Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 31 by Champagne for One

chair and asked if I would like a drink, and I had declined with thanks, he stood facing me. He was tall and lanky andloose-jointed, with not much covering for his face bones except skin.
    “That was a hell of a mess I got you into,” he said. “I’m damn sorry.”
    “Don’t mention it,” I told him. “I admit I wondered a little why you picked me. If you want some free advice, free but good, next time you want to cook up a reason for skipping something, don’t overdo it. If you make it a cold, not that kind of a cold, just a plain everyday virus.”
    He turned a chair around and sat. “Apparently you’ve convinced yourself that was a fake.”
    “Sure I have, but my convincing myself doesn’t prove anything. The proof would have to be got, and of course it could be if it mattered enough—items like people you saw or talked to Monday evening, or phoned to yesterday or they phoned you, and whoever keeps this place so nice and clean, if she was here yesterday—things like that. That would be for the cops. If I needed any proof personally, I got it when as soon as I mentioned that the cold was a fake you had to see me right away. So why don’t we just file that?”
    “You said you haven’t told the cops.”
    “Right. It was merely a conclusion I had formed.”
    “Have you told anyone else? My aunt?”
    “No. Certainly not her. I was doing you a favor, wasn’t I?”
    “Yes, and I appreciate it. You know that, Archie, I appreciate it.”
    “Good. We all like to be appreciated. I would appreciate knowing what it is you want to talk over.”
    “Well.” He clasped his hands behind his head, showing how casual it was, just a pair of pals chattingfree and easy. “To tell the truth, I’m in a mess too. Or I will be if you’d like to see me squirm. Would you like to see me squirm?”
    “I might if you’re a good squirmer. How do I go about it?”
    “All you have to do is spill it about my faking a cold. No matter who you spill it to it will get to my aunt, and there I am.” He unclasped his hands and leaned forward. “Here’s how it was. I’ve gone to those damn annual dinners on my uncle’s birthday the last three years and I was fed up, and when my aunt asked me again I tried to beg off, but she insisted, and there are reasons why I couldn’t refuse. But Monday night I played poker all night, and yesterday morning I was fuzzy and couldn’t face it. The question was who to tap. For that affair it can’t be just anybody. The first two candidates I picked were out of town, and the next three all had dates. Then I thought of you. I knew you could handle yourself in any situation, and you had met my aunt. So I called you, and you were big-hearted enough to say yes.”
    He sat back. “That’s how it was. Then this morning comes the news of what happened. I said I was sorry I got you into it, and I am, I’m damned sorry, but frankly, I’m damned glad I wasn’t there. It certainly wasn’t a pleasant experience, and I’m just selfish enough to be glad I missed it. You’ll understand that.”
    “Sure. Congratulations. I didn’t enjoy it much myself.”
    “I’ll bet you didn’t. So that’s what I wanted, to explain how it was, so you’d see it wouldn’t help matters any for anyone to know about my faking a cold. It certainly wouldn’t help me, because it would get tomy aunt sooner or later, and you know how she’d be about a thing like that. She’d be sore as hell.”
    I nodded. “I don’t doubt it. Then it’s an ideal situation. You want something from me, and I want something from you. Perfect. We’ll swap. I don’t broadcast about the phony cold, and you get me an audience at Grantham House. What’s that woman’s name? Irving?”
    “Irwin. Blanche Irwin.” He scratched the side of his neck with a forefinger. “You want to swap, huh?”
    “I do. What could be fairer?”
    “It’s fair enough,” he conceded. “But I told you on the phone I’m not in a position to do