Murder by the Book

"Well-I hope-all right." He crossed the sill into an icy wind from the west, and I stood there until he had descended from the stoop to the sidewalk. The shape he was in, he might have tumbled down those seven steps.

Returning down the hall, I paused a moment before enter-ing the office, to sniff. Fritz, as I knew, was doing spareribs with the sauce Wolfe and he had concocted and, though the door to the kitchen was closed, enough came through for my nose, and it approved. In the office, Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed. I picked up Wellman's check, gave it an admiring glance, went and put it in the safe, and then crossed to Wolfe's desk for another look at one of the prints of Joan Wellman's likeness. As near as you can tell from a picture, it would have been nice to know her.

I spoke. "If you're working, knock off. Dinner in ten minutes."

Wolfe's eyes opened.

I asked, "Have we got a murder or not?"

"Certainly we have." He was supercilious.

"Oh. Good for us. Because she wouldn't go for a walk in the park in February?"

"No." He humphed. "You should have a better reason."

"Me? Thanks. Me have a reason?"

"Yes. Archie. I have been training you for years to ob-serve. You are slacking. Not long ago Mr. Cramer showed us a list of names on a sheet of paper. The seventh name on that list was Baird Archer. The evening she was killed Miss Wellman had an appointment with a man named Baird Archer. Leonard Dykes who wrote that list of names was murdered. It would be silly not to hypothesize that Miss Well-man was also murdered."

I turned on my heel, took the two paces to my swivel chair, turned it so I would face him, and sat. "Oh, that," I said carelessly. "I crossed that off as coincidence."

"Pfui. It never struck you. You're slacking."

"Okay. I am not electronized."

"There is no such word."

"There is now. I've used it." I was getting indignant. "I mean I am not lightning. It was six weeks ago that Cramer showed us that list of names, and I gave it the merest glance.

I know you did too, but look who you are. What if it were the other way around? What if I had remembered that name from one short glimpse of that list six weeks ago, and you hadn't? I would be the owner of this house and the bank ac-count, and you would be working for me. Would you like that? Or do you prefer it as it is? Take your pick." He snorted. "Call Mr. Cramer." "Right." I swiveled to the phone and dialed.

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