The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

Twenty minutes later I turned the Heron into the driveway, circled around the curve, and stopped at the door of the cottage. No one was visible; they were all on the beach side. As Lucy was getting out I spoke. I just had an idea. I have one a year. I might possibly be walking past the house and feel like dropping in. May I have a key?

Her eyes widened. Nine hundred and ninety-nine women out of a thousand, as things stood between us, would have said, Of course, but why? She said only, Of course, swung the car door shut, and went. In a couple of minutes she was back. She handed me the key, said, No phone call for you, and tried hard to smile. I pressed the gas pedal and was off.

One of the various prospects for the future that I didn't care for was sitting down for lunch with Wolfe. It would be painful. He always talked at table, and one of two things would happen. Either he would grump through it without even trying, or worse, he would pick something as far as possible from babies or murders, say the influence of Freud on theological dogma, and fight his way through. The prospect was bad enough without that. So I stopped at a place along the way and ate duckling, with a sauce that Fritz would have turned up his nose at, and it was five minutes to two when, after leaving the Heron at the garage around the corner, I mounted the stoop of the old brownstone and used my key.

Wolfe would be toward the end of lunch. But he wasn't. Not in the dining room. Crossing the hall to the office door, I glanced in. He wasn't there either, but someone else was. Leo Bingham was in the red leather chair, and Julian Haft was in one of the yellow ones. Their heads turned to me, and their faces were not cheerful. I beat it to the kitchen, and there was Wolfe at my breakfast table, with a board of cheese, crackers, and coffee. He looked up, grunted, and chewed. Fritz said, The duckling's warm, Archie. Flemish olive sauce.

I swear I hadn't known duckling was on for lunch when I ordered it on the way. I had a bite at the beach, I lied. To Wolfe: Mrs. Valdon wants you to get the murderer. I told her the cops would get him sooner or later if she wanted to pull out, but she said, quote, I want Nero Wolfe to get him.' Unquote.

He growled. You know quite well that that locution is vile.

I feel vile. Do you know you have company?