The Doorbell Rang (The Rex Stout Library)

"I understand, of course, that all that bored you-if you bothered to listen. You don't give a damn who killed Morris Althaus. All you're interested in is this cocky shenanigan you're cooking up, and to hell with who murdered whom. I appreciate your not snoring. A sensitive man like me."

His eyes opened. "Pfui. I can say satisfactory, and I do. Satisfactory. But you could have proceeded. You could have had that woman here this afternoon instead of this evening."

I nodded. "You're not only bored, your connections are jammed. You said we prefer by far the second alternative, so we certainly want to know if there is any chance of getting it. Sarah Dacos was there in the house, if not when he was shot, soon after. It's possible she can settle it, one way or the other. If you want-"

The door opened, and Pierre entered with a loaded tray. I glanced at my watch: 7:15. So he had told Felix a quarter past seven; by gum, he was hanging on to one rule at least, and he would certainly hang on to another one, no business talk at the table. He got up and left the room to wash his hands. By the time he got back Pierre had the mussels served and was waiting to hold his chair. He sat, forked a mussel to his mouth, used his tongue and teeth on it, swallowed, nodded, and said, "Mr Hewitt has bloomed four crosses between Miltonia sanderae and Odontoglossum pyramus. One of them is worth naming."

So they had found time to visit the orchid house.

Around half past eight Felix came and asked if he could have a minute to discuss the problem of shipping langoustes from France by air. It developed that what he really wanted was Wolfe's approval of frozen langoustes, and of course he didn't get it. But he was stubborn, and they were still at it when Pierre ushered Sarah Dacos in. She was right on time. As I took her coat she accepted my offer of coffee, so I put her in a chair at the table and waited until Felix had gone to tell Wolfe her name.

He sizes a man up, but not a woman, because of his conviction that any opinion formed of any woman is sure to be wrong. He looked at Sarah Dacos, of course, since he was to talk to her. He told her that he supposed Mrs Bruner had told her of her conversation with me.

She wasn't as chipper as she had been in her office; the hazel eyes weren't so lively. Mrs Bruner had said that she had just talked; perhaps, sent to tell Nero Wolfe about it, she was feeling that she had just talked too much. She said yes, Mrs Bruner had told her.