The Father Hunt

Amy's father rang the doorbell at ten after nine. As I went to admit him Saul headed for the connecting door to the front room, and as I took him to the office and to the red leather chair I did something that I had done many times although I had learned long ago that it was absolutely useless. For a spectator in a courtroom to try to decide from a man's looks if he's guilty or not is natural and he has to pass the time somehow, but for a working detective it's pure crap. So I did it again. I looked at Vance's purled eyes, flabby cheeks, thin hair, saggy shoulders, down to his brown shoes that needed a shine, actually hoping to get a slant on the question, Did he kill Elinor Denovo? Nuts.

By the time I got to nuts Wolfe was saying, "… not that I scorn all trite expressions; some of the finest words and phrases in the language were once vulgarisms and are well worn. But a faddish cliche like 'image' as now abused is an abomination. You told Mr. Goodwin that my 'public image' needs expert handling and you would like to meet me. If you have some proposal to make I'll listen as a matter of courtesy, but don't call my repute my image."

"To hell with your courtesy. Shove it." Vance's voice was not as I remembered it. I had thought he was a fairly smooth talker that Sunday, but now the words came out blurry. He went on, "I've learned something about you since I talked with Goodwin. You don't give a damn about your public image. Did you get me here just to tell me you don't like cliches? Do I go home now?"

Wolfe nodded. "That's your question, why I got you here. My question is, Why did you come? I doubt if either of us expects a candid answer. In fact, Mr. Vance, I'm in some confusion about my objective. One possibility is that I would like to know why you prevailed on your friends to drive you to Miss Rowan's so you could meet Mr. Goodwin. Another possibility is that I would like to know why you made several attempts to see Mrs. Elinor Denovo last May. Still another is that I want to

ask you about your association with Miss Carlotta Vaughn in the summer of nineteen forty-four. And again, another is that I wondered why you didn't reply to an advertisement which appeared-"

"Jesus. Give me a pad and pencil. I'll have to make notes."