The Doorbell Rang (The Rex Stout Library)

Wolfe was leaning back with his eyes closed, but his mouth was tight, no curl at the corner. As I crossed to his desk he opened the eyes to slits. I picked up the check and inspected it. I had never seen one for an even, round, plain hundred grand, though I had seen bigger ones. I dropped it, went to my desk, sat, scribbled the license number of the tail car on the scratch pad, swung the phone around, dialed a number, and got a man, a city employee for whom I had once done a king-size favor.

When I gave him the license number he said it might take an hour, and I said I would hold my breath.

As I hung up Wolfe's voice came. "Is that flummery?"

I swiveled. "No, sir. She is in real danger. A pair of them were in a car down the block. They switched on their lights as she got in, and as her Rolls turned into Tenth Avenue they were so close behind they nearly bumped it. An open tail, but they're overdoing it. If the Rolls stops short they'll bang it. She's in danger."

"Grrrhh," he said.

"Yes, sir. I agree. The point is, who are they? If it's something private, that hundred grand could be earned maybe. Of course if it's really G-men she'll just have to endure her afflictions, as you said. We'll know in an hour or so."

He glanced at the clock on the wall. Twelve minutes to seven. He focused on me. "Is Mr Cohen at his office?"

"Probably. He usually quits around seven."

"Ask him to dine with us."

That was very foxy. If I said there was no point in it since the thing was preposterous, he would say that I was certainly aware of the importance of maintaining good relations with Mr Cohen, which I was, and that he personally had not seen him for more than a year, which was true.

I swiveled and got the phone and dialed.

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