copies of the release in question, and make a full report of the results directly to me. I shall expect this report to reach me not later than March 28th. Sincerely. Six-eighty-two. Dear Mr. Maspero. Thank you very much for your letter of the 16th, and I assure you that its contents will be regarded as confidential. That of course would be impossible if your information were susceptible of use in a legal action that could be undertaken by me in the performance of my duty, but I am fully aware of the difficulties involved in any attempt& '
That one went on long enough to fill at least two full pages single-spaced, leaving room on that cylinder only for two more letters and an interoffice memo. When it reached the end I removed it and returned it to its place in the row, and picked up number two, remarking meanwhile:
'I suppose you noticed that Boone apparently sent his letters by rocket and the regional directors were expected to be streaks of lightning.'
Wolfe nodded gloomily. 'We've been sniggled.' He leaned forward to look at his desk calendar. 'He couldn't possibly have dictated that the afternoon of the day he was killed, March 26th. He told the regional directors to investigate and get a report to him by March 28th. Since it was to go to all regional directors, the West Coast was included. Even granting the speed of air mail, and allowing only one day for their investigations, which seems meager, that must have been dictated not later than March 23rd, and probably several days earlier.'
He sighed deep. 'Confound it. I was hoping-' He compressed his lips and frowned at the leather case. 'That woman said four, didn't she?'
'Do you mean Miss Gunther?'
'Who the devil do you think I mean?'
'I think you mean Miss Phoebe Gunther. If so, yes. She said there were twelve of those cases, and the one Boone gave her in the murder room had the number four stamped on top, and he told her it contained cylinders he had dictated in his Washington office that afternoon. So it looks as if someone has been playing button button. Are we too discouraged to go on or would we care to hear number two?'
'Go ahead.'
I proceeded with the concert. Lunch intervened at the end of the sixth movement, and after a leisurely but not especially gay meal we returned to the office and finished them up. There was nothing spectacular anywhere in the lot, though some of them contained matter that was certainly confidential; and considered as clues that might help solve a murder, I wouldn't have paid a dime for them. In four others besides number one there was evidence, some of it conclusive, that they had been dictated earlier than March 26th.
I couldn't blame Wolfe for being depressed. In addition to all the other complications, there were at least eight possible explanations of how leather case number four happened, when found, to contain cylinders dictated prior to the day of the murder, the simplest of all being that Boone himself had picked up the wrong case when he left his Washington office that afternoon. Not to mention the basic question, for which I didn't have even a guess, let alone an answer: were the cylinders only a side show or were they part of the main performance'
Leaning back in his chair digesting, Wolfe was, to an unaccustomed eye though not to mine, sound asleep. He didn't stir as I wheeled the machine out of the way, over to a corner. Then, as I went to his desk and started to return the cylinders to their nests in the case, his lids opened to make a slit.
He shook his head. 'You'd better run them off again and make a transcription of them. Three carbons.' He glanced at the wall clock. 'I'll be going upstairs in thirty-five minutes. Do it then.'
'Yes, sir.' I was grim. 'I expected this.'
'You did'I didn't.'
'I don't mean I expected the cylinders to be antiques. I expected this typewriting job. That's the level this case seems to have descended to.'
'Don't badger me. I was an ass to undertake it. I have more Cattleyas than I
That one went on long enough to fill at least two full pages single-spaced, leaving room on that cylinder only for two more letters and an interoffice memo. When it reached the end I removed it and returned it to its place in the row, and picked up number two, remarking meanwhile:
'I suppose you noticed that Boone apparently sent his letters by rocket and the regional directors were expected to be streaks of lightning.'
Wolfe nodded gloomily. 'We've been sniggled.' He leaned forward to look at his desk calendar. 'He couldn't possibly have dictated that the afternoon of the day he was killed, March 26th. He told the regional directors to investigate and get a report to him by March 28th. Since it was to go to all regional directors, the West Coast was included. Even granting the speed of air mail, and allowing only one day for their investigations, which seems meager, that must have been dictated not later than March 23rd, and probably several days earlier.'
He sighed deep. 'Confound it. I was hoping-' He compressed his lips and frowned at the leather case. 'That woman said four, didn't she?'
'Do you mean Miss Gunther?'
'Who the devil do you think I mean?'
'I think you mean Miss Phoebe Gunther. If so, yes. She said there were twelve of those cases, and the one Boone gave her in the murder room had the number four stamped on top, and he told her it contained cylinders he had dictated in his Washington office that afternoon. So it looks as if someone has been playing button button. Are we too discouraged to go on or would we care to hear number two?'
'Go ahead.'
I proceeded with the concert. Lunch intervened at the end of the sixth movement, and after a leisurely but not especially gay meal we returned to the office and finished them up. There was nothing spectacular anywhere in the lot, though some of them contained matter that was certainly confidential; and considered as clues that might help solve a murder, I wouldn't have paid a dime for them. In four others besides number one there was evidence, some of it conclusive, that they had been dictated earlier than March 26th.
I couldn't blame Wolfe for being depressed. In addition to all the other complications, there were at least eight possible explanations of how leather case number four happened, when found, to contain cylinders dictated prior to the day of the murder, the simplest of all being that Boone himself had picked up the wrong case when he left his Washington office that afternoon. Not to mention the basic question, for which I didn't have even a guess, let alone an answer: were the cylinders only a side show or were they part of the main performance'
Leaning back in his chair digesting, Wolfe was, to an unaccustomed eye though not to mine, sound asleep. He didn't stir as I wheeled the machine out of the way, over to a corner. Then, as I went to his desk and started to return the cylinders to their nests in the case, his lids opened to make a slit.
He shook his head. 'You'd better run them off again and make a transcription of them. Three carbons.' He glanced at the wall clock. 'I'll be going upstairs in thirty-five minutes. Do it then.'
'Yes, sir.' I was grim. 'I expected this.'
'You did'I didn't.'
'I don't mean I expected the cylinders to be antiques. I expected this typewriting job. That's the level this case seems to have descended to.'
'Don't badger me. I was an ass to undertake it. I have more Cattleyas than I
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