If Death Ever Slept

Jarrell was at his desk. “Don’t come back, Green. I’ll be busy. Get your bearings. Cocktails in the lounge at six-thirty.”

Steck moved aside for me to pass, pulled the door shut as he backed out, said, “This way, sir,” and started down the corridor a mile a minute.

I called to him, “Hold it, Steck,” and he braked and turned.

“You look harassed,” I told him. He did. He was an inch taller than me, but thinner. His pale sad face was so long and narrow that he looked taller than he was. His black tie was a little crooked. I added, “You must have things to do.”

“Yes, sir, certainly, I have duties.”

“Sure. Just show me my room.”

“Mr. Jarrell said to take you around, sir.”

“You can do that later, if you can work it in. At the moment I need a room. I want to gargle.”

“Yes, sir. This way, sir.”

I followed him down the corridor and around a corner to an elevator. I asked if there were stairs and was told that there were three, one off the lounge, one in the corridor, and one for service in the rear. Also three elevators. The one we were in was gold-plated, or possibly solid. On the upper floor we went left, then right, and near the end of the hall he opened a door and bowed me in. He followed, to tell me about the phones. A ring would be for the green one, from the outside world. A buzz would be for the black one, from somewhere inside, for instance from Mr. Jarrell. I would use that one to get Steck when I was ready to be taken around. I thanked him out.

The room was twelve by sixteen, two windows with Venetians, a little frilly but not bad, mostly blue and lemon-yellow except the rugs, which were tan with dark brown stripes. The bed was okay, and so was the bathroom. Under ordinary circumstances I would have used the green phone to ring Wolfe and report arrival, but I skipped it, not wanting to rub it in. After unpacking, taking my time, deciding not to shave, washing my hands, and straightening my tie, I got out my notebook, sat by a window, and turned to the list of names:

Mrs. Otis Jarrell (Trella)

Lois Jarrell, daughter by first wife

Wyman Jarrell, son by ditto

Mrs. Wyman Jarrell (Susan)

Roger Foote, Trella’s brother

Nora Kent, stenographer

James L. Eber, ex-secretary

Corey Brigham, friend of family who queered deal