He had a big long cardboard box under his arm.
I took him to the office.
As he sidled past a chair to get to Wolfe’s desk he passed one sharp glance around, and I knew that gave him a print of those three sitting there which would fade out only when he did.
Wolfe greeted him.
“Good evening, Saul.”
“Good evening, Mr. Wolfe.
Of course Archie told you my phone call.
There’s not much to add.
When I arrived the detective was there on the sidewalk.
His name is Bill Purvil.
I saw him once about four years ago in Brooklyn, when we had that Moschenden case.
He didn’t recognize me on the sidewalk.
But when I went in at that entrance he followed me.
I figured it was better to go ahead.
There was a phone in the apartment.
If I found the package I could phone Archie to come and get into the court from Sixtieth Street, and throw it to him from a back window.
When the detective saw I was going into that apartment with a key, he stopped me to ask questions, and I answered what occurred to me.
He stayed out in die hall and I locked the door on the inside. I went through the place.
The package isn’t there.
I came out and the detective foUowed me downstairs to the sidewalk.
I phoned from a drug store.
I don’t think he tried to follow me, but I made sure it didn’t work if he did.”
Wolfe nodded.
“Satisfactory.
And your bundle?”
Saul got the box from under his arm and put it on the desk.
“I guess it’s Bowers.
It has a name on it, Drummond, the Park Avenue florist.
It was on the floor of the hall right at the door of the apartment, apparently been delivered, addressed Miss Clara Fox.
My instructions were to search only the apartment, so I hesitated to open this box, because it wasn’t in the apartment.
But I didn’t want to leave it there, because it was barely possible that what you want was in it.
So I brought it along.”
“Good.
Satisfactory again.
May we open it. Miss Fox?”
“Certainly.”
I got up to help.
Saul and I pulled off the fancy gray tape and took the lid off.
Standing, we were the only ones who could see in.
I said,
“It’s a thousand roses.”
Clara Fox jumped up to look.
I reached in the box and picked up an envelope and took a card from the envelope. I squinted at it—it was scrawly writing—and read it out,
“Francis Horrocks?”
She nodded.
“That’s my acquaintance.
The man that ejected me for the Marquis of Clivers.
He’s a young diplomat with a special knowledge of the Far East.
Aren’t they beautiful?
Look, Hilda.