Prisoner's Base

On the theory that I deserved to take a little something for an hour and a half's hard work, I called, "A friend of Sarah Jaffee's! My name's Goodwin!"

Abruptly the door popped open, wide open, and standing there was Hercules, in white shorts, dazzling white in contrast to his dark skin and his tousled mop of coal-black hair. "I'm in mourning," he said. "What do you want?"

"You're Andreas Fomos?"

"I'm Andy Fomos. No one says Andreas. What do you want?"

"I want to ask if you know why Priscilla Eads was going to make your wife a director of Softdown, Incorporated."

"What?" He cocked his head. "Say that again."

I repeated it. When he was sure he had it he turned his palms up. "Look," he rumbled. "I don't believe it."

"That's what Miss Eads told Mrs. Jaffee last week, that she was going to make your wife a director. A week ago today."

"I still don't believe it. Look. That Priscilla Eads was mixed up with some bad stars. She went crazy every two years. I have studied the history of it and I had it written down, but the police wanted it and I let them have it. I only met my wife and married her two years ago, but she told me the whole story. The Greenwich Village, the New Orleans, the Peru with a husband, the back here without him and getting even with men, the Reno, the Salvation Army!" His hands went up. "I ask you! My wife was with her through all that. Now you say she was going to make my wife a director-did I say I don't believe it? Of course I believe it, why not? With that Priscilla Eads I could believe anything; but I don't know about it. What do you want?"

"We could talk better inside," I suggested, "if you don't mind."

"Are you a reporter?"

"No. I-"

"Are you a cop?"

"No. I work-"

I don't know how many hundreds of times people have undertaken to close doors on me, but often enough so that my reaction has become routine and automatic-in fact, too automatic. When Andy Fomos jerked aside and started swinging the door to, my foot went out as usual, ready to hold the floor against pressure as usual, but with him usual wasn't good enough. He was even faster and stronger than he looked, and instead of bringing his weight to it, which would have taken an extra half-second, he used muscle, and plenty. Before I could catch up the door banged shut and the lock clicked, and I was standing there with my nose flattened and a big scar across the polished toe of my second-best Bradley shoes.