were all living with their parents. Fred saw the twins and Orrie saw the single.
Besides the mothers, two girls in Section A, two women in B, two in C, and one in D, had been away from their homes and/or jobs for a part or all of the period. Orrie had to take a plane to France, the Riviera, to settle one of them, and Fred had to fly to Arizona to settle another one.
There has never been a smoother operation since Whosis scattered the dust on the temple floor. Absolutely flawless. Orrie got taken to an apartment-house superintendent by a doorman, but it wasn't his fault, and Fred got bounced from backstage in a theater, but a bounce is all in the day's work. As an example of superlative snoopery it was a perfect performance. And when Saul phoned at half past three Saturday afternoon, July 7, to report that he had closed the last little gap in the adoption and had actually seen the baby, and the operation was complete, we were precisely where we had been on June 12, twenty-six days earlier.
With a difference, though. There had been a couple of developments, but we hadn't done the developing. One, the minor one, was that I was no longer the last person known to have seen Ellen Tenzer alive. That Friday afternoon she had called at the home of a Mrs. James R. Nesbitt on East 68th Street, an ex-patient from her New York nursing days. Mrs. Nesbitt had waited nearly two weeks to mention it because she didn't want her name to appear in connection with a murder, but had finally decided she must. Presumably the DA had promised her that her name would not appear, but some journalist had somehow got it, and hooray for freedom of the press. Not that Mrs. Nesbitt was really any help. Ellen Tenzer had merely said she needed advice about something from a lawyer and had asked Mrs. Nesbitt to tell her the name of one who could be trusted, and she had done so and had phoned the lawyer to make an appointment. But Ellen Tenzer hadn't kept the appointment. She hadn't told Mrs. Nesbitt why she needed a lawyer. Mrs. Nesbitt was added to Saul's list of names, just in case, but she hadn't had a baby for ten years and her twenty-year-old daughter had never had one.
The other development, the major one, was that the client came within an ace of quitting. She phoned at a quarter after four on Monday, July 2. Of course I had kept in touch with her; when you're spending more than three Cs a day of a client's money and getting nothing for it, the least you can do is give her a ring, or drop in and say hello, it's a fine day but I guess they need rain in the country. I had watched her feed the baby once, lunched with her once, dined with her twice, taught her to play pinochle, and listened to her playing the piano for a total of about six hours. Also we had done a little dancing, to records in the dining room, which wasn't carpeted. She was plenty good enough to spend an evening with at the Flamingo or Gillotti's, but that would have to wait, since it would have broken security. If you ask, would I have gone to so much trouble to keep a client patient if she had been cross-eyed or fat-ankled? the answer is no.
When I answered the phone at a quarter after four on July 2 and started the formula, Nero Wolfe's she broke in, Can you come, Archie? Right away?
I could, sure. Why?
A man was here, a policeman. He just left. He asked when I hired Nero Wolfe, and he asked about the baby. Will you come?
What did you tell him?
Nothing, of course. I said he had no right to ask about my private affairs. That's what you told me to say.
Right. Did you get his name?
He told me, but I was so I don't know.
Was it Cramer?
Cramer… no. Rowcliff?
No.
Stebbins?
That sounds like it. Stebbins. Yes, I think so.
Big and solid with a broad nose and a wide mouth and trying hard to be polite?
Yes.
Okay. My favorite cop. At ease. Play the piano. I can do it in twenty minutes since I won't have to bother about a tail.
You're coming?
Certainly.
I hung up, got the house phone, buzzed the plant rooms, and after a wait had Wolfe's voice: Yes?
Mrs. Valdon phoned. Purley Stebbins came and asked her about you and the baby. She told him nothing. She wants me to come and I'm leaving. Any instructions?
No. Confound it.
Yes, sir. Bring her?
Not unless you must. He hung up.
I went to the kitchen to tell Fritz the phone and the door were his until he saw me again, and was off. As I descended the stoop to the sidewalk and turned east I automatically glanced around, but actually I didn't give a damn, now, if I had a shadow or not. Almost certainly there was an eye on the Valdon house anyway.
I walked it. The live minutes a hack might have saved didn't matter, and my legs like to feel that they're helping out. When I turned into Eleventh Street and neared the house, again I glanced around automatically, but again it didn't matter. The fat was in the fire, and the problem was dodging the spatters. I mounted the four steps to the vestibule, but didn't have to push the button, because the door was standing open and Lucy herself was there. She didn't speak. When I had crossed the sill she closed the door, turned, and made for the stairs. I followed. Apparently she had forgotten the progress we had made in cordial relations. One flight up she entered the big room, shut the door when I was in, faced me, and said, He asked me if I knew Ellen Tenzer. Sure. Naturally.
