Prisoner's Base

I decided against it. I couldn't deny that the effect Coke and rum had on her was pleasant; it tuned her up and emphasized her charms, which were fair enough without the emphasis. But this was office hours, and I wanted to find out if she had any potential as a client. So I decided to dodge the drink problem with a polite suggestion, but before I had it framed she demanded, "Does the door of the south room on the third floor have a bolt on the inside?"

I frowned at her. I was beginning to suspect she was something we couldn't use, like for instance a female writer getting material for a magazine piece on a famous detective's home, but even so she was not the kind to be led out by the ear and rolled off the stoop down the steps to the sidewalk. There was no good reason, considering the eyes, why she shouldn't be humored up to a point.

"No," I said. "Why, do you think it needs one?"

"Maybe not," she conceded, "but I thought I'd feel better if it had. You see, that's where I want to sleep."

"Oh? You do? For about how long?"

"For a week. Possibly a day or two more, but certainly for a week. I would rather have the south room than the one on the second floor because it has its own bath. I know how Nero Wolfe feels about women, so I knew I'd have to see you first."

"That was sensible," I agreed. "I like gags, and I'll bet this is a pip. How does it go?"

"It is not a gag." She wasn't heated, but she was earnest. "For a certain reason I had to be-I had to go away. I had to go somewhere and stay there until June thirtieth-some place where no one would know and no one could possibly find me. I didn't think a hotel would do, and I didn't think-anyhow, I thought it over and decided the best place would be Nero Wolfe's house. Nobody knows I came; nobody followed me here, I'm sure of that."