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

he admits I talk too much.”
    “So do I.” Wolfe took a sip of steaming black coffee. “You say they were stirred?”
    “Yes. Their valves opened. But all they did was start a free-for-all about who informed on O’Malley, the former senior partner, and got him disbarred for bribing a jury foreman, and about who killed Dykes. They have assorted theories, but if they have any evidence worth buying they’re saving it. One named EleanorGruber, who is a looker but too busy being clever—she was O’Malley’s secretary and is now Louis Kustin’s—she undertook to straighten me out. She hates to see us waste our time trying to clinch a link between Dykes and Joan and Rachel, because there isn’t any. Nobody contradicted her. I decided to adjourn and try one at a time, having been introduced, selected one named Sue Dondero, Emmett Phelps’s secretary, and took her to a night club and spent thirty-four of our client’s dollars. The immediate objective was to get on a satisfactory personal basis, but I found an opportunity to let her know that we intend, if necessary, to blow the firm of Corrigan, Phelps, Kustin and Briggs into so many little pieces that the Department of Sanitation will have us up for cluttering the streets. As I said, the wedding is Sunday. I hope you’ll like her.”
    I upturned a palm. “It all depends. If one or more of them has really got a finger caught, either a firm member or an employee, I may have made a start at least. If not, Miss Gruber is not only shapely but sensible, and I may ditch Sue for her. Time will tell, unless you want to tell me now.”
    Wolfe had finished with the ham, and the eggs done with black butter and sherry, and was starting the wind-up, a griddle cake with no butter but plenty of thyme honey. In the office he would have been scowling, but he would not allow himself to get into a scowling mood while eating.
    “I dislike business with breakfast,” he stated.
    “Yeah, I know you do.”
    “You can fill in later. Get Saul and put him on the disbarment of Mr. O’Malley.”
    “That was covered fairly well in the police file on Dykes. I’ve told you about it.”
    “Nevertheless, put Saul on it. Put Fred and Orrie on Dykes’s associations outside that law office.”
    “He didn’t have any to speak of.”
    “Put them on it. We’ve made this assumption and we’ll either validate it or void it. Pursue your acquaintance with those women. Take one of them to lunch.”
    “Lunch isn’t a good time. They only have—”
    “We’ll argue later. I want to read the paper. Have you had breakfast?”
    “No. I got up late.”
    “Go and eat.”
    “Glad to.”
    Before I did so, I called Saul and Fred and Orrie and told them to come in for briefing. After breakfast I had that to attend to and also various office chores I had got behind on. There was a phone call from Purley Stebbins, who wanted to know how I had made out with my dinner party, and I asked him which one or ones he was tailing, or, as an alternative, which one he had on a line, but he brushed me off. I made no attempt to arrange to buy a lunch. So fast a follow-up on Sue would have been bad strategy, and a midday fifty minutes with one of the others would have given me no scope. Besides, I had had less than five hours’ sleep and hadn’t shaved.
    When Wolfe came down to the office at eleven he went over the morning mail, dictated a couple of letters, looked through a catalogue, and then requested a full report. To him a full report means every word and gesture and expression, and I have learned to fill the order not only to his satisfaction but to mine. It took more than an hour. When I was through, after asking a few questions, he issued a command.
    “Phone Miss Troy and take her to lunch.”
    I remained calm. “I understand and sympathize,” I told him, “but I can’t oblige. You’re desperate andtherefore impulsive. I could present an overwhelming case against it, but will mention only two items: