Might as Well Be Dead

Saul’s face will never tell you a damn thing when he’s playing poker with you, or playing anything else that calls for cover, but he’s not so careful with it when he doesn’t have to be, and at sight of it as I let him in I knew he had something hot.

Wolfe knew it too, and he was on edge. As Saul was turning a chair around he demanded, “Well?”

Saul sat. “From the beginning?”

“Yes.”

“I phoned the apartment at nine-thirty-two and a woman answered and I asked to speak to Ella Reyes. She asked who I was and I said a Social Security investigator. She asked what I wanted with Ella Reyes and I said there was apparently a mix-up in names and I wanted to check. She said she wasn’t there, and she wasn’t sure when she would be, and I thanked her. So already it had a twist. A maid who sleeps in wasn’t there and it wasn’t known when she would be. I went to the apartment house and identified myself to the doorman.”

You should hear Saul identifying himself. What he meant was that after three minutes with the doorman they were on such good terms that he was allowed to take the elevator without a phone call to announce him. It’s no good trying to imitate him; I’ve tried it.

“I went up to Apartment Twelve-B, and Mrs. Irwin came to the door. I told her I had another errand in the neighborhood and dropped in to see Ella Reyes. She said she wasn’t there and still didn’t know when she would be. I pressed a little, but of course I couldn’t overdo it. I said the mix-up had to do with addresses, and maybe she could straighten it out, and asked if her Ella Reyes had another address, perhaps her family’s address, at Two-nineteen East One-hundred-and-twelfth Street. She said not that she knew of, that her Ella Reyes’ family lived on East One-hundred-and-thirty-seventh Street. I asked if she could give me the number, and she went to another room and came back and said it was Three-oh-six East One-hundred-and-thirty-seventh Street.”