The Doorbell Rang (The Rex Stout Library)

I raised a finger. "Your guess that they might have hit on the FBI theory at the Gazette, and be working on it, wasn't so good." I lowered the finger. "Lon Cohen didn't mention it, so I didn't. They haven't got a theory. He let me go through the files, and we talked, and I got a dozen pages of names and assorted details, some of which might possibly be useful." I raised a finger. "I'll type it up at the usual five dollars a page." I lowered the finger. "Next I phoned Mrs David Althaus from a booth, and she said she would see me, and I went. Park Avenue in the Eighties, tenth-floor apartment, all the trimmings you would expect. Pictures okay. I won't describe her because you'll see her. She quotes Leviticus and Aristotle." Finger raised. "I wanted to quote Plato but couldn't work it in." Finger lowered. "I had asked her on the phone to ask Marian Hinckley to come, and she said she would be there soon. She said she had understood me to say on the phone that her son had been killed by an agent of the FBI and was that correct. From there on you had better have it verbatim."

I gave it to him, straight through, knowing that I had said nothing we wouldn't be willing for the FBI to hear. Leaning back with his eyes closed, he wouldn't have been able to see a raised finger, so I couldn't make any insertions. When I finished he grunted, opened his eyes, and said, "It's bad enough when you know there's a needle in the haystack. When you don't even-"

The doorbell rang. Going to the hall for a look, I saw a G-man on the stoop. Not that I recognized him, but it must be-the right age, the broad shoulders, the manly mug with a firm jaw, the neat dark gray coat. I went and opened the door the two inches allowed by the chain bolt and said, "Yes, sir?"

He blurted through the crack, "My name's Quayle and I want to see Nero Wolfe!"

"Spell it, please?"

"Timothy Quayle! Q,U,A,Y,L,E!"

"Mr Wolfe is engaged. I'll see."

I went to the office door. "One of the names in my notebook. Timothy Quayle. Senior editor at Tick-Tock magazine. The hero type. He slugged a reporter who was annoying Marian Hinckley. She must have phoned him about you soon after I left."

"No," he growled.

"It's half an hour till dinner. Are you in the middle of a chapter?"

He glowered at me. "Bring him."