Prisoner's Base

"Well, it's like this. As you explained last night, you had to have some kind of a wedge to start an opening, and this morning I went out to get one and failed. Seeing how disappointed you were, I felt that I must somehow meet the challenge. I have met it. The man in there is a lawyer named Albert M. Irby, with an office on Forty-first Street. I phoned Parker, and he had never heard of Irby but reported back that he is a member of the New York bar in good standing. As for Irby, he says that he is representing Eric Hagh, the former husband of Priscilla Eads, and he would like to talk with you."

"Where the devil did you get him?" It was a blurt of indignation.

"I didn't exactly get him. He came. He phoned for an appointment at four-twenty-one."

"What does he want?"

"To talk with you. Since you don't like a client horning in on a case, I didn't press him for particulars."

Thereupon Wolfe paid me a high compliment. He gazed at me with a severely suspicious eye. Obviously he suspected me of pulling a fast one-of somehow, in less than two hours, digging up Albert M. Irby and his connection with Priscilla Eads, and shanghaiing him. I didn't mind, but I thought it well to be on record.

"No, sir," I said firmly.

He grunted. "You don't know what he wants?"

"No, sir."

He tossed the book aside. "Bring him in."

It was a pleasure to go for that lawyer and usher him in to the red leather chair, but I must admit that physically he was nothing to flaunt. I have never seen a balder man, and his hairless freckled dome had a peculiar attraction. It was covered with tiny drops of sweat, and nothing ever happened to them. He didn't touch them with a handkerchief, they didn't get larger or merge and trickle, and they didn't dwindle. They just stood pat. There was nothing repulsive about them, but after ten minutes or so the suspense was quite a strain.

Sitting, he put his briefcase on the little table at his elbow. "Right off," he said, in a voice that could have used more vinegar and less oil, "I want to put myself in your hands. I'm not in your class, Mr. Wolfe, and I won't pretend I am. I'll just tell you how it stands, and whatever you say goes."

It was a bad start if he expected any favors. Wolfe compressed his lips. "Go ahead."