hackie as I pulled the door shut, “Step on it,” and saw Gregory Peck stare at me as we went by. The other one was across the street. We did seven blocks before a red light stopped us, so that was that. I admit I had kept an eye on the rear. I gave the driver the Grand Concourse address, and the light changed, and we rolled.
Some realty agency branch offices are upstairs, but that one was on the ground floor of an apartment building, of course one of the buildings it serviced. I entered. It was small, two desks and a table and a filing cabinet. A beautiful young lady with enough black hair for a Beatle was at the nearest desk, and when she smiled at me and asked if she could help me, I had to take a breath to keep my head from swimming. They should stay home during business hours. I told her I would like to see Mr Odell, and she turned her beautiful head and nodded to the rear.
He was at the other desk. I had waited to see him before deciding on the approach, and one look was enough. Some men, after a hitch in the jug, even a short one, have got a permanent wilt, but not him. In size he was a peanut, but an elegant peanut. Fair-skinned and fair-haired, he was more than fair-dressed. His pin-stripe gray suit had set him, or somebody, back at least two Cs.
He left his chair to come, said he was Frank Odell, and offered a hand. It would have been simpler if he had had a room to himself; possibly she didn’t know she was cooped up with a jailbird. I said I was Archie Goodwin, got out my case, and handed him a card. He gave it a good look, stuck it in his pocket, and said, “My goodness, I should have recognized you. From your picture in the paper.”
My picture hadn’t been in the paper for fourteen months, and he had been behind bars, but I didn’t make an issue of it. “I’m beginning to show my years,” I told him. “Can you give me a few minutes'Nero Wolfe has taken on a little job involving a man named Morris Althaus and he thinks you might be able to furnish some information.”
He didn’t bat an eye. No wilt. He merely said, “That’s the man that was murdered.”
“Right. Of course the police have been around about that. Routine. This is just a private investigation on a side issue.”
“If you mean the police have been here, they haven’t. We might as well sit down.” He moved to his desk, and I followed and took a chair at its end. “What’s the side issue?” he asked.
“It’s a little complicated. It’s about some research he was doing at the time he was killed. You may know something about it if you saw him during that period-say the month of November, last November. Did you see him around then?”
“No, the last time I saw him was two years ago. In a courtroom. When some people that I thought were friends of mine were making me the goat. Why would the police be seeing me?”
“Oh, in a murder case they can’t crack they see everybody.” I waved it away. “What you say about being made the goat, that’s interesting. It might have some bearing on what we want to know, whether Althaus was in the habit of doctoring his stuff. Was he one of the friends who made you the goat?”
“My goodness, no. He wasn’t a friend. I only met him twice, while he was doing that piece, or getting ready to. He was looking for bigger fish. I was just a hustler, working for Bruner Realty.”
“Bruner Realty?” I wrinkled my brow. “I don’t remember that name in connection with the case. Of course I’m not any too familiar with it. Then it was your friends in Bruner Realty who made you the goat?”
He smiled. “You certainly are not familiar with it. It was some outside deals that I had a hand in. That all came out at the trial. The Bruner people were very nice about it, very nice. The vice-president even arranged for me to see Mrs Bruner herself. That was the second time I saw Althaus, in her office at her house. She was nice too. She believed what I told her. She even paid my lawyer, part
Some realty agency branch offices are upstairs, but that one was on the ground floor of an apartment building, of course one of the buildings it serviced. I entered. It was small, two desks and a table and a filing cabinet. A beautiful young lady with enough black hair for a Beatle was at the nearest desk, and when she smiled at me and asked if she could help me, I had to take a breath to keep my head from swimming. They should stay home during business hours. I told her I would like to see Mr Odell, and she turned her beautiful head and nodded to the rear.
He was at the other desk. I had waited to see him before deciding on the approach, and one look was enough. Some men, after a hitch in the jug, even a short one, have got a permanent wilt, but not him. In size he was a peanut, but an elegant peanut. Fair-skinned and fair-haired, he was more than fair-dressed. His pin-stripe gray suit had set him, or somebody, back at least two Cs.
He left his chair to come, said he was Frank Odell, and offered a hand. It would have been simpler if he had had a room to himself; possibly she didn’t know she was cooped up with a jailbird. I said I was Archie Goodwin, got out my case, and handed him a card. He gave it a good look, stuck it in his pocket, and said, “My goodness, I should have recognized you. From your picture in the paper.”
My picture hadn’t been in the paper for fourteen months, and he had been behind bars, but I didn’t make an issue of it. “I’m beginning to show my years,” I told him. “Can you give me a few minutes'Nero Wolfe has taken on a little job involving a man named Morris Althaus and he thinks you might be able to furnish some information.”
He didn’t bat an eye. No wilt. He merely said, “That’s the man that was murdered.”
“Right. Of course the police have been around about that. Routine. This is just a private investigation on a side issue.”
“If you mean the police have been here, they haven’t. We might as well sit down.” He moved to his desk, and I followed and took a chair at its end. “What’s the side issue?” he asked.
“It’s a little complicated. It’s about some research he was doing at the time he was killed. You may know something about it if you saw him during that period-say the month of November, last November. Did you see him around then?”
“No, the last time I saw him was two years ago. In a courtroom. When some people that I thought were friends of mine were making me the goat. Why would the police be seeing me?”
“Oh, in a murder case they can’t crack they see everybody.” I waved it away. “What you say about being made the goat, that’s interesting. It might have some bearing on what we want to know, whether Althaus was in the habit of doctoring his stuff. Was he one of the friends who made you the goat?”
“My goodness, no. He wasn’t a friend. I only met him twice, while he was doing that piece, or getting ready to. He was looking for bigger fish. I was just a hustler, working for Bruner Realty.”
“Bruner Realty?” I wrinkled my brow. “I don’t remember that name in connection with the case. Of course I’m not any too familiar with it. Then it was your friends in Bruner Realty who made you the goat?”
He smiled. “You certainly are not familiar with it. It was some outside deals that I had a hand in. That all came out at the trial. The Bruner people were very nice about it, very nice. The vice-president even arranged for me to see Mrs Bruner herself. That was the second time I saw Althaus, in her office at her house. She was nice too. She believed what I told her. She even paid my lawyer, part
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