Chapter 1

Wolfe looked at our visitor with his eyes wide open — a sign, with him, either of indifference or of irritation. In this case it was obvious that he was irritated.

“I repeat, Mr. Frost, it is useless,” he declared. “I never leave my home on business. No man’s pertinacity can coerce me. I told you that five days ago. Good day, sir.”

Llewellyn Frost blinked, but made no move to acknowledge the dismissal. On the contrary, he settled back in his chair.

He nodded patiently. “I know, I humored you last Wednesday, Mr. Wolfe, because there was another possibility that seemed worth trying. But it was no good. Now there’s no other way. You’ll have to go up there. You can forget your build-up as an eccentric genius for once — anyhow, an exception will do it good. The flaw that heightens the perfection. The stutter that accents the eloquence. Good Lord, it’s only twenty blocks, Fifty-second between Fifth and Madison. A taxi will take us there in eight minutes.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe stirred in his chair; he was boiling. “How old are you, Mr. Frost?”

“Me? Twenty-nine.”

“Hardly young enough to justify your childish effrontery. So. You humored me! You speak of my build-up! And you undertake to stampede me into a frantic dash through the maelstrom of the city’s traffic — in a taxicab! Sir, I would not enter a taxicab for a chance to solve the Sphinx’s deepest riddle with all the Nile’s cargo as my reward!” He sank his voice to an outraged murmur. “Good God. A taxicab.”

I grinned a bravo at him, twirling my pencil as I sat at my desk, eight feet from his. Having worked for Nero Wolfe for nine years, there were a few points I wasn’t skeptical about any more. For instance: That he was the best private detective north of the South Pole. That he was convinced that outdoor air was apt to clog the lungs. That it short-circuited his nervous system to be jiggled and jostled. That he would have starved to death if anything had happened to Fritz Brenner, on account of his firm belief that no one’s cooking but Fritz’s was fit to eat. There were other points too, of a different sort, but I’ll pass them up since Nero Wolfe will probably read this.

Young Mr. Frost quietly stared at him. “You’re having a grand time, Mr. Wolfe. Aren’t you?” Frost nodded. “Sure you are. A girl has been murdered. Another one — maybe more — is in danger. You offer yourself as an expert in these matters, don’t you? That part’s all right, there’s no question but that you’re an expert. And a girl’s been murdered, and others are in great and immediate peril, and you rant like Booth and Barrett about a taxicab in a maelstrom. I appreciate good acting; I ought to, since I’m in show business. But in your case I should think there would be times when a decent regard for human suffering and misfortune would make you wipe off the make-up. And if you’re really playing it straight, that only makes it worse. If, rather than undergo a little personal inconvenience—”

“No good, Mr. Frost.” Wolfe was slowly shaking his head. “Do you expect to bully me into a defense of my conduct? Nonsense. If a girl has been murdered, there are the police. Others are in peril? They have my sympathy, but they hold no option on my professional services. I cannot chase perils away with a wave of my hand, and I will not ride in a taxicab. I will not ride in anything, even my own car with Mr. Goodwin driving, except to meet my personal contingencies. You observe my bulk. I am not immovable, but my flesh has a constitutional reluctance to sudden, violent or sustained displacement. You spoke of ‘decent regard.’ How about a decent regard for the privacy of my dwelling? I use this room as an office, but this house is my home. Good day, sir.”

The young man flushed, but did not move. “You won’t go?” he demanded.

“I will not.”

“Twenty blocks, eight minutes, your own car.”

“Confound it, no.”

Frost frowned at him. He muttered to himself, “They don’t come any stubborner.” He reached to his inside coat pocket and pulled out some papers, selected one and unfolded it and glanced at it, and returned the others. He looked at Wolfe:

“I’ve spent most of two days getting this thing signed. Now, wait a minute, hold your horses. When Molly Lauck was poisoned, a week ago today, it looked phony from the beginning. By Wednesday, two days later, it was plain that the cops were running around in circles, and I came to you. I know about you, I know you’re the one and only. As you know, I tried to get McNair and the others down here to your office and they wouldn’t come, and I tried to get you up there and you wouldn’t go, and I invited you to go to hell. That was five days ago. I’ve paid another detective three hundred dollars for a lot of nothing, and the cops from the inspector down are about as good as Fanny Brice would be for Juliet. Anyhow, it’s a tough one, and I doubt if anyone could crack it but you. I decided that Saturday, and during the weekend I covered a lot of territory.” He pushed the paper at Wolfe. “What do you say to that?”

Wolfe took it and read it. I saw his eyes go slowly half-shut, and knew that whatever it was, its effect on his irritation was pronounced. He glanced over it again, looked at Llewellyn Frost through slits, and then extended the paper toward me. I got up to take it. It was typewritten on a sheet of good bond, plain, and was dated New York City, March 28, 1936:

To Mr. Nero Wolfe: At the request of Llewellyn Frost, we, the undersigned, beg you and urge you to investigate the death of Molly Lauck, who was poisoned on March 23 at the office of Boyden McNair Incorporated on 52nd Street, New York. We entreat you to visit McNair’s office for that purpose. We respectfully remind you that once each year you leave your home to attend the Metropolitan Orchid Show, and we suggest that the present urgency, while not as great to you personally, appears to us to warrant an equal sacrifice of your comfort and convenience. With high esteem, Winold Glueckner Cuyler Ditson T. M. O’Gorman Raymond Plehn Chas. E. Shanks Christopher Bamford

I handed the document back to Wolfe and sat down and grinned at him. He folded it and slipped it under the block of petrified wood which he used for a paperweight. Frost said:

“That was the best I could think of, to get you. I had to have you. This thing has to be ripped open. I got Del Pritchard up there and he was lost. I had to get you somehow. Will you come?”

Wolfe’s forefinger was doing a little circle on the arm of his chair. “Why the devil,” he demanded, “did they sign that thing?”

“Because I asked them to. I explained. I told them that no one but you could solve it and you had to be persuaded. I told them that besides money and food the only thing you were interested in was orchids, and that there was nobody who could exert any influence on you but them, the best orchid-growers in America. I had letters of introduction to them. I did it right. You notice I restricted my list to the very best. Will you come?”

Wolfe sighed. “Alec Martin has forty thousand plants at Rutherford. He wouldn’t sign it, eh?”

“He would if I’d gone after him. Glueckner told me that you regard Martin as tricky and an inferior grower. Will you come?”

“Humbug.” Wolfe sighed again. “An infernal imposition.” He wiggled a finger at the young man. “Look here. You seem to be prepared to stop at nothing. You interrupt these expert and worthy men at their tasks to get them to sign this idiotic paper. You badger me. Why?”

“Because I want you to solve this case.”

“Why me?”

“Because no one else can. Wait till you see—”

“Yes. Thank you. But why your overwhelming interest in the case? The murdered girl — what was she to you?”

“Nothing.” Frost hesitated. He went on, “She was nothing to me. I knew her — an acquaintance. But the danger — damn it, let me tell you about it. The way it happened—”

“Please, Mr. Frost.” Wolfe was crisp. “Permit me. If the murdered girl was nothing to you, what standing will there be for an investigator engaged by you? If you could not persuade Mr. McNair and the others to come to me, it would be futile for me to go to them.”

“No, it wouldn’t. I’ll explain that—”

“Very well. Another point. I charge high fees.”

The young man flushed. “I know you do.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Look, Mr. Wolfe. I’ve thrown away a lot of my father’s money since I put on long pants. A good gob of it in the past two years, producing shows, and they were all flops. But now I’ve got a hit. It opened two weeks ago, and it’s a ten weeks buy. Bullets for Breakfast. I’ll have plenty of cash to pay your fee. If only you’ll find out where the hell that poison came from — and help me find a way...”

He stopped. Wolfe prompted him, “Yes, sir? A way—”

Frost frowned. “A way to get my cousin out of that murderous hole. My ortho-cousin, the daughter of my father’s brother.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe surveyed him. “Are you an anthropologist?”

“No.” Frost flushed again. “I told you, I’m in show business. I can pay your fee — within reason, or even without reason. But we ought to have an understanding about that. Of course the amount of the fee is up to you, but my idea would be to split it, half to find out where that candy came from, and the other half for getting my cousin Helen away from that place. She’s as stubborn as you are, and you’ll probably have to earn the first half of the fee in order to earn the second, but I don’t care if you don’t. If you get her out of there without clearing up Molly Lauck’s death, half the fee is yours anyhow. But Helen won’t scare, that won’t work, and she has some kind of a damn fool idea about loyalty to this McNair, Boyden McNair. Uncle Boyd, she calls him. She’s known him all her life. He’s an old friend of Aunt Callie’s, Helen’s mother. Then there’s this dope, Gebert — but I’d better start at the beginning and sketch it — hey! You going now?”

Wolfe had pushed his chair back and elevated himself to his feet. He moved around the end of his desk with his customary steady and not ungraceful deliberation.

“Keep your seat, Mr. Frost. It is four o’clock, and I now spend two hours with my plants upstairs. Mr. Goodwin will take the details of the poisoning of Miss Molly Lauck — and of your family complications if they seem pertinent. For the fourth time, I believe it is, good day, sir.” He headed for the door.

Frost jumped up, sputtering. “But you’re coming uptown—”

Wolfe halted and ponderously turned. “Confound you, you know perfectly well I am! But I’ll tell you this, if Alec Martin’s signature had been on that outlandish paper I would have thrown it in the wastebasket. He splits bulbs. Splits them! — Archie. We shall meet Mr. Frost at the McNair place tomorrow morning at ten minutes past eleven.”

He turned and went, disregarding the client’s protest at the delay. Through the open office door I heard, from the hall, the grunt of the elevator as he stepped in it, and the bang of its door.

Llewellyn Frost turned to me, and the color in his face may have been from gratification at his success, or from indignation at its postponement. I looked him over as a client — his wavy light brown hair brushed back, his wide-open brown eyes that left the matter of intelligence to a guess, his big nose and broad jaw which made his face too heavy even for his six feet.

“Anyhow, I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Goodwin.” He sat down. “You were clever about it, too, keeping that Martin out of it. It was a big favor you did me, and I assure you I won’t forget—”

“Wrong number.” I waved him off. “I told you at the time, I keep all my favors for myself. I suggested that round robin only to try to drum up some business, and for a scientific experiment to find out how many ergs it would take to jostle him loose. We haven’t had a case that was worth anything for nearly three months.” I got hold of a notebook and pencil, and swiveled around and pulled my desk-leaf out. “And by the way, Mr. Frost, don’t you forget that you thought of that round robin yourself. I’m not supposed to think.”

“Certainly,” he nodded. “Strictly confidential. I’ll never mention it.”

“Okay.” I flipped the notebook open to the next blank page. “Now for this murder you want to buy a piece of. Spill it.”

Chapter 2

So the next morning I had Nero Wolfe braving the elements — the chief element for that day being bright warm March sunshine. I say I had him, because I had conceived the persuasion which was making him burst all precedents. What pulled him out of his front door, enraged and grim, with overcoat, scarf, gloves, stick, something he called gaiters, and a black felt pirate’s hat size 8 pulled down to his ears, was the name of Winold Glueckner heading the signatures on the letter — Glueckner, who had recently received from an agent in Sarawak four bulbs of a pink Coellogyne pandurata, never seen before, and had scorned Wolfe’s offer of three thousand bucks for two of them. Knowing what a tough old heinie Glueckner was, I had my doubts whether he would turn loose of the bulbs no matter how many murders Wolfe solved at his request, but anyhow I had lit the fuse.

Driving from the house on 35th Street near the Hudson River — where Wolfe had lived for over twenty years and I had lived with him — to the address on 52nd Street, I handled the sedan so as to keep it as smooth as a dip’s fingers. Except for one I couldn’t resist; on Fifth Avenue near Forty-third there was an ideal little hole about two feet across where I suppose someone had been prospecting for the twenty-six dollars they paid the Indians, and I maneuvered to hit it square at a good clip. I glanced in the mirror for a glimpse of Wolfe in the back seat and saw he was looking bitter and infuriated.

I said, “Sorry, sir, they’re tearing up the streets.”

He didn’t answer.

From what Llewellyn Frost had told me the day before about the place of business of Boyden McNair Incorporated — all of which had gone into my notebook and been read to Nero Wolfe Monday evening — I hadn’t realized the extent of its aspirations in the way of class. We met Llewellyn Frost downstairs, just inside the entrance. One of the first things I saw and heard, as Frost led us to the elevator to take us to the second floor, where the offices and private showrooms were, was a saleswoman who looked like a cross between a countess and Texas Guinan, telling a customer that in spite of the fact that the little green sport suit on the model was of High Meadow Loom hand-woven material and designed by Mr. McNair himself, it could be had for a paltry three hundred. I thought of the husband and shivered and crossed my fingers as I stepped into the elevator. And I remarked to myself, “I’ll say it’s a sinister joint.”

The floor above was just as elegant, but quieter. There was no merchandise at all in sight, no saleswomen and no customers. A long wide corridor had doors on both sides at intervals, with etchings and hunting prints here and there on the wood paneling, and in the large room where we emerged from the elevator there were silk chairs and gold smoking stands and thick deep-colored rugs. I took that in at a glance and then centered my attention on the side of the room opposite the corridor, where a couple of goddesses were sitting on a settee. One of them, a blonde with dark blue eyes, was such a pronounced pippin that I had to stare so as not to blink, and the other one, slender and medium-dark, while not as remarkable, was a cinch in a contest for Miss Fifty-second Street.

The blonde nodded at us. The slender one said, “Hello, Lew.”

Llewellyn Frost nodded back. “ ’Lo, Helen. See you later.”

As we went down the corridor I said to Wolfe, “See that? I mean, them? You ought to get around more. What are orchids to a pair of blossoms like that?”

He only grunted at me.

Frost knocked at the last door on the right, opened it, and stood aside for us to precede him. It was a large room, fairly narrow but long, and there was only enough let-up on the elegance to allow for the necessities of an office. The rugs were just as thick as up front, and the furniture was Decorators’ Delight. The windows were covered with heavy yellow silk curtains, sweeping in folds to the floor, and the light came from glass chandeliers as big as barrels.

Frost said, “Mr. Nero Wolfe. Mr. Goodwin. Mr. McNair.”

The man at the desk with carved legs got up and stuck out a paw, without enthusiasm. “How do you do, gentlemen. Be seated. Another chair, Lew?”

Wolfe looked grim. I glanced around at the chairs, and saw I’d have to act quick, for I knew that Wolfe was absolutely capable of running out on us for less than that, and having got him this far I was going to hold on to him if possible. I stepped around to the other side of the desk and put a hand on Boyden McNair’s chair. He was still standing up.

“If you don’t mind, sir. Mr. Wolfe prefers a roomy seat, just one of his whims. The other chairs are pretty damn narrow. If you don’t mind?”

By that time I had it shoved around where Wolfe could take it. McNair stared. I brought one of the Decorators’ Delights around for him, tossed him a grin, and went around and sat down by Llewellyn Frost.

McNair said to Frost, “Well, Lew, you know I’m busy. Did you tell these gentlemen I agreed to give them fifteen minutes?”

Frost glanced at Wolfe and then looked back at McNair. I could see his hands, with the fingers twined, resting on his thigh; the fingers were pressed tight. He said, “I told them I had persuaded you to see them. I don’t believe fifteen minutes will be enough—”

“It’ll have to be enough. I’m busy. This is a busy season.” McNair had a thin tight voice and he kept shifting in his chair — that is, temporarily his chair. He went on, “Anyway, what’s the use? What can I do?” He spread out his hands, glanced at his wrist watch, and looked at Wolfe. “I promised Lew fifteen minutes. I am at your service until 11:20.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Judging from Mr. Frost’s story, I shall need more. Two hours or more, I should say.”

“Impossible,” McNair snapped. “I’m busy. Now, fourteen minutes.”

“This is preposterous.” Wolfe braced his hands on the arms of the borrowed chair and raised himself to his feet. He stopped Frost’s ejaculation by showing him a palm, looked down at McNair and said quietly, “I didn’t need to come here to see you, sir. I did so in acknowledgment of an idiotic but charming gesture conceived and executed by Mr. Frost. I understand that Mr. Cramer of the police has had several conversations with you, and that he is violently dissatisfied with the lack of progress in his investigation of the murder of one of your employees on your premises. Mr. Cramer has a high opinion of my abilities. I shall telephone him within an hour and suggest that he bring you — and other persons — to my office.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. “For much longer than fifteen minutes.”

He moved. I got up. Frost started after him.

“Wait!” McNair called out. “Wait a minute, you don’t understand!” Wolfe turned and stood. McNair continued, “In the first place, why try to browbeat me? That’s ridiculous. Cramer couldn’t take me to your office, or any place, if I didn’t care to go, you know that. Of course Molly — of course the murder was terrible. Good God, don’t I know it? And naturally I’ll do anything I can to help clear it up. But what’s the use? I’ve told Cramer everything I know, we’ve been over it a dozen times. Sit down.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead and nose, started to return it to his pocket and then threw it on the desk. “I’m going to have a breakdown. Sit down. I worked fourteen hours a day getting the spring line ready, enough to kill a man, and then this comes on top of it. You’ve been dragged into this by Lew Frost. What the devil does he know about it?” He glared at Frost. “I’ve told it over and over to the police until I’m sick of it. Sit down, won’t you? Ten minutes is all you’ll need for what I know, anyhow. That’s what makes it worse, as I’ve told Cramer, nobody knows anything. And Lew Frost knows less than that.” He glared at the young man. “You know damn well you’re just trying to use it as a lever to pry Helen out of here.” He transferred the glare to Wolfe. “Do you expect me to have anything better than the barest courtesy for you? Why should I?”

Wolfe had returned to his chair and got himself lowered into it, without taking his eyes off McNair’s face. Frost started to speak, but I silenced him with a shake of the head. McNair picked up the handkerchief and passed it across his forehead and threw it down again. He pulled open the top right drawer of his desk and looked in it, muttered, “Where the devil’s that aspirin?” tried the drawer on the left, reached in and brought out a small bottle, shook a couple of tablets onto his palm, poured half a glass of water from a thermos carafe, tossed the tablets into his mouth, and washed them down.

He looked at Wolfe and complained resentfully, “I’ve had a hell of a headache for two weeks. I’ve taken a ton of aspirin and it doesn’t help any. I’m going to have a breakdown. That’s the truth—”

There was a knock, and the door opened. The intruder was a tall handsome woman in a black dress with rows of white buttons. She came on in, glanced politely around, and said in a voice full of culture:

“Excuse me, please.” She looked at McNair: “That 1241 resort, the cashmere plain tabby with the medium oxford twill stripe — can that be done in two shades of natural shetland with basket instead of tabby?”

McNair frowned at her and demanded, “What?”

She took a breath. “That 1241 resort—”

“Oh. I heard you. It cannot. The line stands, Mrs. Lamont. You know that.”

“I know. Mrs. Frost wants it.”

McNair straightened up. “Mrs. Frost? Is she here?”

The woman nodded. “She’s ordering. I told her you were engaged. She’s taking two of the Portsmouth ensembles.”

“Oh. She is.” McNair had suddenly stopped fidgeting, and his voice, though still thin, sounded more under command. “I want to see her. Ask if it will suit her convenience to wait till I’m through here.”

“And the 1241 in two shades of shetland—”

“Yes. Of course. Add fifty dollars.”

The woman nodded, excused herself again, and departed.

McNair glanced at his wrist watch, shot a sharp one at young Frost, and looked at Wolfe. “You can still have ten minutes.”

Wolfe shook his head. “I won’t need them. You’re nervous, Mr. McNair. You’re upset.”

“What? You won’t need them?”

“No. You probably lead too active a life, running around getting women dressed.” Wolfe shuddered. “Horrible. I would like to ask you two questions. First, regarding the death of Molly Lauck, have you anything to add to what you have told Mr. Cramer and Mr. Frost? I know pretty well what that is. Anything new?”

“No.” McNair was frowning. He picked up his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. “No. Nothing whatever.”

“Very well. Then it would be futile to take up more of your time. The other question: may I be shown a room where some of your employees may be sent to me for conversation? I shall make it as brief as possible. Particularly Miss Helen Frost, Miss Thelma Mitchell, and Mrs. Lamont. I don’t suppose Mr. Perren Gebert happens to be here?”

McNair snapped, “Gebert? Why the devil should he be?”

“I don’t know.” Wolfe lifted his shoulders half an inch, and dropped them. “I ask. I understand he was here one week ago yesterday, the day Miss Lauck died, when you were having your show. I believe you call it a show?”

“I had a show, yes. Gebert dropped in. Scores of people were here. About talking with the girls and Mrs. Lamont — if you make it short you can do it here. I have to go down to the floor.”

“I would prefer something less — more humble. If you please.”

“Suit yourself.” McNair got up. “Take them to one of the booths, Lew. I’ll tell Mrs. Lamont. Do you want her first?”

“I’d like to start with Miss Frost and Miss Mitchell. Together.”

“You may be interrupted, if they’re needed.”

“I shall be patient.”

“All right. You tell them, Lew?”

He looked around, grabbed his handkerchief from the desk and stuffed it in his pocket, and bustled out.

Llewellyn Frost, rising, began to protest, “I don’t see why you didn’t—”

Wolfe stopped him. “Mr. Frost. I endure only to my limit. Obviously, Mr. McNair is sick, but you cannot make that claim to tolerance. Don’t forget that you are responsible for this grotesque expedition. Where is this booth?”

“Well, I’m paying for it.”

“Not adequately. You couldn’t. Come, sir!”

Frost led us out and back down the corridor, and opened the door at the end on the left. He switched on lights, said he would be back soon, and disappeared. I moved my eyes. It was a small paneled room with a table, a smoking stand, full-length mirrors, and three dainty silk chairs. Wolfe stood and looked at the mess, and his lips tightened.

He said, “Revolting. I will not — I will not.”

I grinned at him. “I know damn well you won’t, and for once I don’t blame you. I’ll get it.”

I went out and strode down the corridor to McNair’s office, entered, heaved his chair to my shoulder, and proceeded back to the booth with it. Frost and the two goddesses were going in as I got there. Frost went for another chair, and I planked my prize down behind the table and observed to Wolfe, “If you get so you like it we’ll take it home with us.” Frost returned with his contribution, and I told him, “Go and get three bottles of cold light beer and a glass and an opener. We’ve got to keep him alive.”

He lifted his brows at me. “You’re crazy.”

I murmured, “Was I crazy when I suggested that letter from the orchid guys? Get the beer.”

He went. I negotiated myself into a chair with the blonde pippin on one side and the sylph on the other. Wolfe was sniffing the air. He suddenly demanded:

“Are all of these booths perfumed like this?”

“Yes, they are.” The blonde smiled at him. “It’s not us.”

“No. It was here before you came in. Pfui. And you girls work here. They call you models?”

“That’s what they call us. I’m Thelma Mitchell.” The blonde waved an expert graceful hand. “This is Helen Frost.”

Wolfe nodded, and turned to the sylph. “Why do you work here, Miss Frost? You don’t have to. Do you?”

Helen Frost put level eyes on him, with a little crease in her brow between them. She said quietly, “My cousin told us you wished to ask us about — about Molly Lauck.”

“Indeed.” Wolfe leaned back, warily, to see if the chair would take it. There was no creak, and he settled. “Understand this, Miss Frost: I am a detective. Therefore, while I may be accused of incompetence or stupidity, I may not be charged with impertinence. However nonsensical or irrelevant my questions may seem to you, they may be filled with the deepest significance and the most sinister implications. That is the tradition of my profession. As a matter of fact, I was merely making an effort to get acquainted with you.”

Her eyes stayed level. “I am doing this as a favor to my cousin Lew. He didn’t ask me to get acquainted.” She swallowed. “He asked me to answer questions about last Monday.”

Wolfe leaned forward and snapped, “Only as a favor to your cousin? Wasn’t Molly Lauck your friend? Wasn’t she murdered? You aren’t interested in helping with that?”

It didn’t jolt her much. She swallowed again, but stayed steady. “Interested — yes. Of course. But I’ve told the police — I don’t see what Lew — I don’t see why you—” She stopped herself and jerked her head up and demanded, “Haven’t I said I’ll answer your questions? It’s awful — it’s an awful thing—”

“So it is.” Wolfe turned abruptly to the blonde. “Miss Mitchell. I understand that at twenty minutes past four last Monday afternoon, a week ago yesterday, you and Miss Frost took the elevator together, downstairs, and got out at this floor. Right?”

She nodded.

“And there was no one up here; that is, you saw no one. You walked down the corridor to the fifth door on the left, across the corridor from Mr. McNair’s office, and entered that room, which is an apartment used as a rest room for the four models who work here. Molly Lauck was in there. Right?”

She nodded again. Wolfe said, “Tell me what happened.”

The blonde took a breath. “Well, we started to talk about the show and the customers and so on. Nothing special. We did that about three minutes, and then suddenly Molly said she forgot, and she reached under a coat and pulled out a box—”

“Permit me. What were Miss Lauck’s words?”

“She just said she forgot, she had some loot—”

“No. Please. What did she say? Her exact words.”

The blonde stared at him. “Well, if I can. She said, let’s see: ‘Oh, I forgot, girls, I’ve got some loot. Swiped it as clean as a whistle.’ While she was saying that she was pulling the box from under the coat—”

“Where was the coat?”

“It was her coat, lying on the table.”

“Where were you?”

“Me? I was right there, standing there. She was sitting on the table.”

“Where was Miss Frost?”

“She was — she was across by the mirror, fixing her hair. Weren’t you, Helen?”

The sylph merely nodded. Wolfe said:

“And then? Exactly. Exact words.”

“Well, she handed me the box and I took it and opened it, and I said—”

“Had it been opened before?”

“I don’t know. It didn’t have any wrapping or ribbon or anything on it. I opened it and I said, ‘Gee, it’s two pounds and never been touched. Where’d you get it, Molly?’ She said, ‘I told you, I swiped it. Is it any good?’ She asked Helen to have some—”

“Her words.”

Miss Mitchell frowned. “I don’t know. Just ‘Have some, Helen,’ or ‘Join the party, Helen’ — something like that. Anyway, Helen didn’t take any—”

“What did she say?”

“I don’t know. What did you say, Helen?”

Miss Frost spoke without swallowing. “I don’t remember. I just had had cocktails, and I didn’t want any.”

The blonde nodded. “Something like that. Then Molly took a piece and I took a piece—”

“Please.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at her. “You were holding the box?”

“Yes. Molly had handed it to me.”

“Miss Frost didn’t have it in her hands at all?”

“No, I told you, she said she didn’t want any. She didn’t even look at it.”

“And you and Miss Lauck each took a piece—”

“Yes. I took candied pineapple. It was a mixture; chocolates, bonbons, nuts, candied fruits, everything. I ate it. Molly put her piece in her mouth, all of it, and after she bit into it she said — she said it was strong—”

“Words, please.”

“Well, she said, let’s see: ‘My God, it’s 200 proof, but not so bad, I can take it.’ She made a face, but she chewed it and swallowed it. Then... well... you wouldn’t believe how quick it was—”

“I’ll try to. Tell me.”

“Not more than half a minute, I’m sure it wasn’t. I took another piece and was eating it, and Molly was looking into the box, saying something about taking the taste out of her mouth—”

She stopped because the door popped open. Llewellyn Frost appeared, carrying a paper bag. I got up and took it from him, and extracted from it the opener and glass and bottles and arranged them in front of Wolfe. Wolfe picked up the opener and felt of a bottle.

“Umph. Schreirer’s. It’s too cold.”

I sat down again. “It’ll make a bead. Try it.” He poured. Helen Frost was saying to her cousin:

“So that’s what you went for. Your detective wants to know exactly what I said, my exact words, and he asks Thelma if I handled the box of candy...”

Frost patted her on the shoulder. “Now, Helen. Take it easy. He knows what he’s doing...”

One bottle was empty, and the glass. Frost sat down. Wolfe wiped his lips.

“You were saying, Miss Mitchell, Miss Lauck spoke of taking the taste out of her mouth.”

The blonde nodded. “Yes. And then — well — all of a sudden she straightened up and made a noise. She didn’t scream, it was just a noise, a horrible noise. She got off the table and then leaned back against it and her face was all twisted... it was... twisted. She looked at me with her eyes staring, and her mouth went open and shut but she couldn’t say anything, and suddenly she shook all over and grabbed for me and got hold of my hair... and... and...”

“Yes, Miss Mitchell.”

The blonde gulped. “Well, when she went down she took me with her because she had hold of my hair. Then of course I was scared. I jerked away. Later, when the doctor... when people came, she had a bunch of my hair gripped in her fingers.”

Wolfe eyed her. “You have good nerves, Miss Mitchell.”

“I’m not a softy. I had a good cry after I got home that night, I cried it out. But I didn’t cry then. Helen stood against the wall and trembled and stared and couldn’t move, she’ll tell you that herself. I ran to the elevator and yelled for help, and then I ran back and put the lid on the box of candy and held onto it until Mr. McNair came and then I gave it to him. Molly was dead. I could see that. She was crumpled up. She fell down dead.” She gulped again. “Maybe you could tell me. The doctor said it was some kind of acid, and it said in the paper potassium cyanide.”

Lew Frost put in, “Hydrocyanic. The police say — it’s the same thing. I told you that. Didn’t I?”

Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “Please, Mr. Frost. It is I who am to earn the fee, you to pay it. — Then Miss Mitchell, you felt no discomfort from your two pieces, and Miss Lauck ate only one.”

“That’s all.” The blonde shivered. “It’s terrible, to think there’s something that can kill you that quick. She couldn’t even speak. You could see it go right through her, when she shook all over. I held onto the box, but I got rid of it as soon as I saw Mr. McNair.”

“Then, I understand, you ran away.”

She nodded. “I ran to the washroom.” She made a face. “I had to throw up. I had eaten two pieces.”

“Indeed. Most efficient.” Wolfe had opened another bottle, and was pouring. “To go back a little. You had not seen that box of candy before Miss Lauck took it from under the coat?”

“No. I hadn’t.”

“What do you suppose she meant when she said she had swiped it?”

“Why — she meant — she saw it somewhere and took it.”

Wolfe turned. “Miss Frost. What do you suppose Miss Lauck meant by that?”

“I suppose she meant what she said, that she swiped it. Stole it.”

“Was that customary with her? Was she a thief?”

“Of course not. She only took a box of candy. She did it for a joke, I suppose. She liked to play jokes — to do things like that.”

“Had you seen the box before she produced it in that room?”

“No.”

Wolfe emptied his glass in five gulps, which was par, and wiped his lips. His half-shut eyes were on the blonde. “I believe you went to lunch that day with Miss Lauck. Tell us about that.”

“Well — Molly and I went together about one o’clock. We were hungry because we had been working hard — the show had been going on since eleven o’clock — but we only went to the drug store around the corner because we had to be back in twenty minutes to give Helen and the extras a chance. The show was supposed to be from eleven to two, but we knew they’d keep dropping in. We ate sandwiches and custard and came straight back.”

“Did you see Miss Lauck swipe the box of candy at the drug store?”

“Of course I didn’t. She wouldn’t do that.”

“Did you get it at the drug store yourself and bring it back with you?”

Miss Mitchell stared at him. She said, disgusted, “For the Lord’s sake. No.”

“You’re sure Miss Lauck didn’t get it somewhere while out for lunch?”

“Of course I’m sure. I was right with her.”

“And she didn’t go out again during the afternoon?”

“No. We were working together until half past three, when there was a let-up and she left to go upstairs, and a little later Helen and I came up and found her here. There in the restroom.”

“And she ate a piece of candy and died, and you ate two and didn’t.” Wolfe sighed. “There is of course the possibility that she had brought the box with her when she came to work that morning.”

The blonde shook her head. “I’ve thought of that. We’ve all talked about it. She didn’t have any package. Anyway, where could it have been all morning? It wasn’t in the restroom, and there wasn’t anyplace else...”

Wolfe nodded. “That’s the devil of it. It’s recorded history. You aren’t really telling me your fresh and direct memory of what happened last Monday, you’re merely repeating the talk it has been resolved into. — I beg you, no offense, you can’t help it. I should have been here last Monday afternoon — or rather, I shouldn’t have been here at all. I shouldn’t be here now.” He glared at Llewellyn Frost, then remembered the beer, filled his glass, and drank.

He looked from one girl to the other. “You know, of course, what the problem is. Last Monday there were more than a hundred people here, mostly women but a few men, for that show. It was a cold March day and they all wore coats. Who brought that box of candy? The police have questioned everyone connected with this establishment. They have found no one who ever saw the box or will admit to any knowledge of it. No one who saw Miss Lauck with it or has any idea where she got it. An impossible situation!”

He wiggled a finger at Frost. “I told you, sir, this case is not within my province. I can use a dart or a rapier, but I cannot set traps throughout the territory of the metropolitan district. Who brought the poison here? Whom was it intended for? God knows, but I am not prepared to make a call on Him, no matter how many orchid-growers are coerced into signing idiotic letters. I doubt if it is worthwhile for me to try even for the second half of your fee, since your cousin — your ortho-cousin — refuses to become acquainted with me. As for the first half, the solution of Miss Lauck’s death, I could undertake that only through interviews with all of the persons who were in this place last Monday; and I doubt if you could persuade even the innocent ones to call at my office.”

Lew Frost muttered, “It’s your job. You took it. If you’re not up to it—”

“Nonsense. Does a bridge engineer dig ditches?” Wolfe opened the third bottle. “I believe I have not thanked you for this beer. I do thank you. I assure you, sir, this problem is well within my abilities in so far as it is possible to apply them. In so far — for instance, take Miss Mitchell here. Is she telling the truth? Did she murder Molly Lauck? Let us find out.” He turned and got sharp. “Miss Mitchell. Do you eat much candy?”

She said, “You’re being smart.”

“I’m begging your indulgence. It won’t hurt you, with nerves like yours. Do you eat much candy?”

She drew her shoulders together, and released them. “Once in a while. I have to be careful. I’m a model, and I watch myself.”

“What is your favorite kind?”

“Candied fruits. I like nuts too.”

“You removed the lid from that box last Monday. What color was it?”

“Brown. A kind of gold-brown.”

“What kind was it? What did it say on the lid?”

“It said... it said Medley. Some kind of a medley.”

Wolfe snapped, “ ‘Some kind?’ Do you mean to say you don’t remember what name was on the lid?”

She frowned at him. “No... I don’t. That’s funny. I would have thought—”

“So would I. You looked at it and took the lid off, and later replaced the lid and held onto the box, knowing there was deadly poison in it, and you weren’t even curious enough—”

“Now wait a minute. You’re not so smart. Molly was dead on the floor, and everybody was crowding into the room, and I was looking for Mr. McNair to give him the box, I didn’t want the damn thing, and certainly I wasn’t trying to think of things to be curious about.” She frowned again. “At that, it is funny I didn’t really see the name.”

Wolfe nodded. He turned abruptly to Lew Frost. “You see, sir, how it is done. What is to be deduced from Miss Mitchell’s performance? Is she cleverly pretending that she does not know what was on that lid, or is it credible that she really failed to notice it? I am merely demonstrating. For another example, take your cousin.” He switched his eyes and shot at her, “You, Miss Frost. Do you eat candy?”

She looked at her cousin. “Is this necessary, Lew?”

Frost flushed. He opened his mouth, but Wolfe was in ahead:

“Miss Mitchell didn’t beg off. Of course, she has good nerves.”

The sylph leveled her eyes at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my nerves. But this cheap — oh, well. I eat candy. I much prefer caramels, and since I work as a model and have to be careful too, I confine myself to them.”

“Chocolate caramels? Nut caramels?”

“Any kind. Caramels. I like to chew them.”

“How often do you eat them?”

“Maybe once a week.”

“Do you buy them yourself?”

“No. I don’t get a chance to. My cousin knows my preference, and he sends me boxes of Carlatti’s. Too often. I have to give most of them away.”

“You are very fond of them?”

She nodded. “Very.”

“You find it hard to resist them when offered?”

“Sometimes, yes.”

“Monday afternoon you had been working hard? You were tired? You had had a short and unsatisfactory lunch?”

She was tolerating it. “Yes.”

“Then, when Miss Lauck offered you caramels, why didn’t you take one?”

“She didn’t offer me caramels. There weren’t any in that—” She stopped. She glanced aside, at her cousin, and then put her eyes at Wolfe again. “That is, I didn’t suppose—”

“Suppose?” Wolfe’s voice suddenly softened. “Miss Mitchell couldn’t remember what was on the lid of that box. Can you, Miss Frost?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“Miss Mitchell has said that you didn’t handle the box. You were at the mirror, fixing your hair; you didn’t even look at it. Is that correct?”

She was staring at him. “Yes.”

“Miss Mitchell has also said that she replaced the lid on the box and kept it under her arm until she handed it to Mr. McNair. Is that correct?”

“I don’t know. I... I didn’t notice.”

“No. Naturally, under the circumstances. But after the box was given to Mr. McNair, from that time until he turned it over to the police, did you see it at all? Did you have an opportunity to inspect it?”

“I didn’t see it. No.”

“Just one more, Miss Frost — this finishes the demonstration: you are sure you don’t know what was on that lid? It was not a brand you were familiar with?”

She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

Wolfe leaned back and sighed. He picked up the third bottle and filled his glass and watched the foam work. No one spoke; we just looked at him, while he drank. He put the glass down and wiped his lips, and opened his eyes on his client.

“There you are, Mr. Frost,” he said quietly. “Even in a brief demonstration, where no results were expected, something is upturned. By her own testimony, your cousin never saw the contents of that box after Miss Lauck swiped it. She doesn’t know what brand it was, so she could not have been familiar with its contents. And yet, she knew, quite positively, that there were no caramels in it. Therefore: she saw the contents of the box, somewhere, sometime, before Miss Lauck swiped it. That, sir, is deduction. That is what I meant when I spoke of interviews with all of the persons who were at this place last Monday.”

Lew Frost, glaring at him, blurted, “You call this — what the hell do you call this? My cousin—”

“I told you, deduction.”

The sylph sat, pale, and stared at him. She opened her mouth a couple of times, but closed it without speaking. Thelma Mitchell horned in:

“She didn’t say she knew positively there were no caramels in it. She only said—”

Wolfe put up a palm at her. “You being loyal, Miss Mitchell? For shame. The first loyalty here is to the dead. Mr. Frost dragged me here because Molly Lauck died. He hired me to find out how and why. — Well, sir? Didn’t you?”

Frost sputtered, “I didn’t hire you to play damn fool tricks with a couple of nervous girls. You damn fat imbecile — listen! I already know more about this business than you’d ever find out in a hundred years! If you think I’m paying you — now what? Where you going? What’s the game now? You get back in that chair I say—”

Wolfe had arisen, without haste, and moved around the table, going sideways past Thelma Mitchell’s feet, and Frost had jumped up and started the motions of a stiff arm at him.

I got upright and stepped across. “Don’t shove, mister.” I would just as soon have plugged him, but he would have had to drop on a lady. “Subside, please. Come on, back up.”

He gave me a bad eye, but let that do. Wolfe had sidled by, towards the door, and at that moment there was a knock on it and it opened, and the handsome woman in the black dress with white buttons appeared. She moved in.

“Excuse me, please.” She glanced around, composed, and settled on me. “Can you spare Miss Frost? She is needed downstairs. And Mr. McNair says you wish to speak with me. I can give you a few minutes now.”

I looked at Wolfe. He bowed to the woman, his head moving two inches. “Thank you, Mrs. Lamont. It won’t be necessary. We have made excellent progress; more than could reasonably have been expected — Archie. Did you pay for the beer? Give Mr. Frost a dollar. That should cover it.”

I took out my wallet and extracted a buck and laid it on the table. A swift glance showed me that Helen Frost looked pale, Thelma Mitchell looked interested, and Llewellyn looked set for murder. Wolfe had left. I did likewise, and joined him outside where he was pushing the button for the elevator.

I said, “That beer couldn’t have been more than two bits a throw, seventy-five cents for three.”

He nodded. “Put the difference on his bill.”

Downstairs we marched through the activity without halting. McNair was over at one side talking with a dark medium-sized woman with a straight back and a proud mouth, and I let my head turn for a second look, surmising it was Helen Frost’s mother. A goddess I hadn’t seen before was parading in a brown topcoat in front of a horsey jane with a dog, and three or four other people were scattered around. Just before we got to the street door it opened and a man entered, a big broad guy with a scar on his cheek. I knew all about that scar. I tossed him a nod.

“Hi, Purley.”

He stopped and stared, not at me, at Wolfe. “In the name of God! Did you shoot him out of a cannon?”

I grinned and went on.

On the way home I made attempts at friendly conversation over my shoulder, but without success. I tried:

“Those models are pretty creatures. Huh?”

No sale. I tried:

“Did you recognize that gentleman we met coming out? Our old friend Purley Stebbins of the Homicide Squad. One of Cramer’s hirelings.”

No response. I started looking ahead for a good hole.

Chapter 3

The first telephone call from Llewellyn Frost came around half-past one, while Wolfe and I were doing the right thing by some sausage with ten kinds of herbs in it, which he got several times every spring from a Swiss up near Chappaqua who prepared it himself from home-made pigs. Fritz Brenner, the chef and household pride, was instructed to tell Llewellyn that Mr. Wolfe was at table and might not be disturbed. I wanted to go and take it, but Wolfe nailed me down with a finger. The second call came a little after two, while Wolfe was leisurely sipping coffee, and I went to the office for it.

Frost sounded concerned and aggravated. He wanted to know if he could expect to find Wolfe in at two-thirty, and I said yes, he would probably be in forevermore. After we hung up I stayed at my desk and fiddled around with some things, and in a few minutes Wolfe entered, peaceful and benign but ready to resent any attempt at turbulence, as he always was after a proper and unhurried meal.

He sat down at his desk, sighed happily, and looked around at the walls — the bookshelves, maps, Holbeins, more bookshelves, the engraving of Brilliat-Savarin. After a moment he opened the middle drawer and began taking out beer-bottle caps and piling them on the desk. He remarked:

“A little less tarragon, and add a pinch of chervil. Fritz might try that next time. I must suggest it to him.”

“Yeah,” I agreed, not wanting to argue about that. He knew damn well I love tarragon. “But if you want to get those caps counted you’d better get a move on. Our client’s on his way down here.”

“Indeed.” He began separating the caps into piles of five. “Confound it, in spite of those three outside bottles, I think I’m already four ahead on the week.”

“Well, that’s normal.” I swirled. “Listen, enlighten me before Frost gets here. What got you started on the Frost girl?”

His shoulders lifted a quarter of an inch and dropped again. “Rage. That was a cornered rat squealing. There I was, cornered in that insufferable scented hole, dragooned into a case where there was nothing to start on. Or rather, too much. Also, I dislike murder by inadvertence. Whoever poisoned that candy is a bungling ass. I merely began squealing.” He frowned at the piles of caps. “Twenty-five, thirty, thirty-three. But the result was remarkable. And quite conclusive. It would be sardonic if we should earn the second half of our fee by having Miss Frost removed to prison. Not that I regard that as likely. I trust, Archie, you don’t mind my babbling.”

“No, it’s okay right after a meal. Go right ahead. No jury would ever convict Miss Frost of anything anyhow.”

“I suppose not. Why should they? Even a juror must be permitted his tribute to beauty. But if Miss Frost is in for an ordeal, I suspect it will not be that. Did you notice the large diamond on her finger? And the one set in her vanity case?”

I nodded. “So what? Is she engaged?”

“I couldn’t say. I remarked the diamonds because they don’t suit her. You have heard me observe that I have a feeling for phenomena. Her personality, her reserve — even allowing for the unusual circumstances — it is not natural for Miss Frost to war diamonds. Then there was Mr. McNair’s savage hostility, surely as unnatural as it was disagreeable, however he may hate Mr. Llewellyn Frost — and why does he hate him? More transparent was the reason for Mr. Frost’s familiarity with so strange a term as ‘ortho-cousin,’ strictly a word for an anthropologist, though it leaves room for various speculations... Ortho-cousins are those whose parents are of the same sex — the children of two brothers or of two sisters; whereas cross-cousins are those whose parents are brother and sister. In some tribes cross-cousins may marry, but not ortho-cousins. Obviously Mr. Frost has investigated the question thoroughly... Certainly it is possible that none of these oddities has any relation to the death of Molly Lauck, but they are to be noted, along with many others. I hope I am not boring you, Archie. As you are aware, this is the routine of my genius, though I do not ordinarily vocalize it. I sat in this chair one evening for five hours, thus considering the phenomena of Paul Chapin, his wife, and the members of that incredible League of Atonement. I talk chiefly because if I do not you will begin to rustle papers to annoy me, and I do not feel like being irritated. That sausage — but there’s the bell. Our client. Ha! Still our client, though he may not think so.”

Footsteps sounded from the hall, and soon again, returning. The office door opened and Fritz appeared. He announced Mr. Frost, and Wolfe nodded and requested beer. Fritz went.

Llewellyn came bouncing in. He came bouncing, but you could tell by his eyes it was a case of dual personality. Back behind his eyes he was scared stiff. He bounced up to Wolfe’s desk and began talking like a man who was already late for nine appointments.

“I could have told you on the phone, Mr. Wolfe, but I like to do business face to face. I like to see a man and let him see me. Especially for a thing like this. I owe you an apology. I flew off the handle and made a damn fool of myself. I want to apologize.” He put out a hand. Wolfe looked at it, and then up at his face. He took his hand back, flushed, and went on, “You shouldn’t be sore at me, I just flew off the handle. And anyway, you must understand this, I’ve got to insist on this, that that was nothing up there. Helen — my cousin was just flustered. I’ve had a talk with her. That didn’t mean a thing. But naturally she’s all cut up — she already was, anyhow — and we’ve talked it over, and I agree with her that I’ve got no right to be butting in up there. Maybe I shouldn’t have butted in at all, but I thought — well — it doesn’t matter what I thought. So I appreciate what you’ve done, and it was swell of you to go up there when it was against your rule... so we’ll just call it a flop and if you’ll just tell me how much I owe you...”

He stopped, smiling from Wolfe to me and back again like a haberdasher’s clerk trying to sell an old number with a big spiff on it.

Wolfe surveyed him. “Sit down, Mr. Frost.”

“Well... just to write a check...” He backed into a chair and got onto his sitter, pulling a check folder from one pocket and a fountain pen from another. “How much?”

“Ten thousand dollars.”

He gasped and looked up. “What!”

Wolfe nodded. “Ten thousand. That would be about right for completing your commission; half for solving the murder of Molly Lauck and half for getting your cousin away from that hell-hole.”

“But, my dear man, you did neither. You’re loony.” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t think you’re going to hold me up. Don’t think—”

Wolfe snapped, “Ten thousand dollars. And you will wait here while the check is being certified.”

“You’re crazy.” Frost was sputtering again. “I haven’t got ten thousand dollars. My show’s going big, but I had a lot of debts and still have. And even if I had it — what’s the idea? Blackmail? If you’re that kind—”

“Please, Mr. Frost. I beg you. May I speak?”

Llewellyn glared at him.

Wolfe settled back in his chair. “There are three things I like about you, sir, but you have several bad habits. One is your assumption that words are brickbats to be hurled at people in an effort to stun them. You must learn to stop that. Another is your childish readiness to rush into action without stopping to consider the consequences. Before you definitely hired me to undertake an investigation you should have scrutinized the possibilities. But the point is that you hired me; and let me tell you, you burned all bridges when you goaded me into that mad sortie to Fifty-second Street. That will have to be paid for. You and I are bound by contract; I am bound to pursue a certain inquiry, and you are bound to pay my reasonable and commensurate charge. And when, for personal and peculiar reasons, you grow to dislike the contract, what do you do? You come to my office and try to knock me out of my chair by propelling words like ‘blackmail’ at me! Pfui! The insolence of a spoiled child!”