The Golden Spiders (Crime Line)

“I don’t see that it would help any, Goodwin, for me to characterize your conduct as it deserves. Good God, what a way to make a living! Here I am, giving all my time and talent and energy in an effort to improve the tone of human conduct-and there you are. But that doesn’t interest you-all you care about is money. Good God! Money! I’ll think it over. I may phone you and I may not. You’re in the book?”

I told him yes, Nero Wolfe’s number, and, not caring to hear any more ugly facts about myself as compared to him, I slunk out. My cheerful little friend at the switchboard might have been willing to buck me up some, but I felt it would be bad for her to have any contact with my kind of character and went right on by.

Down the street I found a phone booth, dialed the number I knew best, and had Wolfe’s voice in my ear.

“Ready with Number Four,” I told him. “Lipscomb. Are you comfortable?”

“Go ahead. No questions.”

His saying “No questions” meant that he was not alone. So I took extra care to give it all to him, including my spot opinion of the improver of the tone of human conduct. That done, I told him it was twenty minutes past twelve, to save him the trouble of looking up at the clock, and asked if I should proceed to Number Five, Paul Kuffner, the public-relations adviser who had operated on me so smoothly when he found me with Jean Estey.

“No,” he said curtly. “Come home at once. Mr. Paul Kuffner is here, and I want to see you.”

Chapter 10

The tone and wording of Wolfe’s command had of course warned me what to expect, so I wasn’t surprised at the dirty look he gave me as I entered the office. Paul Kuffner, in the red leather chair, didn’t turn on the smile of enthusiastic approval he had favored me with Saturday, but I wouldn’t have called his expression hostile. I suppose sound public relations rule out open hostility to a fellow being unless he actually chews on your ear. One little bite wouldn’t be enough.

As I sat at my desk Wolfe spoke. “Don’t sit there, Archie. Your right to sit at that desk is suspended.” He pointed to one of the yellow chairs. “Move, please.”

I was astounded. “What! What’s the idea?”

“Move, please.” He was grim.

I told my face that in addition to being astounded I was hurt and bewildered, as I arose, went to the yellow chair, lowered myself, and met his withering gaze. His tone matched. “Mr. Kuffner has made a shocking accusation. I want you to hear it from him. Mr. Kuffner?”