Might as Well Be Dead

AT ANY GIVEN MOMENT there are probably 38,437 people in the metropolitan area who have been unjustly accused of something, or think they have, and 66 of them have the initials P.H. One-half of 66, or 33, saw that ad, and one-third of the 33, or 11, answered it-three of them by writing letters, six by phoning, and two by calling in person at the old brownstone house on West 35th Street, Manhattan, which Wolfe owns, inhabits, and dominates except when I decide that he has gone too far.

The first reaction was not from a P.H. but an L.C.-Lon Cohen of the Gazette. He phoned Tuesday morning and asked what the line was on the Hays case. I said we had no line on any Hays case, and he said nuts.

He went on. “Wolfe runs an ad telling P.H. he knows he’s innocent, but you have no line? Come on, come on. After all the favors I’ve done you? All I ask is-”

I cut him off. “Wrong number. But I should have known, and so should Mr. Wolfe. We do read the papers, so we know a guy named Peter Hays is on trial for murder. Not our P.H. But it could be a damn nuisance. I hope to God he doesn’t see the ad.”

“Okay. You’re sitting on it, and when Wolfe’s sitting on something it’s being sat on good. But when you’re ready to loosen up, think of me. My name is Damon, Pythias.”

Since there was no use trying to convince him, I skipped it. I didn’t buzz Wolfe, who was up in the plant rooms for his morning exercise, to ride him for not remembering there was a P.H. being tried for murder, because I should have remembered it myself.

The other P.H.’s kept me busy, off and on, most of the day. One named Phillip Horgan was no problem, because he came in person and one look was enough. He was somewhat older than our client. The other one who came in person, while we were at lunch, was tougher. His name was Perry Hettinger, and he refused to believe the ad wasn’t aimed at him. By the time I got rid of him and returned to the dining room Wolfe had cleaned up the kidney pie and I got no second helping.