Prisoner's Base

Quest was more startled. His mouth dropped open, and his jaw hung, making him look ten years older. When he spoke his voice was different. "I don't know." He sounded half dazed. "I haven't been home since Monday morning. I've been staying with my son in town-I want to phone." He was on his feet. "I want to phone!"

I told him, "Here," and pulled the instrument across and got up, and he came and took my chair and dialed a number. After a long wait he spoke.

"Delia?… No, no, this is Mr. Quest. I'm sorry to get you out of bed… No, no, I'm quite all right. I just want you to do something for me. You know that piece of old clothesline on the tray on my dresser? I want you to go and see if it's there just as it was, just the way it was. I'll hold the line. Go and see and come and tell me… No, don't move it, just see if it's there."

He propped his forehead on his free hand and waited. All eyes were not on him, because there were glances at Wolfe, who had reached for his own instrument and was listening in. Two full minutes passed before Quest's head lifted and he spoke.

"Yes, Delia… It is? You're sure?… No, I just wanted to know… No, no, I'm all right, everything's quite all right… Good night."

He put the receiver on the cradle, accurately and firmly, and turned. "I could have used it, Mr. Wolfe, that's true, but I couldn't possibly have put it back, because I haven't been there." He stood up, got a change purse from a pocket, took out two dimes and a nickel, and put them on my desk. "It's a quarter call with tax. Thank you." He returned to his chair and sat. "I think it will be better if I restrict myself to answering questions."

Wolfe grunted. "You've anticipated them, sir. That was well conceived and superbly executed, flummery or not. You have nothing to add?"

"No."

"So you also know when to stop." Wolfe went right. "And you, Mr. Pitkin? Were you too blessed with a catharsis many years ago?"