The Rubber Band

I homed in, shaking my head. "As I said, when this Harlan Scovil popped in here at half past four today, I had never seen him before. Nor any of those others. Strangers to me. I'm sure Mr. Wolfe hadn't either. Had you, sir?"

"Seen them? No. But I believe I had heard of one of them. Wasn't it the Marquis of Clivers we were discussing yesterday?"

"Discussing? Yes, sir. When you dropped that javelin. That piece in the paper." I looked at Foltz helpfully. "There was an article in the Times yesterday, magazine section-"

He nodded. "I know all about that. The sergeant was telling me. This marquis seems to be something like a duke, he's immune by reason of a foreign power or something. It don't even have to be a friendly foreign power. The sergeant says this business might possibly be an international plot. Captain Devore is going to make arrangements to see this marquis and maybe warn him or protect him."

"Splendid." Wolfe nodded approvingly. "The police earn the gratitude or all of us. But for them, Mr. Foltz, we private investigators might sit and wait for clients in vain."

"Yeah." Foltz got up. "Much obliged for the compliment, even if that's all I get. I mean, I haven't got much information. Except that telephone call, that may lead to something. Scovil was shot only four blocks from here, on Thirty-first Street, only nine minutes after he got that phone call, at five-thirty-five. He was walking along the sidewalk and somebody going by in a car reached out and plugged him, filled him full. He was dead right then. It was pretty dark around there, but a man nearby saw the license, and the car's already been found, parked on Ninth Avenue. Nobody saw anyone get out of it"

"Well, that's something." I was hopeful. "That ought to get you somewhere."

"Probably stolen. They usually are." The dick had his hat in his hand. "Gang stuff, it looks like. Much obliged to you folks anyhow."

"Don't mention it. Slim."

I went to the hall with him, and saw him out the front door, and shut it after him and slid the bolt. Before I returned to the office I stopped at the kitchen and told Fritz that I'd answer any doorbells that might ring for the rest of the evening.

I crossed to Wolfe's desk and grinned at him. "Ha-ha. The damn police were here."

Wolfe looked at the clock, which said ten minutes past seven. He reached out and pushed the button, and, when Fritz came, leaned back and sighed.

"Fritz."

"Yes, sir."