Prisoner's Base by Rex Stout

Author:Rex Stout [Stout, Rex]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Suspense
ISBN: 9780307756114
Publisher: Crimeline
Published: 1952-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 9

The next morning, Thursday, I cashed in on an investment.

I needed some kind of a break. There had been no follow-up of any kind on the Irby thing. Granted for the sake of argument that after dinner Wednesday evening was no time for it, what was wrong with Thursday morning? I decided for the thousandth time that I didn’t have the right temperament for working for Nero Wolfe. If I had, I would long ago have quit being exasperated by his matter-of-fact assumption that, barring specific urgencies, there was no point in starting the day’s detecting activities until after he came down from the plant rooms at eleven o’clock. And anyway it seemed to me that this was a specific urgency. So when I had got up and shaved and showered and dressed, and gone down and greeted Fritz and had breakfast, and read the morning paper, learning among other things that no one had been charged with the murder of Priscilla Eads or Margaret Fomos, and proceeded to the office and opened the morning mail, and nine o’clock had come and gone with no word from on high, I buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone and got him and inquired, “Do you invite people to the party or do I?”

“Neither, until we’re sure of Mr. Hagh.” He was gruff, of course.

“He’ll land at three.”

“Or never.”

That was it. One of his deepest convictions was that no vehicle propelled by machinery, from a scooter to an ocean liner, could reasonably be expected ever to reach its destination, and that only a dunce would bank on it. There was nothing I could do about it. After hanging up, I called Pan-Atlantic, and was told that Flight 193 was expected to arrive on schedule. As I got up to put the mail on Wolfe’s desk, the phone rang, and I sat down and got it.

“Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking.”

“This is Archie Goodwin?”

“Right.”

“This is Sarah Jaffee, Mr. Goodwin.”

“So it is, by the voice. Good morning.”

“Good morning. I wanted—how are you?”

“I’m fine. And you?”

“I’m fine too. I just had my breakfast and I wanted to phone you. There was no place at the table but mine.”

“Good. In the long run that’ll save a lot of breakage on dishes.”

“It will save more than that.” A pause. “You took the coat and hat with you.”

“I did, and for God’s sake don’t tell me you want them back. I disposed of them.”

“I’ll never want them back.” She sounded quite positive. “When I went to the hall, long after you had left, and saw that the coat and hat were gone, I cried like a baby. When I quit crying I was scared. I was afraid I had been crying because the coat and hat were gone, but then I realized that wasn’t it, only I didn’t know what it was. Anyhow I quit worrying about why I had cried because I knew one thing for certain—I knew I was glad the coat and hat were gone, and I knew you had done a wonderful thing for me after the way I acted.

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