mr. Wolfe.' She was reproving me. 'If he wants to explain-'
'I'll show you the phone.' It was a voice behind me, and I turned. The girl in yellow slacks was there close. I realized with surprise that her head came clear to my chin or above, and she was blonde but not at all faded, and her dark blue eyes were not quite open, and one corner of her lips was up with her smile.
'Come on, Escamillo,' she said, 'I'll show you the phone.'
I told her. Much obliged,' and started off with her She brushed against me as we walked and said 'I'm Lily Rowan.
'Nice name.' I grinned down at her. 'I'm Escamillo Goodwin.
2
WOLFE'S VOICE came through the open door, 'What time is it?'
After glancing at my wrist watch where it lay on the glass shelf I walked out of the bathroom, holding my forearm steady and level so the iodine would dry where I had dabbed it on. Stopping in front of the big upholstered chair he was occupying, I told him:
'3:26. I supposed the beer would buck you up. It's one of your lowest points when you haven't even got enough joy of life to pull your watch out of your pocket.'
'Joy of life?' He groaned, 'With our car demolished, and those plants in it being suffocated…'
'They're not being suffocated. I left the window open a crack on both sides.' I tilted the arm, watching the iodine, and then let it hang. ''Certainly joy of life! Did we get hurt when we had a front blowout? No. Did the bull get us? No. We ran into nice people who gave us a swell room with bath to wash up and served you with cold beer and me with iodine. And I repeat, if you still think I should have persuaded one of those Crowfield garages to come and get us and the car, go down and try it yourself. They thought I was crazy to expect it, with the exposition on. This Mr. Pratt will be back any minute, with a big sedan, and his niece says she'll take us and the luggage and the plants to Crowfield. I phoned the hotel, and they promised to hold our room until ten tonight. Naturally there's a mob yelling for beds.'
I had got my sleeves rolled down and buttoned, and reached for my coat. 'How's the beer?'
