If Death Ever Slept

Walking the thirty blocks to the Gazette building, I dropped in to ask Lon Cohen if the Giants were going to move to San Francisco. I also asked him for the latest dope on the Eber murder, and he asked me who Wolfe’s client was. Neither of us got much satisfaction. As far as he knew, the cops were making a strenuous effort to turn up a lead and serve the cause of justice, and as far as I knew, Wolfe was fresh out of clients but if and when I had anything good enough for the front page I would let him know. From there, having loosened up my legs, I took a taxi to 35th Street.

Wolfe had come down from the plant rooms and was at his desk, dictating to Orrie, at my desk. They took time out to greet me, which I appreciated, from two busy men with important matters to attend to like writing to Lewis Hewitt to tell him that a cross of Cochlioda noezliana with Odontoglossum armainvillierense was going to bloom and inviting him to come and look at it. Not having had my usual forty minutes with the morning Times at breakfast, I got it from the rack and went to the couch, and had finished the front-page headlines and the sports pages when the doorbell rang. The man seated at my desk should have answered it, but he was being told by Wolfe how to spell a word which should have been no problem, so I went.

One glance through the panel, at a husky specimen in a gray suit, a pair of broad shoulders, and a big red face, was sufficient. I went and put the chain bolt on, opened the door to the two inches allowed by the chain, and spoke through the crack. “Good morning. I haven’t seen you for months. You’re looking fine.”

“Come on, Goodwin, open up.”

“I’d like to, but you know how it is. Mr. Wolfe is engaged, teaching a man how to spell. What do I tell him?”

“Tell him I want to know why he changed your name to Alan Green and got you a job as secretary to Otis Jarrell.”

“I’ve been wondering about that myself. Make yourself comfortable while I go ask him. Of course if he doesn’t know, there’s no point in your bothering to come in.”

Leaving the door open to the chain, not to be rude, I went to the office and crossed to Wolfe’s desk. “Sorry to interrupt, but Inspector Cramer wants to know why you changed my name to Alan Green and got me a job as secretary to Otis Jarrell. Shall I tell him?”

He scowled at me. “How did he find out? That Jarrell girl?”

“No. I don’t know. If you have to blame it on a woman, take Nora Kent, but I doubt it.”

“Confound it. Bring him in.”