Rex Stout_Nero Wolfe 07 by Over My Dead Body Page B

that’s a confidential—tell him to hold the wire. He’s an unspeakable nuisance. I’ll come there and take it.”
    “Okay.”
    I hung up and tiptoed back to the wood carving in the hall. In a moment the office door opened and Wolfe came out and shut the door. He got to me fast, whispered to me, “Quick on the signal,” and glued his eyes to the peephole.
    And I nearly missed connections. Rudolph Faber must have been in a hurry. Wolfe hadn’t been at the peephole more than ten seconds before he jerked his hand up and waved it. I wasn’t supposed to jump or run, so I trod the three paces to the office door, giving my steps plenty of weight, and flung the door open and kept going on in. Faber, in an attitude of arrestedmotion, was standing across the room from where his chair was, with his back to the bookshelves, but his hands were empty. He blinked at me once, but otherwise his face was impassive except for its inborn expression of superior and bullheaded meanness. With only one swift glance at him, I went to my desk and sat down, opened a drawer and took out a file of papers, and began going through them to look for something.
    He didn’t say a word and neither did I. I finished going through the file and started on another one, and was prepared to continue with that indefinitely, but it wasn’t necessary. I was halfway through the second one when noises filtered in through the door to the hall, and pretty soon the door opened and I looked up and got another shock. Nero Wolfe was there, in overcoat, muffler, hat and gloves, with his applewood stick in his hand. I gawked at him.
    “I’m sorry,” he told Faber. “I must go out on business. If you want to go on with this, come tomorrow between eleven and one or two and four or six and eight. Those are my hours. Archie, we’ll take the sedan. If you please. Fritz! Fritz, if you will help Mr. Faber with his coat …”
    This time Faber’s heels did click. I suppose they’re more apt to when you’re upset. He went, without having committed himself on the question of going on with it tomorrow.
    When Fritz came back in Wolfe said, “Here, take these, please,” and handed him stick, hat, gloves, muffler and overcoat. “Two bottles of beer.” Hearing that, I put the files away in the drawer and went to the kitchen and got a glass of milk. When I returned to the office he was back at his desk, leaning back with his eyes closed. I sat and sipped the milk until the arrival of the beer made him straighten up, and then said:
    “Genius again. He was going for
United Yugoslavia.”
    Wolfe nodded. “He had his fingers on it when you opened the door.”
    “Lucky guess.”
    “Not a guess, an experiment. He was stalling. He wasn’t saying anything and had no intention of saying anything. But he wanted you out of the room. Why?”
    “Sure. Very good. But how did he figure on getting you out of the room too?”
    “I don’t know.” Wolfe emptied the glass. “I don’t manage his mind for him, thank God. I did go out, didn’t I?”
    “Yeah. Okay. So, did one of the Balkans send him to get that paper, or has he got Miss Tormic in his power because he’s her alibi on the murder, or did he—by jiminy!” I slapped my thigh. “I’ve got it! He’s Prince Donevitch!”
    “Don’t be amusing. I’m in no humor for it.”
    “I realize you’re not.” I sipped some more milk. “Where do we stand, anyway? Are we on a case or not? If so, what kind of a case?”
    “I don’t know. I don’t like it. I don’t like that paper. I don’t like having that thing in the refrigerator disguised as a cake. We’ll either have to find out who used it or turn it over to Mr. Cramer, and neither prospect is pleasing. And I have a responsibility. I adopted that girl.”
    “You don’t even know whether it’s her or not.”
    “I intend to find out. I sent you back to bring her here. You didn’t do it.”
    “Well, boil my bones!” I glared at him. “Am I to infer that you