I knew what he wanted, I knew he hated to stoop, but stooping was the only really violent part of that game and I figured he needed the exercise.
I sat tight.
Wolfe opened his eyes at me.
“I have noticed Mr. Woolfs drawings.
They are technically excellent.”
The son of a gun was trying to bribe me to pick up his dart by pretending to be interested in what I had said.
I thought to myself, All right, but youll pay for it, let’s just see how long you’ll stand there and stay interested.
I picked up the magazine section and opened it to the article, and observed briskly,
“This is one of his best.
Have you seen it?
It’s about some Englishman that’s over here on a government mission—wait—it tells here—”
I found it and read aloud: “‘It is not known whether the Marquis of Clivers is empowered to discuss military and naval arrangements in the Far East; all that has been disclosed is his intention to make a final disposition or the question of spheres of economic influence.
That is why, after a week of conferences in Washington with the Departments of State and Commerce, he has come to New York for an indefinite stay to consult with financial and industrial leaders.
More and more clearly it is being realized in government circles that the only satisfactory and permanent basis for peace in the Orient is the removal of the present causes of economic friction.’”
I nodded at Wolfe.
“You get it?
Spheres of economic influence.
The same thing that bothered Al Capone and Dutch Schultz.
Look where economic friction landed them.”
Wolfe nodded back.
“Thank you, Archie.
Thank you very much for explaining it to me.
Now if you—”
I hurried on.
“Wait, it gets lots more interesting than that.”
I glanced down the page.
“In the picture he looks like a ruler of men—you know, like a master barber or a head waiter, you know the type.
It goes on to tell how much he knows about spheres and influences, and his record in the warhe commanded a brigade and he got decorated four times—a noble lord and all prettied up with decorations like a store front—1 say three cheers and let us drink to the King, gendemen!
You understand, sir, I’m just summarizing.”
“Yes” Archie.
Thank you.” Wolfe sounded grim.
I took a breath.
“Don’t mention it.
But the really interesting part is where it tells about his character and his private life.
He’s a great gardener.
He prunes his own roses!
At least it says so, but it’s almost too much to swallow. Then it goes on, new paragraph.
While it would be an exaggeration to call the marquis an eccentric, in many ways he fails to conform to the conventional conception of a British peer, probably due in some measure to the tact that in his younger days—he is now sixtyfour—he spent many years, in various activities, in Australia, South America, and the western part of the United States. He is a nephew of the ninth marquis, and succeeded to the tide in 1905, when his uncle and two cousins perished in the sinking of the Rotania off the African coast But under any circumstances he would be an extraordinary person, and his idiosyncrasies, as he is pleased to call them, are definitely his own.” “He never shoots animals or birds, though he owns some of the best shooting in Scotland —yet he is a famous expert with a pistol and always carries one.
Owning a fine stable, he has not been on a horse for fifteen years.
He never eats anything between luncheon and dinner, which in England barely misses the aspect of treason.
He has never seen a cricket match.
Possessing more than a dozen automobiles, he does not know how to drive one.
He is an excellent poker player and has popularized the game among a circle of his friends.
He is passionately fond of croquet, derides golf as a “corrupter of social decency,” and keeps an American cook at the manor of Pokendam for the purpose of making pumpkin pie.
On his frequent trips to the Continent he never fails to take with him—”
There was no point in going on, so I stopped. I had lost my audience.
As he stood facing me Wolfe’s eyes had gradually narrowed into slits; and or a sudden he opened his hand and turned it palm down to let the remaining darts fall to the floor, where they rolled in all directions; and Wolfe walked from the room without a word.
I heard him in the hall, in the elevator, getting in and banging the door to.
Of course he had the excuse that it was four o’clock, his regular time for going to the plant rooms.
I could have left the darts for Fritz to pick up later, but there was no sense in me getting childish just because Wolfe did.