“That was my idea. Yes, sir.”
“Mr. Wolfe will be engaged until six o’clock, and at that time he has another appointment.
My name’s Archie Goodwin.
I’m Mr. Wolfe’s confidential assistant.
Maybe I could help you?”
“The hell you are.”
He certainly had a smooth sort voice for his age and bulk and his used-up face.
He had his half-shut eyes on me.
“Listen, sonny.
What sort of a man is this Nero Wolfe?”
I grinned.
“A fat man.”
He shook his head in slow impatience.
“It ain’t to the point to tease a steer.
You see the kind of man I am.
I’m out of my county.” His eyes twin– kled a little. “Hell, I’m clear over the mountains.
Who was that man that was in here when I came?”
“Just a man. A client of Mr. Wolfe’s.”
“What kind of a client?
Anybody ever give him a name?”
“I expect so.
Next time you see him, ask him.
Is there anything I can do for you?”
“All right, sonny.” He nodded. “Naturally I had my suspicions up, seeing any kind of a man here at this time, but you heard me remark that he wasn’t Mike Walsh.
And God knows he wasn’t Vie Lindquist’s daughter.
Thanks for leaving my ideas free.
Could I have a piece of paper?
Any kind.”
I handed him a sheet of typewriter bond from my desk.
He took it and held it in front of him spread on the palms of his hands, bent his head over it, and opened his mouth, and out popped a chew of tobacco the size of a hen’s egg.
I’m fairly observant, but I hadn’t suspected its existence.
He wrapped the paper around it, clumsily but thoroughly, got up and took it to the wastebasket, and came back and sat down again.
His eyes twinkled at me.
“There seems to be very little spittin’ done east of the Mississippi.
A swallower like me don’t mind, but if John Orcutt was here he wouldn’t tolerate it.
But you was asking me if there’s anything you can do for me.
I wish to God I knew.
I wish to God there was a man in this town you could let put your saddle on.”
I grinned at him.
“If you mean an honest man, Mr. Scovil, you must have got an idea from a movie or something.
There’s just as many honest men here as the other side of the mountains.
And just as few.
I’m one.
I’m so damn honest I often double-cross myself.
Nero Wolfe is almost as bad.
Go ahead.
You must have come here to spill something besides that chew.”
With his eyes still on me, he lifted his right hand and drew the back of it slowly across his nostrils from left to right, and then, after a pause, from right to left.
He nodded.
“I’ve traveled over two thousand miles, from Hiller County, Wyoming, to come here on an off chance.