Before Midnight

I told her who I was and hung her coat up for her. She was fairly tall, slender but not thin, and not at all poorly furnished with features. From a first glance, and I try to make first glances count, everything about her was smart, with the exception of the earrings, which were enameled clock dials the size of a quarter. She had gray eyes and brassy hah- and very good skin and lipstick.

As we were starting for the office the elevator door opened and Wolfe emerged. He stopped, facing her.

"I'm Susan Tescher," she said.

He bowed. "I'm Nero Wolfe. And these gentlemen?"

She used a hand. "Mr. Hibbard, of the legal staff of Clock." Mr. Hibbard was tall and skinny. "Mr Schultz, an associate editor of Clock." Mr. Schultz was tall and broad. "Mr. Knudsen, a senior editor of Clock." Mr. Knudsen was tall and bony.

I had edged on ahead, to be there to get her into the red leather chair, which was where Wolfe always wanted the target, without any fuss. There was no problem. The men were perfectly satisfied with the three smaller chairs I placed for them, off to my right and facing Wolfe at his desk. All three crossed their legs, settled back, and clasped their hands. When I got out my notebook Schultz called Hibbard's attention, and Hibbard called Knudsen's attention, but there was no comment.

"If you please," Wolfe asked, "in what capacity are these gentlemen present?"

He was looking at them, but Miss Tescher answered. "I suppose you know that I am assistant director of research at Clock."

"At least I know it now."

"The publicity about the contest, after what happened last night and this morning, and my connection with it, was discussed at a conference this afternoon. I can tell you confidentially that Mr. Tite himself was there. I thought I would be fired, but Mr. Tite is a very fair man and very loyal to his employees. All my work on the contest was done on my own time--of course I'm a highly trained researcher. So it was decided that Mr. Hibbard and Mr. Knudsen and Mr. Schultz should come with me here. They want to be available for advice if I need it"

"Mr. Hibbard is a counselor-at-law?"

"Yes."

"Is he your attorney?"

"Why-I don't-" She looked at Hibbard. He moved his head, once to the left and back again. "No," she said, "he isn't." She cocked her head. "I want to say something."

"Go ahead."