Prisoner's Base

That was what created the atmosphere. When I returned from the country late Sunday night he had gone up to bed. By Monday morning the air might possibly have cleared if it hadn't been for the torn-up check. We both knew the stub would have to be voided and a new check drawn, but he wasn't going to tell me to do it without being asked, and I wasn't going to do it without being told. A man has his pride. With that between us, the stiffness Monday morning lasted through lunch and beyond, into the afternoon.

Around 4:30 I was at my desk, working on the germination records, when the doorbell rang. Ordinarily, unless instructions have been given, Fritz answers it, but that day my legs needed stretching and I went. Swinging the door open, I took in a sight that led me to an agreeable conclusion. The suitcase and hatbox could have held a salesman's samples, but the young woman in the light peach-colored dress and tailored jacket was surely no peddler. Calling on Nero Wolfe with luggage, ten to one she was a prospective client from out of town, and, coming straight from the station or airport, in a hurry. Such a one was welcome.

With the hatbox dangling from her hand, she crossed the threshold, brushed past me, and said, "You're Archie Goodwin. Will you bring my suitcase in? Please?"

I did so, closed the door, and deposited the suitcase against the wall. She put the hatbox down beside it and straightened to speak.

"I want to see Nero Wolfe, but of course he's always up in the plant rooms from four to six. That's why I picked this time to come, I want to see you first." Her eyes moved. "That's the door to the front room." Her eyes moved again, aimed the length of the hall. "That's the stairs, and the door to the dining room on the right and to the office on the left. The hall's wider than I expected. Shall we go to the office?"

I had never seen eyes like hers. Either they were brownish gray flecked with brownish yellow, or brownish yellow flecked with brownish gray. They were deep in, wide apart, and moved fast.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

That was phony. She must have been used to people, at first sight of those eyes, staring at them; she probably expected it. I told her nothing was the matter, took her to the office and gave her a chair, sat at my desk, and observed, "So you've been here before."