Original subtitles

Since it was the deciding factor,

I might as well begin by describing it.

It was a pink slip of paper

three inches wide and seven inches long,

and it told The First National City Bank

to pay to the order of Nero $50,000,

signed Rachel Bruner, the widow of Lloyd Bruner.

At least eight of the several dozen buildings

Bruner left his wife were more than 12 stories high.

Do I need to tell you who I am?

Mr. Goodwin named you, and I read newspapers.

I know you do.

I know a great deal about you.

That's why I'm here.

I want you to do something

perhaps no other man alive could do.

You read books, too?

Have you d one entitled,

The FBI Nobody Knows?

Yes.

Did it impress you?

Yes.

Favorably?

Yes.

My goodness, you're curt.

I answered your questions, madam.

I know you did. I can be curt, too.

That book impressed me.

It impressed me so strongly, I bought 10,000 copies

and sent them to people all over the country.

I sent them to members of the government,

Supreme Court, heads of corporations,

publishers, columnists and others.

Do I need to explain why I did that?

Not to me.

I don't like your tone.

I want you to do something, and I'll pay the limit

and beyond.

There is no limit, but...

there's no point in going on unless...

You said that book impressed you favorably.

Do you mean you agree

with the author's opinion of the FBI?

With some minoron qualifications, yes.

And of J. Edgar Hoover?

Yes.

Then it won't be a surprise to you to hear

I've been followed day and night.

So has my son and my daughter and my secretary and my brother.

My telephones are tapped.

Then you shouldn't be surprised.

Well, I am. I was.

When I read that book, I was furious.

Now he's annoying me, and I want you to stop him.

Preposterous.

That $50,000 is only a retainer.

I said there'd be no limit.

Madam, I am neither a thaumaturge nor a dunce.

If you are being followed, you were followed here,

and it will assume that you came to hire me.

They probably started surveillance

of this house already.

Archie, how many agents have they in New York?

Oh, I don't know. Maybe 200.

I have one... Mr. Goodwin.

You have Saul Panzer

and Fred Durkin and Orrie Cather.

I would not expect them to take the risk.

Anyway, it would be futile.

You say stop him.

I take it you mean...

compel the FBI to stop annoying you.

Yes.

How?

I don't know.

Nor do I.

No, madam.

You invited it, and you have it.

I thought you were afraid of nobody and nothing.

I can dodge folly without backing into fear.

That is a check for $100,000.

It's merely a retainer.

I will pay all expenses.

If you succeed, your fee...

determined by you... will be

in addition to the retainer.

If you fail...

you have the 100,000.

Archie...

have you a suggestion?

Possibly.

It could be that it's not as bad as she says it is.

Of course, I don't know

why she'd stretch it deliberately, but...

I don't stretch things.

Of course not, but people who aren't used

to being annoyed, annoy easily.

We could check the tailing part right now.

You came in a taxi?

No.

My car and chauffeur are outside.

Okay, well, I could take you out

and wait there until you leave.

See what happens.

Mr. Wolfe will call you tomorrow and let you know

what he decides.

You may keep the check.

I'll expect a call in the morning.

Well, it was so obvious, it was laughable,

so I laughed on my way back inside.

Is it flummery?

No, sir.

She's in real danger.

I saw a pair of them in a car down the block.

An open tail.

If the limo stopped short, they'll bang it.

Anyway, we'll know in an hour.

I got the plates.

Ask Mr. Cohen to join us for dinner.

That was very foxy.

If I had said there was no point in it

because it was preposterous,

then he would have said that he merely wanted

to maintain good relations with the Gazette, the paper

my friend Lon Cohen works for.

Like I said, that check

for 100 grand was the deciding factor.

Lon, Archie.

I know you want something.

It's got to be something very special,

or you never would have invited me here.

Although, I doubt if it could be

as special as this cognac.

I have 14 bottles left.

12, sir.

Oh, my God.

Well, anything you want.

Bar nothing.

Actually...

it isn't very special.

Do you know of any connection, however remote,

between Mrs. Lloyd Bruner and the FBI?

Yeah, sure I do. Who doesn't?

She sent about a million people copies of that red Cook book.

You know? It's kind of like a status symbol now.

I didn't get one.

Did you?

No. No.

Do you know of any action

the Bureau has taken in reprisal?

Well, you're going to have to ask J. Edgar Hoover

that question, unless you already know. Do you?

Yes.

The hell you do.

And if you do, then the people

that pay his salary should know, too, don't you think?

That would be your view, naturally.

You would like to publish a story.

I would like to earn a fee.

Are we in your debt, or are you in ours?

Good question. Let me think about it.

Archie?

All right, all right, all right.

Fine. On balance, I would say I was

in your debt.

Good.

Then I'll draw on it.

Why did Mrs. Bruner send those books?

That's what you want to know.

That's why you invited me here, huh?

Yes. That's the question I asked you.

I'll tell you.

I don't know.

You don't?

Not a clue.

Well...

...did Mrs. Bruner have any private reason

for animosity against the FBI?

Don't know that one, either.

Have you any surmise?

Look, Mr. Wolfe, why don't you just give the facts?

Let me know who wants to hire you. Maybe I can help.

I'm not hired.

As for facts, I need a list

on all the cases on which FBI agents are currently

working in New York.

Can you supply that?

Hell, no.

Well, do you know how I can get such a list?

You can't.

Although... there are rumors.

The beer, please.

Fritz?

Mr. Wolfe has agreed to give me one of those 12 bottles

of his "not very special" cognac.

As I returned to the office

after seeing Lon out, my mind was on Wolfe.

I had taken written notes of all of Lon's leads.

Was Wolfe actually considering accepting Mrs. Bruner's job?

No. Impossible.

He must have been merely passing the time.

Hypothetical question.

If I told you that I had decided

to keep that $100,000, what would you say?

Preposterous.

That's understood.

But go on.

Well...

...I would say that you should, uh,

you should sell this house and its contents

and go live in a nursing home,

since obviously, you're cracked.

Unless, of course, you intend to gyp her.

No.

Well, then, you're cracked, because

once they know we're on this,

they will use every resource at their disposal

to make your life mirable.

I would have to sleep here in the office.

We couldn't use our phones,

because with their latest gadgets,

surely our phones would be tapped.

We wouldn't get to first base.

That's what I'd say.

The last part... was irrelevant.

Yeah, well...

...I'm often irrelevant.

It, uh... it confuses people.

You keep waving your legs around.

Well, that confuses them, too.

Phooey. You're fidgety, and no wonder.

Thought I knew you, Archie, but this is a new facet.

No, it's not new at all.

It's just horse sense.

No. Dog sense.

You're waving your legs around

because your tail is between them.

I am offered a job

with the largest retainer in my experience,

but you say I should decline it

because it would give offense

to a certain man and his organization?

I didn't say that.

Oh. It was implicit.

No.

Oh, yeah.

No, no.

You're cowed.

Oh, no.

Yes, you are.

You're daunted.

No.

Not, I concede without reason,

but I am not going to return that check

because I'm afraid of a bully.

I still say you're cracked.

I suggest you take a vacation.

It'd be fun to watch you

uh... try to manage this case without me,

I'll tell you that, yeah.

After all these years, it would be...

just too low-down to let you sink alone, I guess.

To let me what?

You heard what I said.

A suggestion...

should we declare war by phoning the client?

She gave me her unlisted number,

and surely it's tapped.

Shall I get her?

Yes.

Morning, Fritz.

Anything stirring?

Yes. and he said you would tell me.

Doors and windows locked at all times.

Watch your step.

Don't say anything on the phone to anyone

you wouldn't want to see in the paper.

When you go out, don't do anything you wouldn't want to see on TV.

Suspect all strangers. That's it.

It's a cinch to spot a tail,

even a good one, if you know what to look for.

My instructions for the day were to deposit the check,

pay a visit to Mrs. Bruner and then follow through

on the best of the leads Lon had given us.

A quick glance around came to rest on a face.

Hello.

A face that rated a glance.

I'm Sara Dacos.

Mrs. Bruner will be down in a minute.

Huh. Say, how long have you been with, um...

Mrs. Bruner?

You're a detective, Mr. Goodwin.

You don't have to prove it.

Ah, well, I like to keep in practice.

Mrs. Bruner said you'd ask me questions.

Well, let's not disappoint her.

What gave you the idea that it was the FBI tailing you?

I don't know it was the FBI,

but it must be because nobody else would.

Ah. How can you be sure?

I live in the village and get here by bus.

Every day the same man

has been getting on and off whenever I do.

Ah. When did it start?

I'm not sure.

The first time I noticed it was several weeks ago.

I didn't know it was done like that.

I thought if you followed someone,

you didn't want them to know.

Well, it depends.

Sometimes they want you to know.

It's called an open tail.

Have you reported it to the police?

No. The lawyer said not to.

Well done.

I suspect I owe you some thanks, Mr. Goodwin.

No, you don't. I was against it.

But now that it's a job, I'm all for it.

Hmm, I want you to know that I saw your tail yesterday.

I got their license number.

They're FBI and they want you to know.

Do you know if this house is bugged?

I don't know.

We've had it examined, but we can't be sure.

It's a nice day out, Mrs. Bruner.

A little walk, a little fresh air

might do you some good.

You see, Mr. Goodwin, in my own house...

Wait here.

Say, Mr. Goodwin, you could have gone upstairs.

I can't hear through walls.

No?

You might be wired for sound,

and there's only one way to find out,

and I'm not sure you'd enjoy it.

How do you know I won't?

All right, just right over here.

Now, we can talk better standing.

Here's the thing...

about us getting in touch with you...

if you get a message that the pizza is sour,

you go at once to the Churchill Hotel,

find a man named William Coffey.

He's a security officer there,

and he'll tell you what to do.

Okay, you got that?

Yes.

All right, now, second, if you need

to get in touch with us,

you go to a phone booth and you call Nero Wolfe's,

and whoever answers, you say, "Fido is sick. "

Then you hang up.

You wait two hours,

and then you go to the Churchill Hotel,

William Coffey, all right?

Now what is sour?

Pizza.

And who is sick?

Fido.

Fantastic. You're great. Okay.

Across the street from Mrs. Bruner's,

there were two men sitting in a car,

not looking the way they were trained

not to look in Washington.

I backed up a couple of steps, tipped my hat at them.

They still didn't look.

My next stop was Evers Electronics.

Mr. Smith, please report to the front office.

Mr. Smith to the front office...

Mr. Adrian Evers, please.

I'm Archie Goodwin.

Have you an appointment?

I work for Nero Wolfe, the private investigator.

We have some information for him.

Did you say Nero Wolfe?

Yes, I did. You got a Bible?

Before I had a chance to do much waiting,

the secretary came and got me.

Mr. Goodwin,

will you follow me, please?

What's this about Nero Wolfe and information?

Well, you may already have it.

It's in connection with a government contract.

Nero Wolfe working for the government?

No. He's working for a private client.

The client is interested in the fact

that after a security check,

they have canceled your contract.

Apparently, the reason for the cancellation

is that a security check

on your vice president

uncovered certain facts about his private life.

Now, this raises two questions...

are these facts accurate?

And if so, is he a security risk?

Is he, are you, getting a raw deal?

Who's the client?

Oh, I can't tell you that. It's confidential.

Is it anyone connected with this company?

No. Not in any way.

What else?

That's it.

Mr. Wolfe isn't looking for a client here.

He already has one.

I don't get it.

I can only tell you

that it's a private citizen who thinks the FBI

has gotten too big for its britches.

I don't believe it,

and I damn well don't like it.

Are you FBI?

I thought we'd been through this already.

Miss Bailey, see this man oout to the elevator.

Working on a case about a year ago,

I had dealings with a G-man

named Morison.

Well, well.

Is Nero Wolfe using electronics now?

Yeah, we're thinking of bugging

a certain building on 69th Street.

I guess we'll have to do all our talking in code.

It certainly wasn't my day.

And as it turned out, it wasn't going to get any better.

Going up?

All right, all right, fellas.

Hey, I'm leaving.

I'm leaving.

At 11:00 that night,

I mounted the steps of the brownstone,

pessimistic and pooped, and I had to ring the bell

since we were on tactical alert.

Archie, I shall warm up the curried duck for you right away.

No!

The oversized genius

was at his desk in a chair made to order

for his seventh of a ton

with a bottle of beer and a glass...

comfortably reading his latest book,

The Treasure of Our Tongue.

Fritz will warm the duck.

No, he won't.

I've had the lousiest day of my life,

and I'm going to finish it up right.

Confound it, you must eat!

I say no!

First the client.

You want to know about the client?

You want to know what I was doing

on behalf of the client?

Let me tell you about my day.

Let me tell you where I've been...

I gave it to him verbatim... starting with Evers

and moving on to Ernst Mueller

who the FBI had charged with conspiring

to tansport stolen property and was out on bail.

He was even worse than Evers.

He had the idea of slugging me,

so I had to react.

And I may have bronk his arm.

Were you hurt?

Only my feelings.

Then after eating the grease,

I had spent the evening trying to find Julia Fenster,

who was or wasn't framed for espionage

and was tried and acquitted.

No man ever got less out of a day, I'll tell ya that.

I can't wait to see the program you've cooked up for tomorrow.

It's partly your stomach.

If not the duck, then an omelet.

No, no, I'm... no.

Caviar? There's a fresh pound.

You know damn well I love caviar.

I wouldn't insult it.

Archie, are you trying to pester me

into returning that retainer?

No. I know I couldn't.

Then you're twaddling.

You are quite aware that we have undertaken a job

which is preposterous... we've both said so.

There's a certain amount of hit or miss

in every operation, but this one is all hit or miss.

You're tired, you're hungry.

Confound it, eat something!

What about tomorrow?

No, we'll consider it in the morning, not tonight.

Eat.

I question the need for that.

I don't!

You've read the book.

You know how quickly they can move.

Our safe.

Blow open a safe in an occupied house?

I think not.

With that antique, they wouldn't need to.

I say, "Bah,"

Going to the hall for a look through the one-way glass,

I was expecting to see a stranger, maybe two,

but there was the well-known face and figure of Dr. Vollmer.

If you're drumming up trade, you'll have to try next door.

I've got a message for you.

Uh, a man called, uh, no name

and said to give it to you personally.

You are to be at the West Side Hotel, Room 214

at 11:30,

and he said to be sure you're loose.

Ah, quite a message.

Yeah, that's what I thought.

Uh, he said you would tell me to keep it under my hat.

Yeah, that's right, Doc.

If people get the notion that you're giving us

confidential messages, they'll tap your phone lines.

My God, that's illegal!

Under the hat, Doc. Right.

Okay. Okay.

Have you any notion who?

Not the vaguest.

Well, certainly not the FBI.

Why would they?

Evers, or Mueller...

Any instructions?

Phooey.

In the event that Ernst Mueller

was sensitive about having his arm twisted,

I got the shoulder holster with the Marley. 38

and put it on.

Morning, fellas. Two-for-one on the suits?

Losing a tail was not that difficult

if you know what you're doing,

and we had worked this ploy before.

All right, Archie.

All clear.

Wonderful.

As I headed towards Room 214,

I noticed that my hand had slipped inside my coat

to touch the Marley. 38.

If it was J. Edgar Hoover waiting for me,

he had better behave, or he might get plugged.

Right on time.

Come in.

As if the shock of seeing Inspector Cramer

wasn't enough, there on a table right beside him

was a bottle of milk and a glass.

Is Wolfe's phone tapped?

You know, if I'd made a list of a hudred names of people

who might be here, yours wouldn't be on it.

Is that milk for me?

Yes.

Then you are completely off your hinges,

and I don't know what I'm up against.

Why do you want to know if our phone is tapped?

Well, I just wanted to know

if I could have just called you

and told you to come here.

Yeah, well, sure you could have.

I might have suggested we take a ride instead.

All right.

Okay, Goodwin, I want to know.

I know Wolfe is tangled with the FBI,

and I want the picture.

All of it.

If it takes all day.

That's out of bounds, and you know it.

Nuts!

This is out of bounds.

My being here, my getting you here!

I thought you had some sense!

Don't you realize what I'm doing?!

I don't have the slightest idea what you're doing.

What are you doing?

All right, I'll tell you.

I know you and Wolfe cut corners, Goodwin,

but I also know what your limits are.

A couple of hours ago,

the Commissioner got a call from Jim Perazzo.

You know who Perazzo is?

Sure, I know who he is.

Private Investigators Licensing Service,

State of New York.

Yeah, well, of course you would.

So what's the big deal?

FBI wants Perazzo to yank Wolfe's PI license and yours.

And he wants me to write a full report.

Well, you know what reports are.

Depends on who's writing 'em.

And before I write this one,

I want to know what Wolfe has done

to get the FBI on his neck.

My standing instructions from Wolfe were

that in any emergency when he's not available,

I should use my intelligence guided by experience.

Well, sometimes the other way around.

I gave him the whole crop: Mrs. Bruner, the hundred grand,

Lon Cohen's list: Evers Electronics,

Ernst Mueller.

By the time I finished,

he had a cigar between his teeth.

He doesn't smoke cigars, he merely mangles them.

She writes a check for a hundred thousand dollars.

She says, "Keep the check. "

She upped the ante from $50,000

to a hundred thousand just like that.

So the hudred grand is his?

Yes.

No matter what happens?

That's right.

Ah, I'm not surprised at Wolfe.

With his ego, there's no one or nothing he wouldn't take on

if you paid him enough.

But I'm surprised at you, Goodwin.

You know the FBI can't be bucked,

not even by the White House.

An hour ago I would have said "amen,"

but I feel different about it now.

Can I ask you a question?

Deal.

You don't exactly love Nero Wolfe,

and you like me even less.

Why would you want to make a report

that would make it tough for them to jerk our licenses?

I've been a cop for 30 years, Goodwin,

and it's the first time

I've ever passed the buck to an outsider.

Well, I'm flattered.

I want to tell you something, Goodwin.

That's for you and Wolfe and nobody else.

That's all. Is that understood?

Well, there's no use telling me something

if we can't use it.

Oh, you'll use it, all right,

but it did not come from me.

Never, to nobody.

Shoot.

Does the name Morris Althaus mean anything to you?

Sure. I read the papers.

That's one you haven't cracked, right?

He was shot in the chest, mid-August?

One shot.

Right through his pump and hit the wall.

The body was discovered by the cleaning lady

the next morning.

No disorder, no sign of struggle and no gun.

Am I going too fast?

No.

He was a freelance writer.

He'd recently written seven articles

for Tick-Tock magazine.

He was to be married in March

to a girl named Marian Hinckley, 24,

on the staff of Tick-Tock.

Uh, you left out a little detail there.

The caliber of the bullet?

Oh, no, I didn't leave it out.

There was no bullet.

It wasn't there.

Well, a damn neat murderer.

Yeah, neat and cool-headed.

Now, two facts: one...

Althaus had been collecting material

for an article he was writing on the FBI,

and there was no sign of it in the apartment, nothing.

Two... at about 11:00 that evening,

three FBI men left the building,

went around the corner and drove off.

So they killed him.

Did they go there to kill him?

Certainly not.

There were several ways to figure it,

but the one I like best is

they went and rang the bell,

and when he wasn't there,

they went in for the bag job.

But he is there, sleeping, whatever.

So Althaus pulls a gun,

but they shoot before he does.

So they find the research and leave,

taking the bullet because it was from one of their guns.

They train 'em pretty good

in that basement in Washington.

Did Althaus have a gun?

Yeah. S&W.38 with a permit.

Well, congratulations, you've cracked it.

Are you a clown in a hot seat, Goodwin?

Even if we could name them,

where would that get us if we couldn't prove it?

I'd give a year's pay to hook them

and make it stick.

This is my town, not theirs.

Mine! By God, they think

they can break and enter people's houses

to commit homicide in my territory

and laugh at me?!

Did they?

Did they laugh?

Yeah. I went to 69th Street myself and saw Rag.

He said he would like to help,

but he had more important things to do

than to bother with some hack muckraker.

So I say this.

I'll write a report so you guys don't lose your licenses,

and you and that overweight boss of yours,

you get him.

Don't come, don't phone.

Drink your milk.

Give my regards to Wolfe.

One of the hous rules was that

business must never be mentioned during meals.

So when I sat down, and Fritz brought

the braised sweetbreads, I decided to show him

that sometimes rules can be damn silly.

Thank you, Fritz.

Weather's colder than usual, don't you think?

Yeah, cold.

What a day.

What a day!

Yes?

And?

By the way... there's

something I want to show you.

I almost forgot.

Down in the basement.

Your new office.

I hope you like it.

Now, there may be only one chance in a million

that a room can be bugged without getting inside,

but that's one chance too many.

Are you badgering me, or is it possible?

It's conceivable,

and I wouldn't want to risk leaking it.

Inspector Cramer told me to give you his regards.

Also that he bought me a bottle of milk

and was very cordial.

This is flummery.

No, sir.

It was Cramer.

In that hotel room?

Yes, sir.

Report.

I obeyed.

Wolfe sat with his eyes shut and his lips pressed tight,

either because of what he was hearing

or where he was sitting.

Probably both.

I wouldn't have thought Cramer could be such an ass.

I know it sounds like it,

but he didn't know why Bruner hired us.

He only knew that we stung the FBI for something,

and he had a murder that he couldn't tag them for.

Now, he's probably realized by now

that even if you did pull off a miracle,

and you could tag the FBI for the murder,

that wouldn't help our client any.

The only way to help our client is by going to them, the FBI,

and saying to them,

"You lay off our client, and we'll lay off the murder. "

But Cramer wouldn't like that, so...

It's a pickle.

What the hell you smiling at?

The pickle.

The alternative.

You've made it clear that it would be futile

to establish that the FBI killed that man.

Very well. Then let's establish that they didn't.

Who is this, uh, Rag, uh, Mr. Cramer talked about?

Richard Rag, top G-man in New York.

Special agent in charge.

Oh. Does he know or believe

that Althaus was killed by one of his men?

I'd have to ask him,

but my guess is that he probably knows

or at least thinks it's probable.

He may even have the bullet in his drawer.

Well, what's your opinion?

do you agree with Mr. Cramer?...

Well, since we prefer it that it wasn't a G-man

who shot him, well, there are many alternatives.

Maybe his landlord shot him

because he was behind in the rent.

That's what we must explore.

You will start now as you think best.

If you find anyone you think I should see, bring them.

So I stopped by the Gazette offices

and bothered our old friend Lon Cohen.

I got lots of background on Morris Althaus

from Lon's files

and decided to start with his family.

Mr. Goodwin,

I'm Ivana Althaus.

Miss Hinckley will be here soon, but I don't want to wait.

Did I understand you to say

that you know who killed my son?

I only know what Mr. Wolfe

was told by a man he respects

that the FBI killed your son.

And what is Mr. Wolfe's interest?

He's looking for information

from people who were close to your son

to advance his own purpose

which, in this case, might be the same as yours.

I want to point out he's acting alone.

He doesn't want or expect money from anyone.

Based on what I've heard about Wolfe,

I see no reason why I shouldn't tell you.

I have suspected it was the FBI

ever since Mr. Yarmack,

Morris' senior editor at Tick-Tock,

told me that nothing about them was found at the apartment.

The pictures in the Gazette files understated it.

Marian Hinckley was a dish.

If I understood Mrs. Althaus on the phone,

Nero Wolfe knows it was the FBI?

Well, he has reason to believe, actually.

But I don't...

Has he told the police?

I'm afraid I didn't make it plain enough.

See, he thinks the police know that it was the FBI.

Or suspect.

For instance, have police been coming around and around

asking questions over and over and over again?

No.

Miss Hinckley?

No, but we've told them everything we know.

Mrs. Althaus told me

that you and Mr. Yarmack believe the FBI killed him.

Is that correct?

Yes. Yes, it is, because there was nothing found

about the FBI in his apartment.

Ah. Now what would there have been?

I don't know.

Morris unfortunately never talked to me

about things like that.

Whoever killed Morris, do you want him caught?

Certainly I do.

Then it's a safe bet he will never be caught

unless Nero Wolfe gets involved.

Now, can you be at his house tonight, say 9:00,

you and miss Miss Hinckley, and Mr... if possible... Yarmack?

I suppose.

Good. Miss Hinckley?

Yes, I'll come.

Good.

9:00?

Wolfe had just come down from the plant rooms.

I stopped at the office door, and when he looked up,

I pointed a finger straight down emphatally

and beat it down the basement stairs.

Wolfe dislikes being disturbed, and this time was no different.

I won't tolerate this.

I could write it.

Phooey.

Two points:

One: the risk of a bug is very slight.

Two: We can use it.

As you report, you may insert comments at will

which I am to disregard, notifying me

by raising a finger.

I will do the same.

Of course, making no reference

to Inspector Cramer.

We can't risk that.

And maintaining our conclusion

that the FBI killed Morris Althaus.

Yes, but we don't actually believe that.

Certainly not.

So I was foxed again.

His house, his office, his chair.

But I had to admit that pig-headed as he was,

it wasn't a bad idea.

I gave it to him straight through,

knowing that I shouldn't say anything

we wouldn't be willing for the FBI to hear

That includes lies... finger up...

and the truth... finger down.

Yes, sir?

My name's Quayle.

I want to see Mr. Wolfe.

Spell it, please.

Timothy Quayle.

Q- U-A-Y-L-E.

Mr. Wolfe is engaged.

One sec.

It's, uh, Timothy Quayle,

Senior Editor at Tick-Tock Magazine.

No!

What do you mean, no?

It's a half hour before dinner.

Oh, bring him.

One of the names in my notebook...

"Timothy Quayle, senior editor at Tick-Tock Magazine. "

The hero type.

He slugged a reporter

who was annoying Marian Hinckley.

She must have phoned him soon after I left.

Did you get my name?

Quayle?

I'm a friend of Miss Hinckley.

I want to know what kind of game you're playing.

Bah.

Don't "bah" me!

I want to know what you're up to!

This is ridiculous.

I like guys that are level.

If you can only blather at me,

Mr. Goodwin will put you out!

If you will take that chair, change your tone,

and give me an acceptable reason

why I would listen to you, I may listen!

I know about you.

I know how you operate.

If you want to hook Mrs. Althaus for some change,

that's her business,

but you're not going to drag Miss Hinckley in.

Archie, put him out.

I don't intend...

Fritz will open the door.

Get your hands off me. Get...

Get your

paws off of me.

I'll...

Just...

Now, if I let you up, you promise to behave?

Yes!

All right.

I know more tricks than you.

Oh, goddamn goon.

Oh, that's a good one.

You left out the D-W-I,

but I'll overlook it.

I have to go back in there.

I need to ask him something.

No. You have bad manners.

We just have to bounce you again.

No, no, no, you-you wouldn't.

I- I have to ask him something.

Politely? Tactfully?

Yes.

All right.

You got two minutes.

You don't sit, you don't raise your voice,

and you don't use words like "goon. "

All right?

You're a real sport.

I am a friend of Miss Hinckley.

I advised her not to come this evening,

but she's coming anyway.

At 9:00?

Yes.

Then I'm go...

I would like to be here.

Will you...?

May I come?

If you control yourself.

I will.

Time's up.

There are only

three and half pounds of venison.

If you... put more than three juniper

berries in the marinade,

it would be overwhelming.

No, sir.

Venison requires a strong arm.

Would you turn the main course into dessert?

No, no, no, no, no, no.

I have picked these berries myself.

They are ripe, but not ripe enough.

Therefore, they are not sweet.

Therefore, you must use five berries at least.

Give me one of them.

Let me taste it fresh.

You'll ruin my anticipation

of the meals better than a ruined meal.

Excuse me.

They're all here,

including a lawyoer named Fromm.

I don't want him!

Of course not.

Should I tell him so?

Confound it, Archie!

Very well.

Proceed.

I say three.

But proceed as you will.

If you put in five,

I won't even have to taste it!

The smell will tell me!

With four, it might be palatable!

Mrs. David Althaus, Bernard Fromm,

Marian Hinckley, Timothy Quayle

and Vincent Yarmack.

I should tell you that

agents of the FBI may be listening

to everything said in this room.

Why should they?

That will appear, Mr. Fromm.

On behalf of my client, I must tell you...

I beg you to indulge me.

I can expect you

to further my interest if I can

demonstrate that your interest runs with mine.

Morris Althaus was killed seven weeks ago,

and his murderer has yet to be exposed.

I intend to establish

that he was killed by an agent of the FBI.

- How? - Why?

Why?

I recently undertook a job

which ran counter to the interests of the FBI,

and they retaliated immediately by trying

to have my private investigator's license revoked.

So it is certainly in my interest

to discredit thei pretendion

that they are faultless champions

of law and justice.

You're talking plenty.

Can you back it up?

By inference, yes.

The police know

that Morris Althaus had been collecting material

for an article on the FBI,

yet they found no such material in his apartment.

Mr. Yarmack,

Mrs. Althaus told Mr. Goodwin

that you suspected...

that the FBI had stolen

the material, is that correct?

Well...

...I might have given her that impression, yes.

Well, if you drew that inference

that the material had been taken by the FBI,

don't you think the police would?

Mr. Fromm, wouldn't they?

Presumably, but that doesn't warrant the conclusion

that they were obstructing justice.

A conclusion, no.

A surmise, yes.

If not obstruction, then at least malfeasance.

As a member of the Bar, you are aware

of the tenacity of the police

when there is an unsolved murder.

Yet they do nothing.

For instance, has any of you been harassed?

Harassed? About what?

The possibility

that one or more of you is a murderer.

Tommy rot.

Absolute Tommy rot!

To you, perhaps,

but have you given them an impregnable alibi

for the night Mr. Althaus was killed?

Impregnable, no.

Not impregnable.

Has any of you?

Mr. Quayle?

Aw, nuts.

You are here by my sufferance, Mr. Quayle.

You wanted to know what I was up to,

and I am making that clear.

If you choose to flout me, I don't want you here!

Mr. Goodwin has ejected you once,

and he will do so again.

I asked you a question!

All right.

No, I do not have an impregnable alibi

for the night of the murder.

Have you any reason to suppose, Miss Hinckley,

that your impending marriage to Mr. Althaus

would have displeased Mr. Quayle?

You can't really expect me to answer that.

I'll answer it.

Yes, it displeased me.

I had asked Miss Hinckley to marry me.

I suppose next you'll be asking me

if Morris had caught me in a felony.

Had he?

You are overreaching.

Sit down, Fromm.

Sit down.

Then answer this.

If the FBI did not kill Morris Althaus,

who did?

Who had reason to want that man dead?

Frank O'Dell.

Morris wrote an article

about unscrupulous real estate schemes,

and this man, Frank O'Dell, went to jail,

but that was three years ago.

So...

...you see my situation.

The FBI is a formidable foe,

entrenched in power and privilege.

If the FBI did kill your son,

there is not the slightest chance

that they will be brought to account

unless I do it.

Is that overreaching, Mr. Fromm?

No.

But the FBI is untouchable.

I wish you luck.

So do I.

I chained the door after the last one left

and went to look for Wolfe.

Misery loves company.

You realize that absolute privacy

has never been so important.

I certainly do.

Could whispers be heard?

No, but to be sure, uh, we should turn on the TV.

Fritz, if you please.

It doesn't matter what.

Do you know

if the Ten for Aristology still exists?

No, I don't.

It probably does.

I could ring Lewis Hewitt.

Not from here.

I could go to a booth. Now?

Yes. Ask if I may call upon him

tomorrow morning.

If he invites me to lunch, as he will, accept.

Yeah, but he lives out on Long Island.

I know where he lives.

We're going to lose a tail, we go out there.

No. If I'm seen going to him, so much the better.

Then why not call from here?

Because I want my visit to him known,

but not that I invited myself.

As I was heading toward our local phone booth,

I was thinking

Lewis Hewitt had more orchids I than Wolfe

and had started the Ten for Aristology,

a fancy dinner and fine wine bunch

who met twice a year.

But what did that have to do with our client, Mrs. Bruner?

I got Mr. Hewitt on the phone, and he insisted on lunch,

just as Wolfe had predicted.

This time, I had a fairly good idea where he was

and found him where I had left him.

Okay, you're all set.

We should roll by 10:30

to make lunch by... noon.

He was leaning back with his eyes shut,

and his lips were pushing out and then in, out and in.

So he was working, but on what?

That's the one thing I never break in on...

the lip operation... but this time

I had to clamp my jaw shut, because I didn't believe it.

You're not going.

Saul will be here at 9:00.

What?

Oh, I see. I see.

You want me to stay here in case the FBI confesses.

No. I want you to find Frank O'Dell.

That's what your lips managed to squeeze out?

No.

Louder.

Louder.

We have two alternatives.

One... establish that the FBI committed the murder.

Two... establish that they did not.

We prefer, by far, the second,

and the best way to do that is to find some other candidate.

Frank O'Dell will do for a start.

In all my years with Wolfe,

I had never known him to concoct anything as tricky

as the program he was going to rope Louis Hewitt in for.

And I don't mind wasting my time on a long shot

while Saul has all the fun, but Frank O'Dell

was a real wild goose chase.

Should be about a half hour, fellas,

if you want to get some coffee.

My tail was still with me.

They still not looked.

Who are they kidding?

My boss, Nero Wolfe, has taken on a little job

involving a man named Morris Althaus.

He thinks you might be able to furnish some information.

That's the man that was murdered?

Of course, the police had been around about that, routine.

Ours is just a private investigation on a side issue.

Oh, if you mean the police have been around here, they haven't.

What's the side issue?

It's about some research Althaus was doing

around the time he was killed.

We thought you might know something about that

if you saw him during that time.

Did you see him last July, August?

No.

No?

The last time I saw him was about two years ago,

in a court room,

where some people I thought were friends of mine

were making me the goat.

Ah, well, that's interesting.

Was Althaus one of the friends that made you a goat?

Oh, look at this...

No, no. He wasn't a friend.

I only met him twice

while he was writing that story for Tick-Tock

taht ended up sending me to jail.

He was looking for bigger fish.

I mean, I was just a hustler working for Bruner Realty.

Bruner Realty?

Huh, I don't remember that name in connection with the case.

So, it was your friends at Bruner Realty

that made you the goat.

No.

No?

The Bruner people were very nice.

I even spoke with Mrs. Bruner herself.

Uh, that was the second time I met Morris Althaus,

was in her office.

She believed everything I said.

Everything I told her.

She even paid part of my legal fees.

Now that I call nice.

Yes, yes, nice.

Yes, it is.

O'Dell?

But why on earth were you seeing him?

He said he used to work for your firm,

so I thought I'd ask you about him.

I don't like your tone, Mr. Goodwin.

Are you intimating that I have concealed something?

Yes, Mrs. Bruner, I am.

The fact that you knew who Morris Althaus was

naturally raises some questions.

For instance,

did you suspect the FBI

was involved in Althaus murder?

Is that why you sent those books?

Is that why you hired Nero Wolfe?

I didn't conceal anything.

It simply didn't occur to me to mentioned Morris Althaus

because I didn't really know anything.

I had read about the murder, of course,

but the only connection it had with the FBI

was what my secretary, Miss Dacos, had told me,

and that was just a girl talking.

What did Miss Dacos told you?

Nothing but talk.

She lived at the same address. She still does.

What same address?

The same as that man, Mr. Althaus.

Her apartment is on the second floor.

She went out that evening, and soon after she...

The night he was killed?

Yes, stop interrupting!

Soon after she returned,

she heard footsteps outside,

and she was curious as to who they might be.

She went to the window,

she saw three men leave the house

and walk to the corner.

She thought they looked like FBI.

My God. Oh...

When I got home, Wolfe had returned from Hewitt's

and was already at dinner,

but I had one question that couldn't wait.

What's for dinner, Fritz?

Squabs ala Muscovite.

Ah. Looks great!

Miss Dacos is coming here?

Thanks. Yes, sir.

Why didn't you see her, then report?

No, sir.

That would be a violation of house rules.

"No business at dinner. "

How did you and Saul do at the orchids at Hewitt's?

That won't do, Archie.

House rules.

Of course, Wolfe would have to see Miss Dacos.

She could corroborate Cramer's theory

that the FBI killed Althaus.

She may know nothing,

but he'd have to satisfy himself on that.

So, how about Hewitt?

Oh, everything's been arranged.

The dinner will be Thursday evening.

He was delighted

that Fritz would prepare the meal.

Please report.

I reported my day in detail,

including the frolic with the G-men.

When I finished, he didn't move a muscle,

not even opening an eye.

I sat through a few moments of complete silence

and then spoke.

Look, I, uh, I know you're not interested

in who killed Morris Althaus.

You don't care about that.

All you're interested in is this shenanigan

you're cooking up with Lewis Hewitt.

That's it, that's all you're interested in.

Phooey!

I could say "satisfactory," and I do,

but you could have had that woman here this afternoon

instead of this evening.

Sara Dacos was there in the house,

if not when he was shot, then soon after.

It's possible that she can settle it one way or the other.

Well...

I am Nero Wolfe.

You are Sara Dacos?

Yes.

Would you care for beverages, miss Dacos?

I'd love a sidecar, thank you.

Fritz.

Sidecar for Miss Dacos.

I would prefer if you didn't smoke.

All right.

I suppose Mrs. Bruner has told you

of her conversation with Mr. Goodwin?

Yes, she did.

My interest is centered on

Morris Althaus.

Did you know him well?

Not really, no.

You lived under the same roof.

Well, that doesn't mean anything in New York.

You know that.

I'd lived there about a year when we met in the hall one day.

We realized we'd met before at Mrs. Bruner's office,

the day he was there with that man, O'Dell.

After that, we had dinner together sometimes.

It didn't progress to intimacy?

No, no matter how you define "intimacy. "

The night

Mr. Althaus was killed,

did you have dinner with him that night?

No.

I went to a lecture at the New School.

Alone?

You're like Mr. Goodwin.

You want to prove you're a detective.

Yes, I was alone.

And what time did you return to your apartment that evening?

A little bit before 11:00.

I wanted to listen to the news.

And then?

Be as precise as possible.

I went upstairs to my apartment,

I got a drink of water and started to get undressed.

Then I heard footsteps in the hallway.

They sounded as if

they were trying to be quiet, so I was curious.

I went to the window and put my head out.

Thee men came out

turned left and turned again at the corner.

They were walking fast.

Did they hear you

when you opened the window and look up?

No, I had it open before they came out.

Did they speak?

No.

Did you recognize any of them?

No.

Of course not.

Could you identify them?

No, I didn't see their faces.

So, you...

listened to the news, and went to bed.

Yes.

Did you hear any noise above you in Mr. Althaus' apartment?

No.

I was moving around and stuff,

and his apartment has a thick carpet.

You had been in it?

A few times,

for a drink before we went to dinner.

Why did you think those men were FBI?

They looked like it.

They were young and athletic.

Archie.

Yes, eh, just a couple of things.

When was the last time you spoke to Mr. Althaus?

About three days before he was murdered.

In the hall, just by accident.

Um, and did you know he was working

on a piece for the FBI?

No.

He never talked about his work.

Mr. Wolfe?

I doubt, Miss Dacos,

if you have supplied anything that will help.

But thank you for coming.

Fritz will see you out. Fritz.

Fritz!

Does she lie?

Certainly.

How the devil can you tell?

As you know, I'm wise to attractive young women,

and you are not.

Even you must know that she's not a sap

to give Mrs. Bruner that guff about the FBI

just 'cause she thinks

Mrs. Bruner might want to hear it.

Fact is, she did tell Mrs. Bruner.

She must have her reason, right?

It's not some bull about how the FBI men walked.

One guess in a dozen?

She knew Althaus was working in the FBI, and he...

How did she know?

Look, I'm only answering

the question, "Does she lie?"

She does.

Then we need the truth.

Get it.

Right after breakfast,

I phoned Mrs. Althaus and asked if I could stop by for a visit.

I wanted to take a look at Morris' apartment.

I promised I wouldn't take anything,

without her permission.

Of course, I didn't expect to find anything obvious,

since the cops had been through it.

But they had no one specifically in mind,

and I did.

Sara Dacos.

There were about a dozen photographs

but one of them is worth mentioning.

It was Althaus, nude.

But the back of the photo

was more interesting than the front.

Someone had written a poem on it.

Now, I haven't read all the poetry in the world,

but I was pretty sure I had read that one.

The question was,

"Who had written it?"

Mr. Goodwin, did you get...?

Do you mind if we whisper?

It is so ridiculous...

Yes, but it's safe.

Now, yve to say much,

all I need is a sample of Miss Dacos' handwriting.

What?!

Now, I know it's strange,

but either you trust Mr. Wolfe, or you don't.

Why on Earth...?

If you're not going to whisper, don't talk at all.

Just give me what I want, and I'll go.

Don't know where she keeps...

Ask her...

That's fine.

That's great.

Thank you.

Now, I'm no expert, but I didn't need one.

Sara Dacos had written

the poetry on the back of the photograph.

I concluded that Sara Dacos' memory had failed her

when she said that it had progressed to intimacy.

An adulteration of the...

last four lines of the second stanza

of Keats' "Ode on a Grecian Urn. "

I told you she wasn't a sap.

She lied.

She was deeply involved,

but he tells her he's going to marry another girl,

so she shoots him, probably with his own gun.

How does that appeal to you?

As conjecture, yes.

Then I should start

with a New School lecture question

and find out how tight her alibi is.

No.

What?

If the FBI learned you were doing that,

they would know that we are seriously considering

the possibility that Sara Dacos killed him.

That would be disastrous.

We must maintain the illusion that we are convinced

that a member of the FBI killed Morris Althaus.

Otherwise, our preparation

for Thursday evening will come to nothing.

Whether her involvement

was merely a secret intimacy she didn't want revealed,

or murder by her hand is of no interest to us.

I'd love to hear what Cramer has to say about that

after he gave us the steer.

Phooey! When we have relieved our minds

by finishing the job

we were paid to do by Mrs. Bruner,

we'll consider our obligation to him.

So we forget about the murder for the time being?

Yes.

Yes, Andy.

Hewitt scheduled the aristology dinner

for Thursday night.

We can't hire actors over the weekend,

so there's nothing to do until Monday.

Have you any instructions for this afternoon?

Turn off the radio.

It bothered me for the whole weekend.

I have no objection to playing games

with the cops, but this was different.

I had removed evidence from the scene of a murder

and was withholding it.

Cramer had saved our licenses,

and I owed him something.

Something else was bothering me.

The act Wolfe was staging.

The fanciest on record.

So, you found both actors?

Yes, and they're quite good resemblances as instructed.

And the one playing me can drive?

Yes; I'll double-check, though.

Saul had already spoken with

Fred and Orrie, and Hewitt had called Wolfe

to confirm the menu for Thursday,

and also the orchid delivery Wednesday afternoon.

That much we wanted the G-men to hear.

So, I had nothing to do but look at an idea

that had been pecking at me since Monday morning.

Mrs. Bruner's office. Good morning.

Hello, Miss Dacos, this is, uh, Archie Goodwin.

Hello, Mr. Goodwin.

Yes, I may need to see Mrs. Bruner later today.

When will she be available?

Yeah, she should be in the office

between 3:30 and 5:00.

Shall I tell her to expect you?

I'll let you know.

Thank you.

So, she was at her job.

I would have to take a chance with the cleaning lady.

I still had the key Mrs. Althaus had given me,

so, I was clean until I stood at Sara Dacos' door

and took out the collection of keys.

I rang the doorbell,

and when there was no answer, I entered.

I had now committed breaking and entering

according to the statutes of New York State.

And there it was... the revolver.

It was a Smith & Wesson 38,

and held one cartridge that had been fired.

The question was what to do with it.

If I left it,

went and called Cramer, and they came and found it,

the FBI would certainly find out,

and the big act for Thursday

would be kaput.

If I left it in the hatbox and didn't call Cramer,

Sara Dacos might decide

tonight was a good time to toss it in the river.

Where have you been?

I have a report.

Those cutlets must be ready by a quarter past 2:00.

Can't wait any longer.

I see you're preparing without me.

Report.

I assumed you would have had an early lunch.

If a man has guests coming,

he should be at the table with them.

Report.

Well, Iwent for a walk.

I happened to go by 23 Arbor Street.

I had a key in my pocket.

It happened to fit the lock on Sara Dacos' door,

so, I went in, I had a look around,

and in a hatbox in a closet, I found a Smith and Wesson 38.

One cartridge had been fired.

As you know, Cramer said that Althaus had a permit for a 38,

but it wasn't in his apartment, so, obviously...

What did you do with it?

Well, I moved it.

It seemed out of place in a box with a hat in it,

so, I put it under the cushion of the couch.

She shot him.

Right, as I was saying when you interrupted.

Will she discover it missing?

No. Even if she misses it, she's not going to look for it.

You should have told me you were going.

No, I shouldn't.

This was a personal errand

in which a quart of milk was involved.

Even if she stays put, I'm going to have a problem

with tomorrow night's turkey, you know.

I believe guns can be identified.

Oh, yeah, sure, they can do it

even if the numbers have been filed off,

and Cramer will have the number

of the one Althaus had a permit for.

Then there will be no problem.

I'm sorry, what?

I must see about those cutlets.

Satisfactory.

"There will be no problem. "

For God's sakes, if I had an ego that size,

I'd be boss of the FBI.

Our guests were 20 minutes early.

Nero Wolfe?

Got some orchids for you.

All right, just right inside, and over here.

Here, here...

I got it; no, I got it.

Yeah, sure.

That'll be right there.

Straight back, gentlemen.

That's enough huffing and puffing.

This couldn't be that heavy.

Jus put it down

right there.

Jesus!

Must be in lead pots.

Thank you very much.

Good afternoon.

Not very.

Is it okay to talk?

Very softly, only with the radio on.

That was some ride.

I hope they're all alive.

Have you given them a full explanation?

They're not to speak... not a word... unless you say so.

They know they are to stay in their rooms?

And keep away from the windows?

Yes, except when they're rehearsing.

Will they have the proper dress for Thursday evening?

Yes, sir.

Where are Fred and Orrie?

Uh... Orrie's the one with the triangle.

So, I'm sitting on Fred?

You're sitting on Fred.

I realized that professional actors

practice saying only

what they're supposed to, but even so,

I had to hand it to Ashley Jarvis

and Dale Kirby.

Especially Jarvis.

He took some time un-cramping himself.

When he finally got to his feet,

he turned to Wolfe and gave a damn good bow.

Archie, the money.

He looks at least 20 pounds

heavier than I am.

Oh, at least.

Lunch is ready, but first few points.

That money is yours.

Mr. Hewitt has explained

that each of you is to receive $1,000,

but after seeing you emerge from those boxes,

I feel you have already earned it.

Therefore, if you perform the rest of it satisfactorily,

I shall feel you have earned another $1,000.

You will be in this house for 18 hours.

During that time, there must be no single sound

which, if overheard, would disclose your presence.

You will need to observe closely

the posture and manner of walking

of Mr. Goodwin and myself.

Not our voices; that won't be necessary.

Are there any questions?

Good.

Then we'll have lunch.

No radio.

Only Mr. Goodwin and I will talk.

I wouldn't want to go through that 28 hours again.

Looking back at it, I don'th think we missed a single bet.

Kirby and Jarvis spent their time imitating us

and that evening,

Fred and Orrie slept in my room,

Saul slept on the sofa in the front room,

and I slept in the office.

The charade was to begin early tomorrow morning,

and I wanted my required eight hours.

I'm sorry I'm going to miss your dinner, Fritz,

but I don't think the ten for aristology will care.

That's not funny, Archie.

Your bag, sir.

You be careful.

Everyone ate leftovers for lunch in the kitchen.

At 5:10, I went upstairs to get dressed.

This time, I made sure the window was open

in case anyone was watching.

We all assembled at 5:55 in Wolfe's office.

Go get the car, Archie.

It's time to leave.

There may be traffic problems,

and we wouldn't want to be late.

It'll take me eight minutes.

Why don't you go get your hat and coat,

and wait for me?

I'll be right back.

I can't give the precise time they came,

but there were soft steps

and there they were... two of them.

one of them bent over to look at the lock.

Of course, it would take them a few minutes.

Play ball!

Strike one!

Doesn't look good, fellas.

We don't even need to frisk you...

you can't shoot in two directions.

Mr. Wolfe!

Archie, this is deplorable!

Call the police!

Certainly.

Easy!

Now don't try jumping me, fellas.

You'll get plugged

and all we'll get from the police is thanks.

Oh, balls, we're not crashers and you know it.

Hell I know it. You're crashers.

Tell it to the cops.

Why don't you cut the comedy, Goodwin.

You know damn well what we are.

We're agents with the FBI and you know it.

Look, we touched nothing and we didn't intend to.

We came here to see you.

When we rang the doorbell, there was no answer

and the door was unlocked so we came in.

You lie.

Five men will swear that the door was locked

and you didn't ring.

Four of them heard you picking the lock.

When you are searched by the police, your tools

will be found.

Federal Bureau of Investigation?!

Phooey!

Call the police, Archie!

All right, look, hold it, Goodwin.

Now, take it easy.

Credentials.

Let me inspect them.

Wr. Wolfe would like to inspect them.

Hand it over.

You, too, Slim.

That's right.

Thank you, Archie.

They're probably forged.

Police laboratory can tell!

You fat son of a bitch.

A natural reaction.

Let us assume, merely for discussion,

that you are, in fact, agents of the FBI,

then you have a valid complaint, but not against me.

Against your colleagues

who were gulled into thinking

that that this house was empty.

Still, further on the same assumption,

I am going to keep these credentials as hostages.

You, or your bureau, may seek to recover them

only by an act of law,

which would obviously disclose publicly how they got here,

how you entered my house illegally

and how you are caught in flagrante delicto!

So the initiative is mine!

All I wanted was incontestable evidence

that members of the FBI

have committed a felony and can be prosecuted

and I have it here!

You may go!

An hour later, we were having a pleasant evening

in the front room playing a tight game of pinochle

and Wolfe was back in his office rereading a book,

The FBI Nobody Knows.

Archie.

He was either gloating or doing research,

I don't know which.

Nero Wolfe's residence.

Archie Goodwin speaking.

This is Richard Wragg, Goodwin.

I want to speak with Wolfe.

Yeah, good idea. He thought you might.

Say here at 11:00, tomorrow?

I want to see him tonight, now!

Well, I-I'm sorry but you can't see him tonight.

He's very, very busy.

And what's he so busy at?

Well, he's reading a book right now called The FBI Nobody Knows.

I'll be there at 11:00.

Wragg, 11:00, tomorrow morning, as expected.

And desired.

The next morning, at 8:28,

I went to the office and dialed Mrs. Bruner's number.

Albert, my muffin.

When she answered, I told her,

"Mrs. Bruner, Archie Goodwin.

"I have an important message for you.

"Would you please go out to a phone booth

"and call 555-4545 at 9:45?

I'll explain then. "

But that will interfere with an appointment I have.

How important is it?

Extremely.

I still don't like your tone, Mr. Goodwin.

All right, 9:45 then.

With credentials in hand, I only needed my escort.

Okay, you bums, time to keep me safe for women everywhere.

We didn't think the FBI would try anything,

but we wanted to be prepared just in case.

By 9:30, we were on our way.

9:46. Prompt woman.

I should marry her.

Mrs. Bruner.

Yes. I hope this is really important.

I'm late for an appointment.

Forget about appointments.

You're to be at Mr. Wolfe's

at a quarter to 11, not a second later.

But why? What is it?

Look I'm just the messenger boy.

Not only is it important, it's vital.

All right, I'll be there.

Wonderful. You're the perfect client.

If you weren't rich, I'd marry you.

What did you say?

Nothing.

I hung up before you told me she didn't like my tone again.

We had to step on it

to get back to the brownstone by a quarter to 11:00.

We barely made it.

Mrs. Bruner.

How would you like to meet three men who, working for you,

rode 60 miles curled up inside a abox

and who, last night, spent 20 minutes

pointing guns at two G-men while Mr. Wolfe talked to them?

Why, I'd like to.

This is Fred Durkin,

Orrie Cather

and Mr. Saul Panzer.

Now you'll be spending a lot of time with

Mr. Panzer here. Let me take that shawl

because Mr. Richard Wragg, top G-man in New York

is coming and he probably shouldn't see this. Fred.

Okay, let's take a little stroll down the hallway here.

Mr. Wragg is coming to talk to Mr. Wolfe.

You'll be in here where you can see and hear everything.

Shh! No noise under any circumstances, got it?

Yes, of course.

Mr. Wragg.

Right this way.

Right in here.

Mr. Wragg.

Nero Wolfe. Please be seated.

I know about you, but I never met you.

Some paths don't cross.

Well, now ours have.

I assume this is being recorded.

No.

We are equipped, but it isn't turned on.

I suggest we ignore such matters.

I've assumed that, for the past week,

everything said in this house was overheard.

We haven't bugged this house.

Ignore it.

You came to see me.

As you expected.

We don't need to waste time shadowboxing.

I want the credentials you took

from two of my men last night by force.

You are shadowboxing.

Retract that "by force. "

The force was initiated

by your men when they broke and entered my house.

I merely met force with force.

I want those credentials.

Do you retract that "by force"?

No!

Give me the credentials and we'll talk on even terms.

Phooey. Are you a dunce?

Or do you take me for one?

I have no intention of talking on even terms.

You came here to see me because

I constrained you to.

But if you came to talk nonsense,

you might as well leave!

Shall I describe the situation as I see it?

Yes.

Of course you know who Mrs. Rachel Bruner is.

You have been harassing her relentlessly

ever since she sent that book to 10,000 people.

Puerile revenge, but effective nonetheless.

She has paid me to use my best efforts

to stop your espionage of her and her family.

For the record, if there was any espionage of Mrs. Bruner...

which I'm not admitting...

it was in connection with a security check.

Oh, of course you say that.

A routine lie.

Your men departed leaving their credentials

because they dared not call upon the police

to rescue them.

They knew that if I charged them with breaking and entering,

the police and the District Attorney's Office

would be sympathetic to the charge.

You know it, too.

You won't take legal steps to recover

those credentials so they won't be recovered...

I shall keep them.

But I suggest an exchange.

You engage to stop all surveillance of Mrs...

I haven't conceded the surveillance.

Bah! Make it simpler.

You engage that from 6:00 today,

the Bureau will cease all surveillance of Mrs. Bruner,

Mr. Goodwin and myself.

I engage to leave the credentials where they are

and to take no action against your men

for their invasion of my house.

That's the offer.

Doou mean engage in writing?

Not unless you prefer it.

I don't. Nothing in writing.

I'll agree to the surveillance

but I must have those credentials.

You won't get them.

I have no desire

to enter into a mortal feud

with your bureau.

My sole purpose is to do the job I have hired for.

Then why have you been investigating a homicide

we have no connection with?

You think one of your people shot Morris Althaus.

I do not! That's absurd!

Confound it, sir, can't you talk sense?!

What could your men have conceivably been after

when they invaded my house?

You suspected that I had discovered

that three of your men had been in Morris Althaus' apartment

the night he was murdered, which, indeed, I had.

They reported that he was dead when they arrived

but you doubted them.

And now you suspect that I have evidence

proving that one of your men killed him.

How did you learn this?

That reserved.

Are you going to continue the investigation?

You know... Mr. Wragg,

I am both able and willing to relieve your mind,

but first I must be assured

I've done my job.

Have you accepted my offer?

Yes, that's settled.

Satisfactory.

Now I want you to make another engagement.

I want you to return here when requested by me

and bring the bullet

that one of your men picked off the floor

of Morris Althaus' apartment.

Now you're not talking sense.

Oh, but I am.

If you bring me that bullet,

it is next to certain that I can establish

that Althaus was not killed by one of your men.

If I had such a bullet, I might bring it,

just to call your bluff.

You have it.

Listen, Wolfe, you trapped us once, damn you, but not again.

If I had that bullet, I wouldn't be sap enough to give it to you.

You will be a sap...

if you don'tbring me the bullet.

If your men are not cleared within a month

by disclosure of the murderer, I'll give you the credentials.

You'll return the credentials?

Yes.

You make an offer. What guarantee would I have?

My word.

How good is your word?

Better than yours.

Much better, if that book is to be believed.

You'll be here all day?

I've got some thinking to do.

If you telephone,

my line is tapped.

He didn't think that was funny, so he left without a word.

Could you hear all right?

Oh, yes.

You're an incredible man.

Utterly incredible.

I didn't think you could do it.

Incredible!

Is there anything you can't do?

Uh, yes, madam, there is.

I couldn't put sense in a fool's brain.

I've tried.

You understand why it was necessary for you to come?

Yes.

My obligation to you

was to satisfy your desired result.

Are you satisfied?

Of course I am! I...

Incredible!

Please sit down.

There's something I have to tell you.

You are my client, and I must protect you,

but you must be discreet.

I am.

Good.

I wish to save you the embarrassment

of having your secretary...

taken from your office by the police

on a charge of murder.

It is barely short of a certainty.

The victim was Morris Althaus.

Mr. Goodwin will give you the details.

I don't believe it.

I want the details now.

No, you won't get them.

Do you want a murderer

taken into custody in your home?

No.

Then you may thank me at your leisure

for preventing it.

Shall Mr. Panzer take you to your car?

You can discuss it with him.

He's not a fool.

Can Mr. Goodwin go?

No.

Saul has not heard the last of that one yet.

Didn't change my decision about marriage,

but it gave me one on Saul.

If you had told me nine days ago

that Wolfe would actually

pull this stunt off, I never would have believed it.

I told you... don't phone and don't come.

Ah, but it's okay now and I had to.

What's okay?

He has earned the 100 grand, and the fee.

Like hell he has.

You mean he got them to quit on Mrs. Bruner?

Yes, but he hasn't filled your order yet.

What are you talking about? I never gave any order.

All right, have it your way.

We have learned that it wasn't a G-man

who shot Morris Althaus.

We think we know who did it and how they can be tagged.

I am here to talk homicide.

Go ahead, talk.

You see the handwriting on the back there?

It's a takeoff on the last four lines

of "Ode on a Grecian Urn. "

The photograph was taken, with permission,

from Morris Althaus' apartment.

The handwriting on the back... it's by Sara Dacos,

Mrs. Bruner's secretary,

who lives in the apartment below Althaus.

Mrs. Bruner gave me some writing samples.

That's how we know.

And by the way, she says she saw the three G-men

leave the building.

Be sure you mention that when you're working on her.

Working on her?

For what, this?

No. Main reason I'm here is to place a bet.

One will get you 50 that if you get a search warrant,

comb her apartment, you'll find something you appreciate.

That's it.

That's all for now.

Sooner the better for you.

I'm out of here.

Like hell it's all; sit down.

What did you put in there, and where did you find it?

I didn't.

Listen, spend any more time barking at me,

you're going to waste your time.

Now, get the warrant, use it, you find something interesting,

I'm sure Mr. Wolfe will be happy to discuss it with you.

For the present, I am through.

Wait a minute, hold it.

I'll discuss it with you first.

You'll have to put me under arrest.

For God's sakes, what more do you want?

You've had this homicide for nearly two months.

We've had it only two weeks.

Two weeks we've only had it.

Two months he's had it.

Two eks we've had it.

Here you go.

I stopped for lunch

and then headed down to Arbor Street.

Cramer had wasted no time getting the warrant.

Relax... they got the gun.

Good.

And the girl.

Get Mr. Wragg.

Where did you get that gun?!

And when did you put it there?!

Confound it, you shouldn't have come.

You should have waited until you had arranged your mind.

Archie... Wragg?

He's on.

When Cramer is boiling, it isn't easy

to stop him, but that did.

Mr. Wragg.

Yes.

Yes, I'm ready for that bullet.

I'll come.

He'll be here in 20 minutes.

Wragg... of he FBI?

Yes, yes.

I suggest you postpone your onslaught until he arrives.

In the meantime, I have two questions.

Was a gun found in Sara Dacos apartment?

Certainly. And I asked did one of you put it there,

and I'm going to ask him again.

Was it the gun

Morris Althaus had a permit for?

Yes.

Wolfe then explained to Cramer

the entire operation with the FBI.

When he came to the scene in the office

with the two G-men surrounded by guns

and dropping their credentials,

I saw something I had never seen before...

a broad smile on the face of Inspector Cramer.

Your word better than mine?

You goddamn skunk!

Whether my word is better or not,

my brain is.

I don't judge a situation before I understand it.

Now, Mr. Cramer was...

All agreements are off!

Phooey! Are you a donkey?

Are you?!

Mr. Cramer was just... regretting

that he had surmised

that a member of your bureau was a murderer.

Enough! Enough!

Sit down, both of you.

Sit down!

I want to resolve the situation, not tangle it.

Resolve it how? How?!

We all want the same thing.

You, Mr. Wragg, want it made manifest

that your men are not criminally implicated

in a murder, and you, Mr. Cramer,

want to identify the person who killed Morris Althaus.

Couldn't be simpler.

You, Mr. Wragg, give Mr. Cramer

the bullet you have in your pocket

and tell him where it came from.

You, Mr. Cramer, will have a comparison made of the bullet

with one fired

from the gun you took from Sara Dacos' apartment.

That should settle it.

I haven't said I have a bullet.

Mr. Wragg that's nonsense.

Mr. Cramer has good reason to suppose

that you have essential evidence

in a homicide within his jurisdiction.

Now, according to the statutes of the State of New York,

Mr. Cramer may legally search you here and now

and get it.

Is that correct, Mr. Cramer?

Yes.

But... that shouldn't be necessary,

Mr. Wragg, because you have a brain.

Yeah.

And you can see that it is...

in the interest of the Bureau to hand over the bullet.

The hell it is.

And one of my men has to testify how he got it?

That he was in the apartment?

No, no.

No, indeed, no.

If you give Mr. Cramer your word

here, privately, that that's where the bullet came from,

then one of his men gets on the stand

and says that he took it from the apartment.

Uh, my men aren't perjurers.

Bah! If Mr. Wragg hands you the bullet

and tells you where it came from,

will you believe him?

Will you?!

Yes.

Then save your posing for an audience who will appreciate it.

Hey, he might not be posing.

He might get on the stand himself and tell how he got it.

Then I'm called to the stand.

That's true.

He might.

But he won't.

Damn you... both of you.

It's dinnertime.

I've said all I have to say.

So, do we settle it, or mulishly fail to?

Archie.

Do you see anything wrong with it?

No. Do you?

No. Do you have the gun?

Yes.

It's up to you.

This bullet was found at Morris Althaus' apartment

the night he was murdered.

Now it's yours.

I've never seen it.

You're damn right it's mine.

Catnip toys for fierce animal,

smoked salmon...

All right, I-I realize that you are frustrated.

Even if you billed her for another 100 grand,

which she said she'd pay...

it still might not last the rest of the year.

But even still, I mean, it's no reason to gouge her

for expenses.

Is it Hewitt?

Well, well, the big fish himself.

All the way from Washington to see you.

Quite an honor.

No appointment.

Should I take him to the front room to wait awhile?

Phooey. I have nothing for him.

Let him get a sore finger.

Come, let's finish this.

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