Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 19 by Murder by the Book Page A

occasion. Maybe you no longer feel like it, but if you do I have a proposal. In this bowl are ten pieces of paper, and on each piece I written one of your names. I will ask Mrs. Adams to take one of the pieces from the bowl, and the one whose name is drawn will accompany me forthwith to the Bobolink, where we will dance and dally until one of us gets tired. I don’t tire easily.”
    “If my name is in there you will please remove it,” Mrs. Adams ultimatumed.
    “If it’s drawn,” I told her, “you can draw another. Does anyone else wish to be excused?”
    Portia Liss said, “I promised to be home by midnight.”
    “Simple. Get tired at eleven-thirty.” I held the bowl above the level of Mrs. Adams’ eyes. “Will you draw one, please?”
    She didn’t like doing it, but it was a quick and easy way of getting the party over and done with, so after a second’s hesitation she reached up over the rim of the bowl, withdrew a slip, and put it on the table.
    Mabel Moore, at her left, called out, “Sue!”
    I removed the other slips and stuck them in a pocket.
    Sue Dondero protested, “My lord, I can’t go to the Bobolink in these clothes!”
    “It doesn’t have to be the Bobolink,” I assured her. “I guess you’re stuck, unless you want us to draw again.”
    “What for?” Blanche snorted. “What do you bet they didn’t all say Sue?”
    I didn’t dignify it with a denial. I merely took nine slips from my right-hand pocket and tossed them on the table. Later on in the evening there might be occasion to show Sue the nine in my left-hand pocket, those I had taken from the bowl.

Chapter 10

    O rdinarily Fritz takes Wolfe’s breakfast tray up to him at eight o’clock, but that Thursday he phoned down to say he wanted to see me before he went up to the plant rooms at nine, and I thought I might as well save Fritz a trip. So at 8:05, having catered, I pulled a chair around and sat. Sometimes Wolfe breakfasted in bed and sometimes at the table by the window. That morning the sun was shining in and he was at the table. Looking at the vast expanse of yellow pajamas in the bright sun made me blink. He never says a word if he can help it until his orange juice is down, and he will not gulp orange juice, so I gave a fair imitation of sitting patiently. Finally he put the empty glass down, cleared his throat explosively, and started spreading the half-melted butter on a hot griddle cake.
    He spoke. “What time did you get home?”
    “Two-twenty-four.”
    “Where did you go?”
    “With a girl to a night club. She’s the one. The wedding is set for Sunday. Her folks are in Brazil, and there’s no one to give her away, so you’ll have to give me away.”
    “Pfui.” He took a bite of buttered griddle cake and ham. “What happened?”
    “Outline or blow by blow?”
    “Outline. We’ll fill in later.”
    “Ten came, including a female lawyer, young and handsome but tough, and an old warhorse. They drank upstairs and wrecked only two Oncidiums. By the—”
    “Forbesi?”
    “No. Varicosum. By the time we descended they were genial. I sat at your place. I had warned Fritz that the soup and patties would fill them up and they would snoot the duckling, and they did. I made speeches, which were well received, but no mention of murder until coffee, when I was asked to tell them about detective work, as arranged, and obliged. I set forth our current problem. At an appropriate moment I sent for our client and Mrs. Abrams, and if you had been there you would have been stirred, though of course you wouldn’t admit it. They admitted it by wiping their eyes. By the way, Wellman had a nerve to suspect me of going too far too fast. He never met Mrs. Abrams until last evening, and he took her home. Oh, yes, I told them about finding Baird Archer’s name in Rachel Abrams’ account book, because I had to tie her in to clear the track for Mrs. Abrams. If it gets printed Cramer will yap, but it was me that found the book, and