Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 19 - Curtains for Three by Rex Stout

Author:Rex Stout [Stout, Rex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-307-75582-7
Publisher: Random House Publishing Group
Published: 1950-05-01T04:00:00+00:00

IX

One quick look around the Keyes establishment on the twelfth floor was enough to show where a good slice of the profits had gone, unless that was what Pohl’s hundred grand had been used for. Panels of four kinds of blond wood made up both the walls and ceiling, and the furniture matched. The seats of the chairs for waiting callers were upholstered in blue and black super-burlap, and you had to watch yourself on the rugs not to twist an ankle. Everywhere, in glass cases against the walls, on pedestals scattered around, and on platforms and tables, were models of almost anything you could think of, from fountain pens to airplanes.

When a woman with pink earrings learned that I sought Mr. Pohl she gave me a wary and reproachful look, but she functioned. After a little delay I was waved through a door and found myself at the end of a long wide corridor. There was no one in sight and I had been given no directions, so it was a case of hide and seek. The best opening move seemed to be to walk down the corridor, so I started, glancing into open doors on either side as I passed. The same scale of interior architecture seemed to prevail throughout, with wide variations in style and color. At the fourth door on the right I saw him, and he called to me, simultaneously.

“Come in, Goodwin!”

I entered. It was a big room with three wide windows, and at a quick glance appeared to be the spot where they had really decided to spread themselves. The rugs were white and the walls were black, and the enormous desk that took all of one end was either ebony or call in an expert. The chair behind the desk, in which Pohl was seated, was likewise.

“Where’s Wolfe?” Pohl demanded.

“Where he always is,” I replied, negotiating rugs. “At home, sitting down.”

He was scowling at me. “I thought he was with you. When I phoned him a few minutes ago he intimated that he might be. He’s not coming?”

“No. Never. I’m glad you phoned him again because, as he told you this morning in my hearing, he’ll need the cooperation of all of you.”

“He’ll get mine,” Pohl stated grimly. “Since he’s not coming for it himself, I suppose I ought to give this to you.” He took papers from his breast pocket, looked through them, selected one and held it out. I stepped to the desk to take it.

It was a single sheet, with “Memo from Sigmund Keyes” on it, printed fancy, and scrawled in ink was a list of towns:

Dayton, Ohio Aug. 11 & 12

Boston Aug. 21

Los Angeles Aug. 27 to Sept. 5

Meadville, Pa. Sept. 15

Pittsburgh Sept. 16 & 17

Chicago Sept. 24–26

Philadelphia Oct. 1

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