The Second Confesion

“If we come,” Harvey asked, “who will be there?” “You will, of course, and I will. And Mr Goodwin, my assistant.” “Nobody else?” “No, sir.” “All right. We'll be there at six o'clock.” I hung up and asked Wolfe, “Does Mr Jones always talk with that funny squeak?

And did ‘rectangle’ mean merely that the letter from a friend had been received?

Or something more, such as which commissars had read it?”

CHAPTER Twenty-One

I never got to see the Albert Enright I had typed a letter to, because the associate that Mr Harvey brought along was Mr Stevens.

Having seen one or two high-ranking Commies in the flesh, and many published pictures of more than a dozen of them, I didn't expect our callers to look like wart hogs or puff adders, but even so they surprised me a little, especially Stevens. He was middle-aged, skinny, and pale, with thin brown hair that should have been trimmed a week ago, and he wore rimless spectacles. If I had had a daughter in high school, Stevens was the guy I would have wanted her to ask for directions in a strange neighbourhood after dark. I wouldn't have gone so far with Harvey, who was younger and much huskier, with sharp greenish-brown eyes and a well-assembled face, but I certainly wouldn't have singled him out as the Menace of the Month.

They didn't want cocktails or any other liquid, and they didn't sit back in their chairs and get comfortable. Harvey announced in his gruff bass, but still not rude, that they had an engagement for a quarter to seven.

“I'll make it as brief as I can,” Wolfe assured them. He reached in the drawer and got one of the pictures and extended his hand. “Will you glance at this?” They arose, and Harvey took the picture, and they looked at it. I thought that was carrying things a little too far. What was I, a worm? So when Harvey dropped it on the desk I stepped over and got an eye on it, and then handed it to Wolfe.

Some day he'll get so damn frolicsome that I'll cramp his style sure as hell. I was now caught up.

Harvey and Stevens sat down again, without exchanging a glance. That struck me as being overcautious, but I suppose Commies, especially on the upper levels, get the habit early and it becomes automatic.

Wolfe asked pleasantly, “It's an interesting face, isn't it?” Stevens stayed deadpan and didn't speak.