Before Midnight

We headed for the cabinets at the right wall, those nearest the elevators, and as we reached them Fred left and went to join Saul at the left wall. That was according to the plan of battle as outlined at headquarters. I didn't bother to get out my notebook, wanting both hands free for moving things when necessary. For the first cabinet it wasn't necessary. It held a picture of an ocean liner, some miniature bags of a line of fertilizers, cartons of cigarettes, a vacuum cleaner, and various other items. The bottom shelf of the second cabinet was no more promising, with an outboard motor, soaps and detergents, canned soup, and beer in both bottles and cans, but the second shelf had packaged goods and got more attention. It didn't seem likely that cyanide would have fitted in with cereals and cake mixes and noodles, but the program said to look at each and every package. I was doing so, with Wolfe standing behind me, when an authoritative voice sounded.

"Are you Nero Wolfe? What's going on?"

I straightened and turned. A six-foot executive with a jutting jaw was facing Wolfe and wanted no nonsense. Since he hadn't emerged from an elevator, he must have been inside and the brunette had summoned him.

"I've explained," Wolfe said, "to the woman at the desk."

"I know what you told her and it sounds fishy. Get away from these cabinets and stay away until I can check."

Wolfe shook his head. "I'm sorry, Mr…"

"My name's Falk."

"I'm sorry we can't oblige you, Mr. Falk. I was hired by Mr. Bufi and Mr. O'Garro-and Mr. Assa, who is dead. We've started and we're going to finish. You look truculent, but I advise you to consult Mr. Buff or Mr. O'Garro. Where are they?"

"They're not here."

"You must know where they are. Phone them."

"I'm going to, and you're going to stay away from these cabinets until I do."

"No, sir." Wolfe was firm but unruffled. "I make allowances for your state of mind, Mr. Falk, after what happened last night, but you must know I'm not a bandit and these men are working for me. It shouldn't take long to get Mr. Buff or Mr. O'Garro. Do so by all means."

One test of a good executive is how long it takes him to realize he has lost an argument, and Falk passed it. He turned on his heel and left, striding across the carpet to the door leading to the inside corridor. Wolfe and I resumed, finishing with the shelf of packages and going on to the next one-buckets and cans of paint, electric irons, and so forth.