Chapter 1

On our way out of the house — his house, which was also his office, on West 35th Street over near the North River — Nero Wolfe, who was ahead of me, stopped so abruptly that I nearly bumped into him. He wheeled and confronted me, glancing at my briefcase.

“Have you got that thing?”

I looked innocent. “What thing?”

“You know very well. That confounded grenade. I want that infernal machine out of this house. Have you got it?”

I held my ground. “Colonel Ryder,” I said in a crisp military tone, “who is my superior officer, said I could keep it for a souvenir in view of my valor and devotion to duty in recovering—”

“You can’t keep it in my house. I tolerate pistols as a tool of the business, but not that contraption. If by accident the pin got removed it would blow off the top of the building, not to mention the noise it would make. I thought you understood this is out of discussion. Get it, please.”

Formerly I might have argued that my room on the third floor was my castle, tenanted by me as part of my pay for suffering his society as his assistant and guardian, but that was out now, since Congress was taking care of me by appropriating around ten billion bucks a month. So I merely shrugged to show I was humoring him, and, knowing how it annoyed him to be kept waiting standing up, moseyed over to the stair and took my time mounting the two flights to my room. It was there where I kept it on top of the chest of drawers — about seven inches long and three in diameter, painted a pale pink, looking nothing like as deadly as it was supposed to be. Reaching for it, I glanced at the safety pin to make sure it was snug, put it in the briefcase, went back downstairs at my leisure, ignored a remark he saw fit to make, and accompanied him out to the curb where the sedan was parked.

One thing Wolfe demanded from the Army, and got, was enough gas for his car. Not that he was trying to bypass the war. He really was making sacrifices for victory. As one, most of his accustomed income from the detective business. Two, his daily sessions with his orchids in the plant rooms on the roof, whenever Army work interfered. Three, his fixed rule to avoid the hazards of unessential movements, especially outdoors. Four, food. I kept an eye on that, looking for a chance to insert remarks, and drew a blank. He and Fritz accomplished wonders within the limitations of coupon fodder, and right there in the middle of New York, with black markets tipping the wink like floozies out for a breath of air on a summer evening, Wolfe’s kitchen was as pure as cottage cheese.

After burning up not more than half a gallon of the precious gas, even counting traffic stops and starts, I let him out in front of 17 Duncan Street, found a place to park, and walked back and joined him in the lobby. Leaving the elevator at the tenth floor, Wolfe had a chance to suppress some more irritation. In my uniform all I had to do was return the salute of the corporal on guard, but although Wolfe had been there at least a couple dozen times and it was no trick to recognize him, he was in cits, and the New York headquarters of Military Intelligence was finicky about civilian visitors. After he got the high sign we went through a door, down a long corridor with closed doors on both sides, one of which was to my office, turned a corner, and entered the anteroom of the Second in Command.

An Army sergeant was sitting at a desk giving the keyboard of a typewriter the one-two.

I said good morning.

“Good morning, Major,” the sergeant replied. “I’ll tell them you’re here.” She reached for a phone.

Wolfe was staring. “What in the name of heaven is this?” he demanded.

“WAC,” I told him. “We’ve got some new furniture since you were here last. Brightens the place up.”

He compressed his lips and continued to stare. Nothing personal; what was eating him was the sight of a female, in uniform, in that job.

“It’s all right,” I soothed him. “We don’t tell her any of the important secrets, such as Captain So-and-So wears a corset.”

She was through at the phone. “Colonel Ryder said to ask you to join them, sir.”

I said sternly, “You didn’t salute.”

If she’d had a sense of humor she’d have stood up and snapped one at me, but in the ten days she had been there I hadn’t been able to discover any sign of it. Which didn’t mean I had quit trying. I had decided she was putting it on. Her serious efficient eyes and straight functional nose led you to expect a jutting bony chin, but that’s where she fooled you. It didn’t jut. It would have fitted nicely in the palm of your hand if things ever got to that point.

She was speaking. “I beg your pardon, Major Goodwin. I am obeying the regulations—”

“Okay.” I waved it aside. “This is Mr. Nero Wolfe. Sergeant Dorothy Bruce of the United States Army.”

They acknowledged each other. Stepping to a door at the other end, I opened it, let Wolfe go through, then followed him and shut the door.

It was a roomy corner office with windows on two sides and the space of the other two walls filled with locked steel cabinets reaching two-thirds of the way to the ceiling, except for a spot occupied by another door which gave access to the hall without going through the anteroom.

There was no humor in there either. The four men on chairs were about as chipper as a bunch of Dodger fans after watching dem bums drop a double-header. Seeing that the atmosphere didn’t call for military etiquette, I let the arm hang. The two colonels and the lieutenant we knew, and though we had never met the civilian we knew who he was, having been told about him; and besides, almost any good citizen would have recognized John Bell Shattuck. He was shorter than I would have expected, and maybe a little bulkier, but there was no mistaking his manner as he got up to shake hands with us and look us in the eye. True, we were residents of New York, but an elected person can never be sure you aren’t going to move to his own state and be a constituent with a vote.

“Meeting Nero Wolfe is a real occasion,” he said, in a voice that sounded as if it was pitched lower than God intended it to be. I had run across that before. Half the statesmen in Washington have been trying to sound like Winston Churchill ever since he made that speech to Congress.

Wolfe was polite to him and then turned back to Ryder. “This is my first opportunity, Colonel, to offer my condolences. Your son. Your only son.”

Ryder’s jaw was set. It had been for nearly a week, since the news came. “Yes,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Had he killed any Germans?”

“He had shot down four German planes. Presumably he killed Germans. I hope he did.”

“No doubt.” Wolfe grunted. “I can’t speak about him, I didn’t know him. I know you. I would hold up your heart if I could. Obviously you are capable of holding your chin up yourself.” He looked around at the chairs that were empty, saw they were of equal dimensions, and moved to one and got himself onto it, with the usual lapping over at the edges. “Where was it?”

“Sicily,” Ryder said.

“He was a fine boy,” John Bell Shattuck put in. “I was his godfather. No finer boy in America. I was proud of him. I still am proud of him.”

Ryder closed his eyes, opened them again, reached for the phone on his desk, and spoke in it. “General Fife.” After a moment he spoke again, “Mr. Wolfe has come, General. We’re all here. Shall we come up now? Oh. Very well, sir. I understand.”

He pushed the phone back and told the room, “He’s coming here.”

Wolfe grimaced, and I knew why. He knew there was a bigger chair up in the general’s office, in fact two of them. I moved to Ryder’s desk, put my briefcase on it, unbuckled the straps, and took out the grenade.

“Here, Colonel,” I said, “I might as well do this while we’re waiting. Where shall I put it?”

Ryder scowled at me. “I said you could keep it.”

“I know, but I have no place to keep it except my room at Mr. Wolfe’s house, and that won’t do. I caught him tinkering with it last night. I’m afraid he’ll hurt himself.”

Everybody looked at Wolfe. He said testily, “You know Major Goodwin, don’t you? I wouldn’t touch the thing. Nor will I have it on my premises.”

I nodded regretfully. “So the cat came back.”

Ryder picked it up and glanced at the safety, saw it was secure, and then suddenly he was out of his chair and on his feet, straight as a Rockette, as the door opened and Sergeant Dorothy Bruce’s voice came to us, clipped and military: “General Fife!”

When the general had entered she backed out again, taking the door along. Of course by that time the rest of us were Rocketteing too. He returned our salute, crossed to shake hands and exchange greetings with John Bell Shattuck, and, after another sharp glance around, stretched an arm and pointed a finger at Ryder’s left hand.

“What the devil are you doing with that thing?” he demanded. “Playing catch?”

Ryder’s hand came up holding the grenade. “Major Goodwin just returned it, sir.”

“Isn’t it one of those H14’s?”

“Yes, sir. As you know, he found them. I gave him permission to keep one.”

“You did? I didn’t. Did I?”

“No, sir.”

Ryder opened a drawer of his desk, put the grenade in it, and closed the drawer. General Fife went to a chair and twirled it around and sat on it assbackwards, crossing his arms along the top of the chair’s back. The understanding was that he had formed that habit after seeing a picture of Eisenhower sitting like that, which I record without prejudice. He was the only professional soldier in the bunch there present. Colonel Ryder had been a lawyer out in Cleveland. Colonel Tinkham, who looked like a collection of undersized features put together at random in order to have somewhere to stick a little brown mustache, had had some kind of a gumshoe job for a big New York bank. Lieutenant Lawson had just come up from Washington two weeks before and was still possibly mysterious personally, but not ancestrally. He was Kenneth Lawson, Junior; Senior being the Eastern Products Corporation tycoon who had served his country in its hour of need by lopping one hundred thousand dollars off his own salary. All I really knew about Junior was that I had heard him trying to date Sergeant Bruce his second day in the office and getting turned down.

The only chair left was over by the steel cabinets, occupied by a small pigskin suitcase. Trying to make just the right amount of noise and commotion for a major under the circumstances, I deposited the suitcase on the floor and sat down.

Meanwhile General Fife was speaking. “Where have you got to? Where’s the public? Where’s the press? No photographers?”

Lieutenant Lawson started to grin, caught Colonel Ryder’s eye, and composed his handsome features. Colonel Tinkham moved the tip of his forefinger along the grain of his mustache, right and left alternately, which was his number-one gesture for conveying the impression that he was quite unperturbed.

“We haven’t got anywhere, sir,” Ryder said. “We haven’t started. Wolfe just got here. Your other questions—”

“Not for you,” Fife said curtly. He was looking, conspicuously, at John Bell Shattuck. “Public servant, and no public? No microphones? No newsreel cameras? How are the people to be informed?”

Shattuck didn’t even blink, let alone try to return the punch. “Now look here,” he said reproachfully, “we’re not as bad as that. We try to do our duty, and so do you. Sometimes I think it might be a good plan for us to take over the armed forces for a period, say a month—”

“Good God.”

“—and let the generals and admirals take over the Capitol for the same period. No doubt we would all learn something. I assure you I understand perfectly that this matter is confidential. I have not even mentioned it to the members of my committee. I thought it my duty to consult you, and that’s what I’m doing.”

Fife’s gaze at him showed no sign of melting into fondness. “You got a letter.”

Shattuck nodded. “I did. An anonymous unsigned type-written letter. It may be from a crackpot, it probably is, but I didn’t think it wise to ignore it.”

“May I see it?”

“I have it,” Colonel Ryder put in. He took a sheet of paper from under a weight on his desk and stepped across to pass it to his superior. But Fife was using his hands to pat the pockets of his jacket.

“Left my glasses upstairs. Read it.”

Ryder did so.

“Dear sir: I address this to you because I understand that your investigating committee is authorized to inquire into matters of this sort. As you know, in the emergency of the war the Army is being entrusted with the secrets of various industrial processes. This practice is probably justified in the circumstances, but it is being criminally abused. Some of the secrets, without patent or copyright protection, are being betrayed to those who intend to engage in post-war competition of the industries involved. Values amounting to tens of millions of dollars are being stolen from their rightful owners. “Proof will be hard to get because of the difficulty of showing intent to defraud until it is put into practice after the war. I give you no details, but an honest and rigorous investigation will certainly disclose them. And I suggest a starting point: the death of Captain Albert Cross of Military Intelligence. He is supposed to have jumped, or fallen by accident, from the twelfth floor of the Bascombe Hotel in New York day before yesterday. Did he? What sort of inquiry had he been assigned to by his superior officers? What had he found out? You might start there. “A Citizen”

Silence. Dead silence.

Colonel Tinkham cleared his throat. “Well-written letter,” he observed, in the tone of a teacher commending a pupil for a good composition.

“May I look at it?” Nero Wolfe inquired.

Ryder handed it to him, and I got up and crossed the room to take a squint over Wolfe’s shoulder. Tinkham and Lawson got the same notion and did likewise. Wolfe considerately held it at an angle so we could all see. It was a plain sheet of ordinary bond paper, and the text was single-spaced neatly in the center of the sheet with no errors or exings. From habit and experience I noted two mechanical peculiarities: the c hit below the line; and the a was off to the left — in war, for instance, it touched the top corner of the w. I was going on from there when Tinkham and Lawson finished and moved away, and Wolfe handed the sheet to me to return to Ryder.

“Hot stuff,” Lawson said, sitting down. “He could a tale unfold, but he doesn’t. Nothing but insinuations.”

Fife asked him sarcastically, “Does that close the matter, Lieutenant?”

“Sir?”

“I ask, is your verdict final, or are we to be permitted to proceed?”

“Oh.” Lawson showed color. “I beg your pardon, sir. I was merely observing—”

“There’s another way to observe. Look and listen.”

“Yes, sir.”

“If I may be allowed—” Colonel Tinkham offered.

“Well?”

“Interesting points about that letter. It was written by a person who is incisive and highly literate and who also types expertly. Or it was dictated to a stenographer, which doesn’t seem likely. The margining at the right is remarkably even. And the double spaces after periods—”

Wolfe made a noise, and Fife glanced at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Wolfe said. “I suppose I wouldn’t mind if this chair were properly constructed and of a proper size. I suggest, if the discussion is to be at kindergarten level, that we all sit on the floor.”

“Not a bad idea. We may come to that.” Fife turned to Shattuck. “When did you get the letter?”

“In the mail Saturday morning,” Shattuck told him. “Plain envelope of course, address typed, marked personal. Postmarked New York, Station R, 7:30 p.m. Friday. My first impulse was to turn it over to the F.B.I., but I decided that wouldn’t be fair to you fellows, so I telephoned Harold — Colonel Ryder. I was coming to New York today anyway — speaking at a dinner tonight of the National Industrial Association — and we agreed this was the way to handle it.”

“You haven’t — you didn’t take it up with General Carpenter?”

“No.” Shattuck smiled. “After that performance when he appeared to testify before my committee a couple of months ago — I didn’t feel like crossing his path.”

“This is his path.”

“I know, but he’s not patrolling this sector of it at this moment—” Shattuck’s eyes widened— “or is he?”

Fife shook his head. “He’s stewing in Washington. Or sizzling. Or both. So you’re turning the letter over to us for investigation. Is that it?”

“I don’t know.” Shattuck hesitated. He was meeting the general’s eyes. “It came to me as chairman of a Congressional committee. I came here — to discuss the matter.”

“You know—” Fife also hesitated. He went on, choosing words: “You know, of course, I could merely say military security is involved and the question cannot be discussed.”

“I know,” Shattuck agreed. “You could say that.” He bore down a little on the “could.”

Fife regarded him without affection.

“This is unofficial and off the record. There is nothing in that letter to show that the writer has any useful information. Anyone with any sense would know that in our war production, with thousands of men in positions of trust, and enormous interests and billions of dollars involved, things happen. Lots of them, probably including the sort of thing that letter hints at. One of the jobs of Military Intelligence is to help to prevent such things from happening, as far as we can.”

“Of course,” Shattuck put in, “I had no idea this would be a bolt from the blue for you.”

“Thank you.” Fife didn’t sound grateful. “It isn’t. Did you see that pink thing Ryder put in his desk drawer? You did. That’s a new kind of grenade — not only new in construction, but in its contents. Somebody wanted some samples, and got them. Not the enemy — at least we don’t think so. Captain Cross, who died last week, was working on it. Nobody on earth except the men in this room knew what Cross was doing. Cross found the trail, we don’t know how, because he hadn’t reported in since Monday, and now we may never know. Major Goodwin did a neat piece of work with an entry in Cross’s memo book which apparently didn’t mean anything, and found the grenades in a shipping carton in the checkroom at a bus terminal where Cross had left them. I tell you about this because Cross is mentioned in that letter, and also as an instance to show that if the writer of the letter wants to tell us anything we don’t know he’ll have to come again.”

Shattuck remonstrated. “Good heavens, General, I know very well you weren’t born yesterday. And ordinarily any anonymous letter I receive gets tossed in the wastebasket. But I thought you ought to know about it — and then the one specific thing in it — about Cross. Of course that was investigated?”

“It was. By the police.”

“And,” Shattuck insisted, “by you?” Then he added hastily, “I think that’s a proper question. Unofficially. Since a police investigation would be somewhat ineffectual unless they were told exactly what Cross was doing and were given the names of those who were — well — aware of it. I don’t suppose you felt free to disclose that to the police?”

Fife said slowly, choosing his words again, “We co-operate with the police to the limit of discretion. As for your first question, proper or not, it is no military secret that Nero Wolfe has worked with us on various matters as a civilian consultant — since it has been published in newspapers. Do you regard Wolfe as a competent investigator?”

Shattuck smiled. “I’m a politician. You’re not apt to find me in a minority of one.”

“Well, he’s investigating Cross’s death. For us. If you find out who wrote you that letter, tell him that. That ought to satisfy him.”

“It satisfies me,” Shattuck declared. “I wonder if you’d mind — could I ask Mr. Wolfe a couple of questions?”

“Certainly. If he wants to answer them. I can’t order him to. He’s not in the Army.”

Wolfe grunted. He was displaying all the signs, long familiar to me, of impatience, annoyance, discomfort, and an intense desire to get back home where chairs had been built to specifications to fit the case, and the beer was cold. He snapped:

“Mr. Shattuck. Perhaps I can make your questions unnecessary. Whether they come from idle curiosity, or are in fact sparks from the flame of your burning patriotism, Captain Cross was murdered. Does that answer them?”

Silence. Nobody made a sound. The look that General Fife flashed at Colonel Ryder met one coming back at him, and they both held. Colonel Tinkham’s finger tip made contact with his mustache. Lieutenant Lawson stared at Wolfe, frowning. Shattuck’s eyes, narrowed with a gleam in them, went from face to face.

Lieutenant Lawson said, “Oh, lord.”

Chapter 2

Wolfe was pretending that nothing startling was happening. Not that any of the others could tell there was any pretense about it; nobody else knew him as I did. They probably were not even aware that his half-closed eyes were not missing the slightest twitch of a muscle among the group.

“I’m afraid,” he said dryly, “that there’s nothing in it for you, Mr. Shattuck. No votes, no acclaim, no applause from the multitude. I made the announcement in your presence because there’s no way of proving it and probably never will be. Not a scrap of evidence. Anyone could have taken the hotel elevator and gone to Captain Cross’s room on the twelfth floor, but no one was seen doing so. The mountain of the police machinery has labored — and no mouse. The window was wide open, and he was below on the pavement, squashed, dead. That’s all.”

“Then why the devil,” Lawson demanded, “do you say he was murdered?”

“Because he was. He was as likely to fall from that window by accident as I would be to run for Congress — by accident. He did not deliberately jump out or crawl out. He phoned Colonel Ryder at eight o’clock that evening that he would come to the office in the morning to make a report; that he had had no sleep for two nights and had to rest. He sent a telegram to his fiancée in Boston that he would see her on Saturday. And then committed suicide? Pfui.”

“Oh,” Fife said, crossing his arms on the back of the chair again. “I thought — perhaps you had something.”

“I have that.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “The man was murdered. But no guiding thread can be fastened to the smashed body on the pavement or in the room it fell from. The police have done a thorough job, and there is nothing. Some other point of departure is needed. If the motive was personal, out of his past as a man, the police may find it. They’re trying to. If it was professional, out of his work as a soldier, we may find it in the course of our present activities. That is, if we are to continue? Along the line as it is being developed? With the same personnel?”

Fife studied the corner of Ryder’s desk.

Wolfe said brusquely, “I put a question, General.”

Fife’s head jerked to him. “By all means. Continue? Certainly.”

Shattuck said in a tone of satisfaction, “I don’t think I need to ask you any questions, Mr. Wolfe.”

“May I” Tinkham inquired, “offer a comment?”

“Go ahead,” Fife told him.

“About the — personnel, as Mr. Wolfe put it. This is a complicated and difficult business; we all know that, even if it’s all we know. And judging from what happened to Cross, if Mr. Wolfe is correct, somewhat dangerous. It’s not the sort of enterprise to be entrusted to a kindergarten, and if that’s Mr. Wolfe’s opinion of us — specifically of me—”

“Skin tender?” Fife demanded. “The orders come from me.”

“I was trying,” Wolfe declared, “to educate you, Colonel, not obliterate you.”

“I’m not worrying about my skin.” Tinkham’s voice had emotion in it, which for him was remarkable. “I would like to stay on this job. I merely want to be sure I understand the purpose of Mr. Wolfe’s question about personnel.”

“To get an answer.” Wolfe was eyeing him. “I got it.”

“All the same,” Lawson broke in, addressing General Fife, “Colonel Tinkham has a point. For example, sir, you said just now the orders come from you. But they don’t. At least they haven’t in the two weeks I’ve been in on this. They come either from Colonel Ryder or from Nero Wolfe, and that’s apt to be confusing, and besides, from the tone Wolfe takes he ought to have four stars on his shoulder, and he hasn’t.”

“My God,” Fife said in disgust. “You too. Feelings hurt by the tone Wolfe takes! He’s right. This damn Army is turning into a kindergarten. And if I ship you overseas or back to Washington I’ll only get somebody worse.” He turned to Wolfe. “What about you and Ryder? Has there been any conflict in orders?”

“None that I know of,” Wolfe said patiently.

Fife switched to Ryder. “Any that you know of?”

“No, sir.” Ryder’s answer was a brush-off, as if the matter were of no interest or significance. “Mr. Wolfe has been entirely co-operative and helpful. No one but a fool would resent his mannerisms. But I ought to say— The circumstances— You should know that there will be a change in the setup. I would like to make a request. I respectfully request permission to go to Washington to see General Carpenter. Today.”

For the third time a sudden dead silence fell. Since the rest of us were not professional soldiers, we didn’t grasp immediately all the implications of that request made in that manner; what got us was what happened to General Fife’s face. It froze. I had never seen the old bozo look stupid before, but he sure did then, staring across Ryder’s desk at him.

“Perhaps, sir,” Ryder said, meeting the stare, “I should add that it is not a personal matter. I wish to see General Carpenter on Army business. I have a reservation on the five o’clock plane.”

Silence again. The muscles of Fife’s neck moved, then he spoke. “This is a strange performance, Colonel.” His voice was cold and controlled. “I suppose it can be charged to your unfamiliarity with Army custom. This sort of thing is usually done, if at all, in a less public manner. I offer a suggestion, not official. If you care to, you may discuss it with me privately. Now. Or after lunch, when you’ve thought it over.”

“I’m sorry.” Ryder didn’t sound happy, but he sounded firm. “It wouldn’t help any. I know what I’m doing, sir.”

“By God, I hope you do.”

“Yes, sir. I do. Have I permission to go?”

“You have.” The expression on Fife’s face plainly added, and keep right on going and never come back, but he was being an officer and gentleman in the presence of witnesses. To be fair to him, he didn’t do a bad job at all. He stood up and told Tinkham and Lawson they could go, which they did. Then he invited John Bell Shattuck to have lunch with him, and Shattuck accepted. Fife turned to Wolfe and said it would be a pleasure to have him join them, but Wolfe declined with thanks, saying he had another engagement, which was a lie. He disliked all restaurants, and claimed that the one where General Fife lunched put sulphur in curried lamb. Fife and Shattuck went out together, without another word to Ryder.

Wolfe stood by Ryder’s desk, frowning down at him, waiting for him to look up. Finally Ryder did.

“I think,” Wolfe said, “that you’re a nincompoop. Not a conclusion, merely an opinion.”

“File it for reference,” Ryder said.

“I shall do so. Your brain is not functioning. Your son died. Captain Cross, one of your men, was killed. You are in no condition to make hard decisions. If you have an intelligent friend with a head that works, consult him. Or even a lawyer. Or me.”

“You?” Ryder said. “Now that would be good. That would be just fine.”

Wolfe lifted his shoulders a quarter of an inch, let them drop back into place, said, “Come, Archie,” and started for the door. I returned the suitcase to the chair where I had found it, and followed him. Sergeant Bruce glanced up as we passed through the anteroom. Wolfe ignored her. I halted at her desk and said, “I’ve got something in my eye.”

“That’s too bad,” she said and stood up. “Which eye? Let me see.” I thought, Good lord, where’s she been all these years, falling for that old gag? I bent over to stare into her eyes, not ten inches away, and she stared back into mine.

“I see it,” she said.

“Yeah? What is it?”

“It’s me. In both eyes. No way of getting it out.”

She sat down again and went on typing, absolutely deadpan. I had utterly misjudged her. “Okay,” I conceded, “you’re one up,” and dashed after Wolfe, and found him at the elevator.

There were about a dozen assorted questions I had in mind to ask him, with a chance of finding him inclined to supply at least some of the answers, but the opportunity never arrived. Of course en route was no good, with him in the back seat resenting. The minute we got home he beat it to the kitchen to give Fritz a hand with lunch. They were trying out some kind of a theory involving chicken fat and eggplant. At the table business was always taboo, so I had to listen to him explain why sustained chess-playing would ruin any good field general. Then, because he had missed his morning session up in the plant rooms with the orchids, he had to go up there, and I knew that was no place to start a conversation. I asked him if I should report back downtown, and he said no, he might need me, and since my orders were to nurse Nero Wolfe as required, I went into the office, on the ground floor, did some chores at my desk, and listened to news broadcasts.

At 3:25 the phone rang. It was General Fife. He instructed me, speaking to a subordinate, to deliver Nero Wolfe at his office at four o’clock. I informed him it wouldn’t work. He stated that I should make it work and rang off.

I called him back and said, “Listen. Sir. Do you want him or don’t you? I respectfully remind you that there is no way on God’s earth of getting him except for you, or at least a colonel, to speak to him and tell him what you want.”

“Damn him. Let me talk to him.”

I buzzed the plant room extension, got Wolfe, was told by him to listen in, and did so. It was nothing new. All Fife would say on the phone was that he must have a talk with Wolfe, together with Tinkham and Lawson and me, without delay. Wolfe finally said he’d go. When he came downstairs ten minutes later, I told him, on the way out to the car, “One item you may want, in case you’ve got it entered that it was something that was said this morning that made Ryder decide to go to Washington to see Carpenter. He already had his suitcase there packed.”

“I saw it. Confound the blasted Germans. Don’t let it give that jerk when you start. I’m in no humor for pleasantries.”

We were in the lobby at 17 Duncan Street at 8:55, a few minutes ahead of time. Absent-mindedly, from force of habit, I said “ten” to the elevator man, and it wasn’t until after we had got out at the tenth that I woke up. Fife’s office was on the eleventh. Wolfe was starting the usual rigmarole with the corporal. I said, “Hey, our mistake. We’re on the—”

I never finished, because it came at that instant. The noise wasn’t loud, certainly it wasn’t deafening, but there was something about it that hit you in the spine. Or maybe it wasn’t the noise, but the shaking of the building. Everybody agreed later that the building shook. I doubt it. Maybe it was something that happened to the air. Anyhow, for a second everything inside of me stopped working, and, judging from the look on the corporal’s face, him ditto. Then we both stared in all directions. But Wolfe had already started for the door leading to the inner corridor, barking at me, “It’s that thing. Didn’t I tell you?”

I beat him to the door with a skip and a jump, and closed it when we were through. In the corridor people, mostly in uniform, were looking out of doors, and popping out. Some were headed for the far end of the corridor, a couple of them running. Voices came from up ahead, and a curtain of smoke or dust, or both, came drifting toward us, pushing a sour sharp smell in front of it. We went on into it, to the end, and turned right.

It was one swell mess. It looked exactly like a blurred radiophoto with the caption, Our Troops Taking an Enemy Machine-Gun Nest in a Sicilian Village. Debris, crumbled plaster, a door hanging by one hinge, most of a wall gone, men in uniform looking grim. Standing in what had been the doorway, facing out, was Colonel Tinkham. When two men tried to push past him into what had been Ryder’s room, he barred the way and bellowed, “Stand back! Back to that corner!” They backed up, but only about five paces, where they bumped into Wolfe and me. Others were behind us and around us.

From the commotion in the rear one voice was suddenly heard above the others: “General Fife!”

A lane opened up, and in a moment Fife came striding through. At sight of him Tinkham moved forward from the doorway, and behind Tinkham, from within, came Lieutenant Lawson. They both saluted, which may sound silly, but somehow didn’t look silly. Fife returned it and asked, “What’s in there?”

Lawson spoke. “Colonel Ryder, sir.”

“Dead?”

“Good God, yes. All blown apart.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

“No, sir. No sign of anybody.”

“I’ll take a look. Tinkham, clear this hall. Everybody back where they belong. No one is to leave the premises.”

Nero Wolfe rumbled in my ear, “This confounded dust. And smell. Come, Archie.”

That was the only occasion I remember when he willingly climbed a flight of stairs. Not knowing what orders had already been given to the corporal by the elevators, he probably wanted to avoid delay. Nobody interfered with us, since going to the eleventh floor was not leaving the premises. He marched straight through the anteroom to General Fife’s office, with me at his heels, straight to the big leather chair with its back to a window, sat down, got himself properly adjusted, and told me:

“Telephone that place, wherever it is, and tell them to send some beer.”

Chapter 3

Our old friend and foe, Inspector Cramer of the Homicide Squad, tilted his cigar up from the corner of his mouth and again ran his eye over the sheet of paper in his hand. I had typed the thing myself from General Fife’s dictation. It read:

Colonel Harold Ryder of the United States Army was accidentally killed at four o’clock this afternoon when a grenade exploded in his office at 17 Duncan Street. It is not known exactly how the accident occurred. The grenade was of a new type, with great explosive power, not yet issued to our forces, and was in Colonel Ryder’s possession officially, in the line of duty. Colonel Ryder was attached to the New York unit of Military Intelligence headed by Brigadier General Mortimer Fife.

“Even so,” Cramer growled, “it’s pretty skimpy.”

Wolfe was still in the big leather chair, with three empty beer bottles on the window sill behind him. Fife was seated behind his desk. I had stepped across to hand Cramer the paper and then propped myself against the wall at ease.

“You may elaborate it as you see fit,” Fife suggested without enthusiasm. He looked a little bedraggled.

“Sure.” Cramer removed his cigar. “Elaborate it with what?” He waved it away with the cigar. “You’re an Army man. I’m a policeman. I’m paid by the City of New York to investigate sudden or suspicious death. So I need facts. Such as, where did the grenade come from and how did it get into his desk drawer? How much carelessness would it take to make it go off accidentally? Such as, can I see one like it? Military security says nothing doing. What I don’t know won’t hurt me. But it does hurt me.”

Fife said, “I let you bring your men in and go over it.”

“Damn sweet of you.” Cramer was really upset. “This building is not United States property and it’s in my borough, and you talk about letting me!” He waggled the sheet of paper. “Look here, General. You know how it is as well as I do. Ordinarily, if there was no background to this, I’d rub it out without a murmur. But Captain Cross was working under Ryder, that’s one fact I’ve got, and Cross was murdered. And right here in the building, here when it happened, and sitting here now in your office when I enter, is Nero Wolfe. I’ve known Wolfe for something like twenty years, and I’ll tell you this. Show me a corpse, any corpse, under the most ideal and innocent circumstances, with a certificate signed by every doctor in New York, including the Medical Examiner. Then show me Nero Wolfe anywhere within reach, exhibiting the faintest sign of interest, and I order the squad to go to work immediately.”

“Bosh.” Wolfe nearly opened his eyes. “Have I ever imposed on you, Mr. Cramer?”

“What!” Cramer goggled at him. “You’ve never done anything else!”

“Nonsense. At any rate, I’m not imposing on you now. All this is a waste of time. You know very well you can’t bulldoze the Army, especially not this branch of it.” Wolfe sighed. “I’ll do you a favor. I believe the mess down there hasn’t been disturbed. I’ll go down and take a look at it. I’ll consider the situation, what I know of it, which is more than you’re likely ever to find out. Tomorrow I’ll phone you and give you my opinion. How will that do?”

“And meanwhile?” Cramer demanded.

“Meanwhile you take your men out of here and stay out. I remind you of the opinion I gave you regarding Captain Cross.”

Cramer stuck his cigar back in his mouth and clamped his teeth on it, folded the paper and put it in his pocket, leaned back, and hooked his thumbs in the armholes of his vest, with an air implying that he was there for the duration. He was glaring at Wolfe. Then he jerked forward in his chair and growled, “Phone me tonight.”

“No.” Wolfe was positive. “Tomorrow.”

Cramer regarded him three seconds more, then stood up and addressed General Fife. “I’ve got nothing against the Army. As an Army. We can’t fight a war without an Army. But it would suit me fine if the whole goddamn outfit would clear out of my borough and get on ships bound for Germany.” He turned and went.

Wolfe sighed again.

Fife pursed his lips and shook his head. “You can’t blame him.”

“No,” Wolfe agreed. “Mr. Cramer is constantly leaping at the throat of evil and finding himself holding on for dear life to the tip of its tail.”

“What?” Fife squinted at him. “Oh. I suppose so.” He got out his handkerchief and used it on his brow and face and neck, removing an old smear but producing new ones. He shot me a glance, and went back to Wolfe. “About Ryder. I’d rather discuss it with you privately.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Not without Major Goodwin. I use his memory. Also for years I’ve found his presence an irritant which stimulates my cells. What about Ryder? Wasn’t it an accident?”

“I suppose it was. What do you think?”

“I haven’t thought. Nowhere to start. Could it have been an accident? If he took it from the drawer and it dropped on the floor?”

“No,” Fife declared. “Out of the question. Anyway, it was somewhere above the desk when it exploded. The desk top was smashed downward. And that pin is joltproof. It requires a sharp firm lateral pull.”

“Then it wasn’t an accident,” Wolfe said placidly. “Suicide remains, and so does— By the way, what about that woman in his anteroom? That female in uniform. Where was she?”

“Not there. Out to lunch.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe’s brows went up. “At four o’clock?”

“So she told Tinkham. He spoke with her when she returned. She’s waiting outside now. I sent for her.”

“Get her in here. And may I—?”

“Certainly.” Fife lifted his phone and spoke in it.

In a moment the door opened and Sergeant Bruce entered. She came in three steps, getting the three of us at a glance, stopped with her heels together, and snapped a salute. She appeared to be quite herself, only extremely solemn. She advanced when she was told to.

“This is Nero Wolfe,” Fife said. “He’ll ask you some questions, and you’ll answer as from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sit down,” Wolfe told her. “Archie, if you’ll move that chair around? Excuse me, General, if I violate regulations, a major waiting on a sergeant, but I find it impossible to regard a woman as a soldier and don’t intend to try.” He looked at her. “Miss Bruce. That’s your name?”

“Yes, sir. Dorothy Bruce.”

“You were at lunch when that thing exploded?”

“Yes, sir.” Her voice was as clear and composed as it had been when she told me she was in my eye.

“Is that your usual lunch hour? Four o’clock?”

“No, sir. Shall I explain?”

“Please. With a minimum of sirs. I am not a field marshal in disguise. Go ahead.”

“Yes, sir. I beg your pardon, that was automatic. I have no usual lunch hour. At Colonel Ryder’s request, I mean his order, I have been going to lunch whenever he did, so I would be on duty when he was in his office. Today he didn’t go to lunch — that is, I don’t think he did — at least he didn’t come out through the anteroom and let me know he was going, as he always had done. When he called me in at a quarter to four to give me some instructions, he asked if I had had lunch and said he had forgotten about it, and told me to go then. I went down to the corner drugstore and had a sandwich and coffee. I got back at twenty past four.”

Wolfe’s half-closed eyes never left her face. “The corner drugstore?” he inquired mildly. “Didn’t you hear the explosion or see any excitement?”

“No, sir. The drugstore is a block and a half away, around on Mitchell Street.”

“You say Colonel Ryder didn’t go to lunch? Was he constantly in his office right through to a quarter to four?”

“I think I qualified that. I said he didn’t come out through the anteroom. Of course he could have left by the other door at any time, the one direct from his room to the outer hall, and re-entered the same way. He often used that door.”

“Was that door kept locked?”

“Usually it was, yes, sir.” She hesitated. “Should I confine myself to the question?”

“We want information, Miss Bruce. If you have it we want it.”

“Only about that door. Colonel Ryder had a key to it, of course. But on two occasions I saw him, going out that way, intending to return soon, push the button that released the lock so that he could get back in without using the key. If you want details like that—”

“We do. Have you got some more?”

She shook her head. “No, sir. I only mentioned that because you asked if that door was kept locked.”

“Have you any idea how this thing happened?”

“Why—” Her eyes flickered. “I thought — I understand it was a grenade Colonel Ryder had in his desk.”

Fife shot at her, “How do you know it was a grenade?”

Her head pivoted to him. “Because, sir, everyone is saying that it was. If it was a secret — it isn’t now.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Wolfe said peevishly. “If you please, General. Have you any idea, Miss Bruce, how the grenade got exploded?”

“Certainly not! I mean — no, sir.”

“It is permissible to mean certainly not,” Wolfe murmured at her. “You know nothing whatever about it?”

“No, sir.”

“What were the instructions Colonel Ryder gave you at a quarter to four when he called you in?”

“Only routine matters. He said he was leaving for the day, and told me to sign the letters, and that he wouldn’t be in tomorrow and I should cancel any appointments he had.”

“That was all?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You were his confidential secretary?”

“Well — I don’t know how confidential I was. I have been here less than two weeks and had never met Colonel Ryder before. I suppose, really, for that sort of job, I was still on trial. I only came up from Washington ten days ago.”

“What had you been doing in Washington?”

“I was secretary to one of General Carpenter’s assistants. Lieutenant Colonel Adams.”

Wolfe grunted, and closed his eyes. Sergeant Bruce sat and waited. Fife had his lips pressed into a straighter line than usual, apparently restraining himself. He wasn’t accustomed to playing audience while someone else asked questions, but probably hadn’t forgotten the time Wolfe had made him look silly in front of three lieutenants and a private who had been tailing a distinguished visitor from Mexico. Wolfe grunted again, this time what I called his number-three grunt, which meant he was displeased, and I had no idea what had riled him. I thought Sergeant Bruce had been courteous, co-operative, and cute. Then he opened his eyes, shifted his center of gravity, and got his hands braced on the chair arms, and of course that explained it. He was displeased because he had decided he was going to stand up.

He did so, rumbling, “That’s all for the present, Miss Bruce. You’ll be available, of course. As you know, General, I promised Mr. Cramer I’d take a look at the ruins. Come, Archie.” He took a step. But Fife stopped him:

“Just a minute, please. All right, Bruce, you may go.”

She arose, hesitated a moment, then faced the general. “May I ask you something, sir?”

“Yes. What?”

“They won’t let me take anything from my room, sir. I have some things — just personal belongings — I was away over the week-end and came direct to the office from the station this morning. Colonel Ryder gave me a passout — but I suppose it isn’t valid — now.”

“All right, go ahead.” Fife sounded fed up. “I’ll send instructions to Colonel Tinkham— By the way—” He squinted at her. “You have no office and no job. Temporarily. You sound intelligent and capable. Are you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The devil you are. We’ll see. Report in my anteroom tomorrow morning. If you have favorite tools, bring them with you. You’d better get them out of there now, that place will be cleaned up tonight. Tell Colonel Tinkham — no, I’ll tell him. You may go.”

She saluted, whirled, and went out like a soldier.

Fife waited until the door had closed behind her before he spoke to Wolfe. “You were saying something. Before we had Bruce come in.”

“Nothing of importance.” Wolfe was curt, as always when he talked standing up. “Accident, no. Suicide, possibly. Murder? It appears that anyone might have entered that room when Ryder wasn’t there, without being observed, since Ryder might have gone out by the hall door and left it unlocked.”

“Entered? And then what?”

“Oh, as his fancy struck him. Got the grenade from the desk. Took it away. Later, when Miss Bruce left, entered the anteroom, opened the door there into Ryder’s room, pulled the pin from the grenade, tossed it at Ryder, and pumped back into the hall. That, of course, raises the interesting point that presumably only six people knew the grenade was there: Tinkham, Lawson, Shattuck, you, Goodwin, me. I know of nothing that eliminates anyone but the last two. Take you, for instance. You’ve been here all afternoon?”

Fife’s lips tightened in a grim smile. “That’s a good plan; start at the top. Yes, I’ve been here, but I’m afraid I can’t prove I haven’t left this room. Shattuck came back with me after lunch, but he left around two-thirty. Then I dictated for half an hour, but after that I guess you have me.”

Wolfe grunted. “Bah! This is nothing but gibberish, as it stands now. I’ll run down and take a look.”

He stalked out and I followed. As I was pulling the front door to, softly since it was a general’s door, I heard Fife at his phone asking for Colonel Tinkham.

There was delay down on the tenth floor, at the scene. In what had been the doorway to Colonel Ryder’s room from the hall stood a corporal with accouterments. The fact that he would have weighed over 200 even without the accouterments made it seem all the more formidable when he said no one could enter, including us. When Wolfe told me to go and get Fife and haul him down there, I stalled; and, as I expected, in a minute Colonel Tinkham arrived to tell the corporal it was okay, orders from General Fife. Then Tinkham joined our party by preceding us into the shambles. Wolfe asked him if anything had been taken out, and Tinkham said no, the police had given it a good going over but hadn’t been permitted to remove anything, and neither had anyone else.

It was still broad daylight in that corner room, with a nice breeze from the windows, since there was no glass left in them. As we looked things over, stepping to avoid chunks of plaster and similar obstructions, various details were worthy of note. By a freak of the blast, the partition to the hall was a wreck, but the one to the anteroom only had a couple of cracks. The door to the anteroom was standing open, and looked intact but a little cockeyed. Two of the chairs were nothing but splinters, four were battered and scarred, and Ryder’s own chair, against the wall back of his desk, didn’t have a mark. The desk top was smashed and pockmarked, as if someone had first dropped a two-ton weight on it and then used it for a target with a shotgun loaded with slugs. On it and all around that area were bloodstains, from single drops up to a big blob the size of a dishpan on the floor back of the desk. The remains of the suitcase and its contents, also on the floor, were over near the door to the anteroom, the contents strewn around, the suitcase twisted and riddled so that for a second I didn’t recognize it. Everywhere, in all directions, were little pieces of metal, as small as the head of a pin or as big as a thumbnail, black on one side and pink on the other. Anyone anywhere in that room when the thing exploded would have stopped at least a dozen of them — and they would have stopped him. I dropped a couple in my pocket to add to my collection in a drawer at home.

I also acquired another souvenir. A piece of folded paper in the jumble of the contents of the suitcase looked familiar. Wolfe and Tinkham were at the other side of the room. I stooped and snared the paper, saw at a glance that it was the anonymous letter to Shattuck that had started the morning’s conference, and slipped it into my inside breast pocket.

We were still poking around, observing and commenting, and Tinkham was still acting as chaperon, when I became aware that company had arrived next door. I stepped through to the anteroom. Sergeant Bruce was standing there, frowning at a tennis racket she held in her hand.

“Damaged?” I inquired brightly.

“No, sir.”

Nuts, I thought, this sir stuff is worse than a suit of armor. She put the racket into a fiber shipping carton that stood on the floor with its end flaps open, and moved around behind her desk. The place was thick with dust, and things were displaced, but nothing seemed to be hurt much.

“Can I help?”

“No, sir, thanks.”

Some day, I said to myself grimly, or rather to her but not audibly, matters will be so arranged that, whether you’re worth it or not, sir will be as far from your mind as —

“Archie!” It was a bellow.

“At ease,” I told her gruffly, and faded.

Wolfe and Tinkham were at the other end of the room, over by the corporal.

“Take me home,” Wolfe said.

There was never any dillydallying when Wolfe had decided to go home. The look on Tinkham’s face gave me the impression that he either had some questions he would like to ask, or that he had got no answers to some he had already asked, but all he did get was a request from Wolfe to inform General Fife that he would communicate with him in the morning.

There was a crowd down on the sidewalk, and a bigger one across the street. Any broken glass that had descended from the tenth floor two hours ago had been cleaned up. As we made our way through to where the car was parked, I heard a man tell a girl, “A big bomb exploded and killed eighty people and two generals.” That was a little surprising, but driving home, going up Varick Street, Wolfe said something that was much more so. From the back seat he told me plainly, “Go a little faster, Archie.” That flammed me. As I said, he never talked while undergoing the hazards of motorized movement, and him asking for more speed was about the same as a private asking for more K.P. Anyhow, I obliged.

He muttered under his breath, probably a prayer of thanks, as we stopped in front of the house, and then, as I opened my door and started to wriggle from behind the wheel, he spoke. “Don’t get out. You’re going somewhere.”

“Oh. I am.”

“Yes. Back downtown. General Fife said that place will be cleaned up tonight. They may start at any moment, and I want that suitcase. Get it and bring it here. Just the case. I don’t want the contents. Exactly as it is; don’t bend it or do any tampering with it.”

I had twisted around to glare at him. He had opened his door and was climbing out. “You mean,” I demanded, “Ryder’s suitcase?”

“I do.” He was on the sidewalk. “It’s important. Also it is doubly important that no one should see you taking it. Especially Lieutenant Lawson, Colonel Tinkham, General Fife, or Miss Bruce, but preferably no one.”

I seldom sputter, but I sputtered. “That suitcase — from under their noses — listen. Will you settle for the moon? Glad to get the moon for you. Do you realize—”

“Certainly I realize. It’s a difficult errand. I doubt if there is another man anywhere, in the Army or out, who could safely be entrusted with it.”

He sure wanted that suitcase, to be ladling it out like that.

“Bushwah,” I said, and opened my door and crawled out, and headed for the stoop.

He snapped after me. “Where are you going?”

“To get a receptacle!” I called over my shoulder. “Do you think I’m going to hang it around my neck?”

Three minutes later I was on my way back to Duncan Street, the rear seat occupied not by Wolfe but by a man-size suitcase that I had got from the closet in his room. I had one of my own just as big, but I wasn’t going to risk my personal property in addition to my career as a warrior. I was sorry I hadn’t read up more fully on the regulations about courts-martial. Not that I wasted the minutes en route being sorry. I used them to consider ways and means. My watch said 6:30, and at that hour of the day I couldn’t tell what I would be up against until I had executed a patrol. You never knew around there; anyone might be out or in; anyone might leave for the day any time between four and midnight. I had my mind started on about three and a half different plans, but by the time I got to Duncan Street I had decided that I couldn’t lay out a campaign until I had looked the ground over and done a reconnaissance on the enemy.

On the tenth floor I returned the corporal’s salute, indicating by my posture that the receptable, in my left hand, was a little hefty, assumed an urgent expression, and asked him if he had seen Lieutenant Lawson go out.

“Yes, sir. He left about twenty minutes ago.”

“Damn it. Colonel Tinkham too?”

“No, sir. I think he’s in his office.”

“Have you seen General Fife around?”

“Not for an hour or more, sir. He may be upstairs.”

I breezed through to the inner corridor. No one in sight. The door to my room was about twenty paces down normally, and it took me not more than fourteen. Inside I took a breath, and deposited the big suitcase on my desk. It began to seem more possible. Like this. I go to the scene and tell the corporal Nero Wolfe sent me back to do a close-up on something. I enter and examine the top of Ryder’s desk with my little glass. I make noises of dissatisfaction and tell the corporal to go ask Major Goodman if I may borrow his big magnifying glass, Goodman’s office being on the eleventh floor. The corporal goes, I grab the suitcase, dive down the hall to my room, and cache it in Wolfe’s case. That would be the only risk, the five seconds negotiating the hall. The rest would be pie. I turned it over and around, looking for a way to reduce the risk still more, but decided that was the minimum.

I got the little glass from a drawer of my desk and stuck it in my pocket, went out and down the corridor, turned the corner, saw that the same corporal was on guard and no one else around, said my little piece to him, was passed in without any question, crossed to Ryder’s desk, and began inspecting it with the glass. But my heart wasn’t in my work because I had had plenty of time, approaching the desk, to perceive that the suitcase wasn’t there.

Chapter 4

I continued to inspect the desk, remarking to myself meanwhile, “Of all the blank blink blonk blunk luck.”

Since nothing more helpful than that occurred to me, I finally straightened up for a comprehensive survey. As far as I could see, everything was as before with the single exception of the suitcase. I went over to the corporal.

“Anyone been in here since Colonel Tinkham and Wolfe and I left?”

“No, sir. Oh yes, Colonel Tinkham came back shortly afterward. General Fife was with him.”

“Oh,” I said casually, “then I guess they took that chair.”

“Chair?”

“Yeah, one of the chairs Wolfe wanted me to examine — it seems to be gone — I’ll go and see—”

“There can’t be a chair gone, sir. Nobody took any chair or anything else.”

“You’re sure of that? Not even General Fife or Colonel Tinkham?”