The Missing Chapter

“It’s a pity that you are unhappy,” I told him, “but you’re yapping in the wrong direction; try those fellows working in the shaft. But if I were you, I’d steer clear of the one with the long scar on his left cheek. He looks like he quit smiling permanently the day he learned the truth about Santa Claus. And besides, he banged up his arm this morning when he tripped getting out of the truck.” Theodore didn’t enjoy my stab at humor, but then, I’ve never viewed it as a high priority to keep him amused. He went back up to the plant rooms muttering, and I went back to pondering a strategy.

As I pondered, the phone rang again, and I gave the standard spiel: “Nero Wolfe’s office, Archie Goodwin speaking.”

“Ah, yes, I was told you would be the one who answered.” It was a raspy but precise male voice. “My name is Pemberton, Claude Pemberton, and I am a member of an organization called PROBE, which stands for—”

“Passionate Roster of Orville Barnstable Enthusiasts,” I put in.

“Ah! I’m so glad that you have heard of us, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, our national, dues-paying membership is well over a thousand, and... well, we know from talking to Horace Vinson that Mr. Wolfe is investigating the death of Charles Childress, so doubtless, you and he — Mr. Wolfe, that is — have heard of our existence.”

“That is correct, Mr. Pemberton. What can’we do for you?”

Claude Pemberton cleared his throat. “Well, it actually may be the reverse, which is to say, what we can do for you. Two other members of PROBE and I would like to pay Mr. Wolfe a visit.”

“For what purpose?”

“I would prefer to discuss that with Mr. Wolfe in person, if you and he have no objection, of course.”

“When could you be here?”

“The others are with me now — we all are New Yorkers. We could be there whenever you say, sooner rather than later — preferably this afternoon.”

I told Pemberton to hold on, and I called Wolfe in his room. “Me,” I said when he picked up his instrument. “A guy from PROBE, the Barnstable fan group, is holding on the other line. He and two colleagues from the group want to stop by, preferably yesterday. He doesn’t want to say why. Should I lean on him for specifics?”

I could hear Wolfe exhaling. “No. Tell them to come at four.”

“So you really are passing up your afternoon visit with the plants?” I asked. My answer was a line that had gone dead. I reconnected with Pemberton, who sounded pleased that Wolfe would see him and the others — whom he identified as Wilma Race and Daniel McClellan — in less than ninety minutes.

No sooner had I cradled the receiver than the phone jingled again. “Debra Mitchell tells me she stopped in to see you and Wolfe yesterday,” Horace Vinson said with irritation in his deep voice. “First, I want you to know she made the visit without my knowledge. Second, I am concerned that you haven’t kept me apprised of your activities. And third, I am disturbed that almost no progress has been made, at least according to Debra.”

“Your first point is duly noted,” I told him. “As for points two and three, you have presented the explanation yourself: We haven’t kept you apprised simply because there hasn’t been anything to apprise you about.”

“Any idea when there will be?” He still sounded irked.

“Mr. Vinson, we are following several intriguing leads right now,” I half-lied. “I will tell Mr. Wolfe that you called.”

“Please do,” he responded, saying a good-bye that contained not a dollop of warmth or goodwill. So now our client was riled up.

I reported the conversation with Vinson when a grumpy Wolfe came down at three-forty-five, but he waved it away, busying himself with signing the correspondence that I had completed and stacked neatly on his blotter. Undeterred, I plowed onward.

“I know you are dying to know if Saul has checked in with any information about the elusive Clarice,” I said. “Alas, the answer is negative, and I can’t very well question him tonight, being that business is every bit as verboten at our poker table as at your dinner table. But then, you already know that.”

“Which of course means it was unnecessary for you to remark upon it,” Wolfe replied offhandedly, not bothering to look up. He was showing that I hadn’t gotten under his skin, but he was trying to get under mine.