"What the devil is there to discuss?" Wolfe shoved his chair back and arose. "Go to bed." He marched out to his elevator.
Next day, Friday, I had either bum luck or a double brush-off, I wasn't sure which. Phoning Sue Dondero to propose some kind of joint enterprise, I was told that she was leaving town that afternoon for the weekend and wouldn't return until late Sunday evening. Phoning Eleanor Gruber as the best alternative, I was told that she was already booked. I looked over the list, trying to be objective about it, and settled on Blanche Duke. When I got her I must admit she didn't sound enthusiastic, but probably she never did at the switchboard. She couldn't make it Friday but signed up for Saturday at seven.
We were getting reports by phone from Saul and Fred and Orrie, and Friday a little before six Saul came in person. The only reason I wouldn't vote for Saul Panzer for President of the United States is that he would never dress the part. How he goes around New York, almost anywhere, in that faded brown
cap and old brown suit, without attracting attention as not belonging, I will never understand. Wolfe has never given him an assignment that he didn't fill better than anyone else could except me, and my argument is why not elect him President, buy him a suit and hat, and see what happens?
He sat on the edge of one of the yellow chairs and asked, "Anything fresh?"
"No," I told him. "As you know, it is usually impossible to tell just when a case will end, but this time it's a cinch. When our client's last buck is spent we'll quit."
"As bad as that? Is Mr. Wolfe concentrating?"
"You mean is he working or loafing? He's loafing. He has started asking people where they were at three-fifteen Monday afternoon, February twenty-sixth. That's a hell of a way for a genius to perform."