Prisoner's Base

I went to the kitchen to discuss the supply of liquid refreshments with Fritz. It was a strict rule that for an evening gathering in that house, whatever the business at hand, assorted drinks must be available, and Fritz and I always collaborated on it unless I was too busy. It always got into an argument, with Fritz insisting that two wines, a red and a white, should be included, and me maintaining that wine was out because it puts Americans to sleep and we wanted them wide awake. We were about ready for the usual compromise-a couple of bottles of white but no red-when the doorbell rang and I went to answer it.

It was Dewdrop Irby with a companion in a white linen suit, somewhat wrinkled and none too clean. I slipped the bolt and opened up and they stepped in.

"Mr. Archie Goodwin," Irby said. "Mr. Eric Hagh."

There had been so much talk of South America that I had been expecting something like a cross between Diego Rivera and Peron, but if this bird had been thoroughly bleached to fit his blond hair and blue eyes I couldn't have told him from a Viking if it hadn't been for his clothes. He was maybe a little older than me, and also, as I would have conceded in spite of his looking fagged and puffy, maybe a little handsomer.

Leaving his luggage, a bag and a suitcase, in the hall, I took them to the office and introduced Hagh to Wolfe. Hagh was inclined to boom when he spoke, but otherwise didn't seem specially objectionable, and I resented it. I was prepared to object to a guy who had married an heiress and got her to sign that document as described, and naturally I felt it was up to him to supply evidence to support my objection. He disappointed me. He did speak with an accent I couldn't place, but I couldn't very well hold that against him with the United Nations only a mile and a half away.

Apparently they were expecting an extended session, from the way they settled in their chairs, but Wolfe made it short and not too sweet. Actually, from our standpoint, those two were now nothing but supers. Irby had been a godsend the day before, when he had come from nowhere to bring us a rake to pull in the Softdown stockholders, but now that Sarah Jaffee had furnished us with a much better one, he and his client were just extras.

Wolfe was moderately polite. "Did you have a tolerable journey, Mr. Hagh?"

"Not too bad," Hagh replied. "A bit bumpy."