From a pay station at Sixty-second and Madison.
There was a dick playing tag with himself in front of Miss Fox’s address.
Saul went through the apartment and drew a blank.
Now he thinks the dick is sticking there, but he’s not sure.
It’s possible he’s being followed, and if so should he shake the dick and then come here, or what?”
“Tell him to come here. By no means shake the dick.
He may know the one Fred brought, and in that case they might like to have a talk.”
I told Saul, and hung up.
Wolfe was still leaning back, with his eyes half closed.
Mike Walsh sat with his closed entirely, his head swaying on one side, and his breathing deep and even in the silence.
Hilda Lindquist’s shoulders sagged, but her face was flushed and her eyes bright.
Clara Fox had her lips tight enough to make her look determined.
Wolfe said,
“Wake Mr. Walsh.
Having attended to urgencies—in vain— we may now at our leisure fill in some gaps.
Regarding the fantastic business of the Rubber Band. Mr. Walsh, a sharp blow with your hand at the back of your neck will help.
A drink of water?
Very well. Did I understand you to say, Miss Fox, that you have found George Rowley?”
She nodded.
“Two weeks ago.”
“Tell me about it.”
“But Mr. Wolfe … those detectives …”
“To be sure.
You remember I told you you should be tied in your cradle?
For the present, this house is your cradle.
You are safe here.
We shall return to that little problem.
Tell me about George Rowley.”
She drew a breath.
“Well … we found him.
I began a long while ago to do what I could, which wasn’t much.
Of course I couldn’t afford to go to England, or send someone, or anything like that.
But I gathered some information.
For instance, I learned the names of all the generals who had commanded brigades in the British Army during the war, and as well as I could from this distance I began to eliminate them.
There were hundreds and hundreds of them still alive, and of course I didn’t know whetner the one I wanted was alive or not.
I did lots of things, and some of them were pretty bright if I am a fool.
I had found Mike Walsh through an advertisement, and I got photographs of scores of them and showed them to him.
Of course, the fact that George Rowley had lost the lobe of his right ear was a help.
On several occasions, when I learned in the newspapers that a British general or ex-general was in New York, I managed to get a look at him, and sometimes Mike Walsh did too.
Two weeks ago another one came, and in a photograph in the paper it looked as if the bottom of his right ear was off.
Mike Walsh stood in front of his hotel all one afternoon when he should have been asleep, and saw him, and it was George Rowley.”
Wolfe nodded.
“That would be the Marquis of Clivers.”
“How do you know that?”
“Not by divination.
It doesn’t matter.
Congratulations, Miss Fox.”
“Thank you.
The Marquis of Clivers was going to Washington the next day, but he was coming back.
I tried to see him that very evening, but couldn’t get to him.