Prisoner's Base

Parker snorted. "With my client here defenseless? Between them, one of them presumptively a murderer, and you-you a wild beast when you are smelling prey? Ha!" He turned. "Mrs. Jaffee, one of my functions as your attorney is to keep you away, as far as practicable, from dangerous persons and influences, and these two men together represent all the perils and pitfalls of all the catalogues. Will you have lunch with me?"

They left together. That made me proud of her some more from another angle-or should I say curve?-because Nat Parker, a bachelor, was well and widely known for his particular taste in women and did not invite one to lunch absentmindedly; and I was not jealous. I had too good a head start, since there was no more coat and hat in her foyer for him to cart off to the Salvation Army.

Now, of course, Wolfe was committed. He didn't move a finger toward a book or crossword puzzle or any of his other toys. Until lunch time he sat leaning back with his eyes closed, his lips moving now and then, pushing out and pulling in, and I left him to his misery, which I knew was fairly acute. When the going gets really hot and we're closing in, he can get excited as well as the next one, though he refuses to show it, but on this one he was still trying to get set for some kind of a start, and I had to admit he was working on it. Before lunch I phoned Pan-Atlantic and was told that Flight 193 was expected in early, around two-thirty; and I called Irby to tell him that if he could get Eric Hagh to our place by half-past three he should bring him, but otherwise make it six o'clock.

After lunch it was more of the same, with Wolfe being so patient and uncomplaining it was painful, and I would have welcomed a couple of nasty remarks. Shortly before three Parker phoned to say that he had just talked with Helmar and the party was on. The Softdown five would arrive at nine o'clock, and he and Mrs. Jaffee a little earlier. I asked if he was escorting Mrs. Jaffee.

"Certainly," he said virtuously. "She is my client. What's that noise you're making?"

"It's something special," I told him, "and takes a lot of practice. Don't try it offhand. It's a derisive chortle."