Death of a Doxy (Crime Line)

So I spent a hundred minutes down in the lobby instead of going up to the thirty-fourth floor. Anyhow it was better than the upstairs hall at 2938 Humboldt Avenue, especially from five o'clock on, when every elevator unloaded a flock of wrens, a pleasing sight. I know that the wrens who lay eggs don't flock, but if they used elevators instead of wings they would have to.

I had looked at my watch at 5:38, and it was two minutes later that Avery Ballou showed. Of those who had been with him in the elevator, one man stayed with him as they went down the lobby, talking. I followed, six steps back, hoping they would separate, and they did, out on the sidewalk. The man went toward Broadway, and Ballou just stood there. I approached, faced him, offered the card, and said, "This will interest you, Mr. Ballou. Is there enough light?"

For a second I thought he was going to snub it, and so did he, but he looked at my face, the manly honest face that had launched a thousand cards, took it, tilted it for better light, and focused on it. I had plenty of time to size him up. His dark gray coat had set him back three Cs, possibly four, and his dark gray hat around forty bucks. His head was the right size for his big solid frame, and his face was a little seamy but had no sag. It still didn't say when he finished with the card, stuck it in his pocket, and looked at me.

"Interest me?" he asked.

I nodded. "Of course this is no place to discuss it. The best place for that is Nero Wolfe's office. He knows even more than the police do about that pink bedroom and about the man they're holding, and about you. The best time would be now. That's really all I have to say, I'm just the messenger boy. But you have to admit it was considerate of me not to go up to the thirty-fourth floor and give somebody that card to take in."

He turned his head, clear around – to see if there was a cop handy? No. A Rolls-Royce town car had pulled up and stopped, and the uniformed chauffeur was getting out. Ballou turned back to me and asked, "Where is it?"

"West Thirty-fifth Street. Nine-thirty-eight."

"Have you a car?"

"Not here."

"If you ride with me you'll keep your mouth shut."

"Right. I've said my piece."