Prisoner's Base

I took my time descending the three flights to the ground floor. I was not buoyant. Whenever Wolfe sends me out to bring in something or someone, I like to deliver if possible, but I don't expect to pass miracles. On this one, though, it was beginning to look as if nothing less than a miracle would do, and this was not merely a matter of satisfying a client and collecting a fee. I was the client, and I had roped Wolfe in. It was up to me. But it wasn't like the day before, when I had been on my own and could take a notion to roll down to the Softdown building and crash a meeting; now Wolfe was handling it, and no notion of mine would count without his okay. Added to that, as I made the sidewalk and turned right, deciding not to check out with Halloran across the street, was the difficulty that I had nothing remotely resembling a notion. At Lexington Avenue I got a taxi.

I did not like the way Wolfe took it. When I entered the office alone and announced that as far as I knew no company was expected, then or later, he grunted, settled back in his chair, and requested a verbatim report. Throughout the performance, covering all words and actions with both Sarah Jaffee and Andreas Fomos, he was motionless, his eyes closed and his fingers laced at the summit of his belly, and that was all right; that was perfectly normal. But when I had finished he asked not a single question, only muttering at me, "You'd better type it."

"You mean complete?" I demanded.

"Yes."

"It'll take all afternoon and maybe more."

"I suppose so."

It was true that it was lunchtime, not a moment to expect him to do any digging in, and I skipped it temporarily. But later, after we had been to the dining room and enjoyed a good meal, during which he furnished me with pointed comments on all of the prominent candidates for the Republican nomination for President, I tried again. As he got comfortable with a magazine in his chair behind his desk I remarked, "I could use a program if you can spare the time."

He glared, mildly. "I asked you to type that report."

"Yeah, I heard you. But that was only a stall, and you know it. If you want me to sit here on the back of my lap until you feel like thinking of something to do, just say so. What's the use of wasting a lot of paper and wearing out the typewriter?"