Some Buried Caesar

"Oh." Pratt eyed him. "Of course some home cooking is all right. But most of the fancy stuff… one of my publicity stunts was when I got a group of fifty people from the Social Register into a pratteria and served them from the list. They gobbled it up and they raved. What I've built my success on is, first, quality, second, publicity." He had two fingers up.

"An unbeatable combination," Wolfe murmured. I could have kicked him. He was positively licking the guy's boots. He even went on, "Your niece was telling me something of your phenomenal career."

"Yes?" He glanced at her. "Your drink's gone, Caroline." He turned his head and bawled, "Bert!" Back to Wolfe:

"Well, she knows as much about it as anyone. She worked in my office three years. Somehow she got started playing golf, and she got good at it, and I figured it would be good publicity to have a golf champion for a niece, and she made it. That's better than anything she could do in the office. And better than anything her brother could do. My only nephew, and no good for anything at all. Are you. Jimmy?"

The young man grinned at him. "Not worth a damn."

"Yes, but you don't mean it, and I do. Just/because your father and mother died when you were young… why I keep spending money on you is beyond me. It's about my only weakness. And when I think that my will leaves everything to you and your sister only because there's no one else in sight… it makes me hope I will never die. What do you call it? Immortality. When I think what you would do with a million dollars… let me ask you, Mr. Wolfe, what is your opinion of architecture?"

"Well… I like this house."

Jimmy cackled, "Ha! Wowie!"

His uncle disregarded him and cocked an eye at Wolfe. "You do actually? My nephew there designed it. It was only finished last year. I came originally from this part of the country… was born on this spot in an old shack. There is absolutely no money in architecture and never will be… I've looked into it. Where a nephew of mine ever got the idea…"