The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

“A man of that name was run over by a car and killed Tuesday evening, and it was the same car as the one that killed Peter Drossos Wednesday. Since the car itself cannot be supposed ruthless and malign, someone associated with it must be. I am warning you not to be foolhardy, or even imprudent. You have told me next to nothing, so I don’t know how imminent or deadly a doom you may be inviting, but I admonish you: beware!”

“The same car? Killed a man Tuesday?”

“Yes. Since you didn’t know him you are not concerned, but I urge you to be discreet.”

She sat frowning, “I am discreet, Mr. Wolfe.”

“Not today, with that silly sham.”

“Oh, you’re wrong! I was being discreet! Or trying to.” She got the leather fold and pen from the table, returned them to her bag, and closed it. She stood up. “Thank you for the gin, but I wish I hadn’t asked for it. I shouldn’t have.” She offered a hand.

Wolfe doesn’t usually rise when a woman enters or leaves the office. That time he did, but it was no special tribute to Laura Fromm or even to the check she had put on his desk. It was lunchtime, and he would have had to manipulate his bulk in a minute anyway. So he was on his feet to take her hand. Of course I was up, ready to take her to the door, and I thought it was darned gracious of her to give me a hand too, after the way I had repulsed her with my incorruptible look. I nearly bumped into her when, preceding me to the door, she suddenly turned to say to Wolfe, “I forgot to ask. The boy, Peter Drossos, was he a displaced person?”

Wolfe said he didn’t know.

“Could you find out? And tell me tomorrow?”

He said he could.

There was no car waiting for her in front. Apparently the parking situation had compelled even Mrs. Damon Fromm to resort to taxis. When I returned to the office Wolfe wasn’t there, and I found him in the kitchen, lifting the lid from a steaming casserole of lamb cutlets with gammon and tomatoes. It smelled good enough to eat.

“One thing I admit,” I said generously. “You have damn good eyes. But of course pretty women’s faces are so irresistible to you that you resented the scratch and so you focused on it.”

He ignored it. “Are you going to the bank after lunch to deposit Mr. Corliss’s check?”

“You know I am.”

“Go also to Mrs. Fromm’s bank and have her check certified. That will verify her signature. Fritz, this is even better than last time. Satisfactory.”

Chapter 5