On my way uptown, walking the thirty blocks to stretch my legs, I had to decide whether to give Wolfe a ring or not. If I did, and reported the development, that Trella said our client had made a pass at his daughter-in-law and had been looked off, and that therefore it seemed possible he had hired Wolfe and tried to suborn me only to cure an acute case of pique, I would certainly be instructed to pack and come home; and I preferred to hang on a while, at least long enough to expose myself to Susan once more and see how it affected my pulse and respiration. And if I rang Wolfe and didn’t report the development, I had nothing to say, so I saved a dime.
Mrs. Wyman Jarrell was out, Steck said, and so was Miss Jarrell. He also said that Mr. Foote had asked to be informed when I returned, and I said all right, inform him. Thinking it proper to make an appearance at my desk before nightfall, I left my hat and topcoat in the closet around the corner and went to the library. Nora Kent was at Jarrell’s desk, using the red phone, and I moseyed over to the battery of filing cabinets and pulled out a drawer at random. The first folder was marked PAPER PRODUCTION BRAZIL, and I took it out for a look.
I was fingering through it when Nora’s voice came at my back. “Did you want something, Mr. Green?”
I turned. “Nothing special. It would be nice to do something useful. If the secretary should be acquainted with these files I think I could manage it in two or three years.”
“Oh, it won’t take you that long. When Mr. Jarrell gets back he’ll get you started.”
“That’s polite, and I appreciate it. You might have just told me to keep hands off.” I replaced the folder and closed the drawer. “Can I help with anything? Like emptying a wastebasket or changing a desk blotter?”
“No, thank you. It would be a little presumptuous of me to tell you to keep hands off since Mr. Jarrell has given you a key.”
“So it would. I take it back. Have you heard from him?”
“Yes, he phoned about an hour ago. He’ll return tomorrow, probably soon after noon.”