office and wait for me.
It was a quarter to twelve Tuesday morning when I got to the office with the prints. I could have made it half an hour sooner, but I had taken the time at the Posart Camera Exchange to make packets for Al to send to Krug and Haft and Bingham. If Lucy didn't know her, one of them might. Wolfe was at his desk with beer, and Saul was in the red leather chair with wine. A bottle of the Corton Charlemagne was on the stand at his elbow. Apparently they were discussing literature; there were three books on Wolfe's desk and one in his hand, open. I went and sat and listened. Yep, literature. I got up and started out and was stopped by Wolfe's voice.
Yes, Archie?
I turned. I hate to interrupt. I approached Saul. Feel thy pictures, mister? I handed them to him.
She didn't show this morning, he said. His hands were as deft with the prints as they were with a poker deck. A glance at each one was enough until he was about halfway through, when he tilted one for better light, nodded, and held it out. That's her.
I took it. It was a good clear shot, three-quarter face, angled up as most of them were. Wide forehead, eyes the right distance apart, nose rather narrow, mouth rather wide, chin a little pointed. The eyes were fixed, focused to the right, concentrated.
She could be attractive, I said.
She is, Saul said. She walks straight and smooth.
Details?
Five feet seven. Hundred and twenty pounds. In the upper thirties.
The envelope, please. He handed it to me, and I put the picture in with the others and the envelope in my pocket. I'm sorry I had to interrupt you gentlemen. I have an errand. If you need me you know Mrs. Valdon's number. I turned and went.
Since Sunday, Lucy's relations with me had been a little strained. No, that's not good reporting. Her relations with the world were strained, and I happened to be handy. Her lawyer had phoned her Sunday evening about the Gazette piece, and he had come to the house for a talk Monday afternoon. He thought she was sticking her neck out and he strongly disapproved. Her best friend, Lena Guthrie, disapproved even more strongly, and she had had a dozen phone calls from other friends, not to mention enemies; and from a remark she made Monday afternoon I gathered that Leo Bingham had been one of them.
So there was an atmosphere, and when I arrived Tuesday and was directed by Marie Foltz to the second floor I had the big room to myself for nearly half an hour; and when the client finally came she stopped three paces short and asked, Something new, Archie?
Just the prints, I said. From yesterday.
Oh. How many?
Fifty-four.
I have a headache. I suppose I have to?
Maybe not. I got the envelope from my pocket, shuffled through the prints, and handed her one. Try that one. It's special.
She gave it a glance. What's special about it?
I'm betting three to one that she's the mother. She came in a taxi and had it wait while she spotted the carriage, went and took a good long look, nearly a minute, and went back to the taxi. Do you know her?
Another glance at it. No.
Would you mind taking it to the light to make sure?
I don't. All right. She went to a lamp on a table and switched it on, and looked, frowning. She turned. I think I've seen her somewhere.
Then forget your headache, all the headaches, and take another look. Of course we'll find her sooner or later, but it was six weeks ago today that you hired Nero Wolfe to find the mother, and we've spent a lot of your money, and you've had it fairly rough. It will save time and money and bumps if you can name her. Sit there by the lamp, huh?
She closed her eyes and raised a hand to rub her forehead and went and sat. She didn't look at the print again, just sat and looked at space, frowning, with her lips pressed tight. Suddenly her head jerked around to me and she said, Of course. Carol Mardus.
I laughed. You know, I said, during these six weeks I have seen you in various moods from gay to glum, but I have never seen you look really beat until this minute. I laughed because that's funny.
I don't feel funny.
I do. I feel wonderful. Are you sure it's Carol Mardus?
Yes. Certainly. It shouldn't have taken me so long.
Who and what is she?
She got Dick started. She was a reader at Distaff, and she got Manny Upton to take Dick's stories. Then later he made her fiction editor. She is now.
Fiction editor of Distaff?
Yes.
She wasn't on your list.
