The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

When I got back to the old brownstone a little after midnight I was expecting to find on my desk a note telling me to come to Wolfe's room at 8:15 in the morning, but it wasn't there. Evidently his imagination and wit hadn't delivered. Fritz's had. In the kitchen there was a dish of Lobster Cardinal and a saucer with Parmesan ready grated. I sprinkled the cheese on and put it in the broiler, and drank milk and made coffee while it was browning, and while I was thinking that when Fritz came down after taking up the breakfast tray he might have word that I was to go up for instructions. Now that we had flushed the mother we had damn well better get a gun up.

Nothing doing. When Fritz returned to the kitchen at 8:20 Saturday morning, no word; and I had done with only six hours' sleep in order to be on tap. I decided to poke him, and it would be better to get him in his room before he went up to the orchids, so I speeded up with the poached eggs Creole and toasted muffins and skipped the second cup of coffee; and I was pushing my chair back when the phone rang.

It was Saul. He asked if I had listened to the 8:30 news, and I said no, I had been brooding.

Then I'm bad news, he said. About three hours ago a cop found a corpse in an alley off of Perry Street and it has been identified as Carol Mardus. She was strangled.

I said something but it didn't get out. My throat was clogged. I cleared it. Anything else?

No, that was all.

Thank you very much. I don't have to tell you to bite your tongue.

Of course.

And stand by. I hung up.

I looked at my watch: 8:53. I went to the hall, to the stairs, mounted a flight, found the door standing open, and entered. Wolfe had finished breakfast and was on his feet, shirt-sleeved, his jacket in his hand.

Yes? he demanded.

Saul just phoned an item from the eight-thirty news. The body of Carol Mardus was found in an alley by a cop. Strangled.

He glared. No.

Yes.

He threw the jacket at me.

It came close, but I didn't catch it; I was too stunned. I couldn't believe he had actually done it. As I stood and stared he moved. He went to the house phone, on the table by a window, pushed the button, and lifted the receiver, and in a moment said in a voice tight with rage, Good morning, Theodore. I won't be with you this morning. He cradled the phone and started pacing back and forth. He never paced. After half a dozen turns he came and picked up the jacket, put it on, and headed for the door.

Where are you bound for? I demanded.