Murder by the Book

"Thanks. I may need you. Theodore told you?"

"No. Mr. Wolfe told me."

"The hell he did."

I was supposed to report myself in whenever I returned from an errand, so I went to the office and buzzed the plant rooms, where Wolfe spent every afternoon from four to six, on the house phone.

"I'm back," I told him. "Delivered according to plan. By the way, I'll put them on Wellman's account at three dollars per. A bargain for him."

"No. I do not sell orchids."

"He's a client. They were a required item."

"I do not sell orchids," he said gruffly and hung up. I got out the work book and figured the time and expenses of Saul and Fred and Orrie, who had been called off, and made out their checks.

The first call came a little before six. I usually answer, "Nero Wolfe's office, Archie Goodwin speaking," but thought it advisable, temporarily, to make a cut, and said merely, "Archie Goodwin speaking."

A dry clipped voice, but still female, asked, "Is this Mr. Archie Goodwin?"

"Yes."

"My name is Charlotte Adams. I have received a box of orchids with a note from you inside. Thank you very much."

"You're welcome. They're nice, aren't they?"

"They're beautiful, only I don't wear orchids. Are they from Mr. Nero Wolfe's conservatory?"

"Yes, but he doesn't call it that. Go ahead and wear them, that's what they're for."

"I'm forty-eight years old, Mr. Goodwin, so the possible reasons for your sending me orchids are rather restricted. More so than with some of the other recipients. Why did you send them?"

"I'll be frank with you, Miss Adams. Miss Adams?"

"No. Mrs. Adams."

"I'll be frank anyway. Girls keep getting married and moving to Jackson Heights, and my list of phone numbers is getting pretty ragged. I asked myself what would girls like to see that I can offer, and the answer was ten thousand orchids. They're not mine, but I have access. So you're cordially

invited to come tomorrow evening at six o'clock, nine-oh-two West Thirty-fifth Street, and look at the orchids, and then we'll all have dinner together, and I see no reason why we shouldn't have a good time. Have you got the address?"

"Am I supposed to swallow this rigmarole, Mr. Goodwin?"

"Don't bother to swallow it. Do your swallowing tomorrow at dinner. I promise it will be fit to swallow. Will you come?"

"I doubt it," she said, and hung up.

Wolfe had entered during the conversation and got established behind his desk. He was frowning at me and pulling at his lower lip with a finger and thumb.