The Father Hunt

He got up, offered Wolfe a shake, and came to give me one too. I escorted him to the front and out, and when I returned to the office told Wolfe, "Not the one he had last year, a new one. It isn't true that everyone keeps his Rolls Royce forever."

You may be agreeing with Ballou, that all that performance, scaring him into coming and Wolfe's long and eloquent speech, which I wouldn't call jabber, was unnecessary, but you shouldn't. He didn't know that X was almost certainly a father who didn't want to be spotted and might possibly be a murderer, but you do. You may also be thankful that you have seen and heard the last of Ballou except for a brief phone call that would be just routine, but if so you have an unwelcome surprise coming. I got a surprise too, at a quarter past six the next afternoon, Tuesday, when the doorbell rang and I went to the hall and saw Ballou on the stoop.

I had guessed earlier that it hadn't been quite so simple, when no phone call came. Expecting it, I had stayed in all day, except for a quick trip to the mailbox on the corner, but at four o'clock, having called Raymond Thome and learned that the copies of the photographs were ready, I told Wolfe I was flipping the switch for the plant rooms for incoming calls and went for a walk. It was even hotter outdoors than the day before and I was glad to get back to the air-conditioned brownstone. The copies were fine, just as good as the originals. At 6:15 Wolfe, at his desk, was looking them over when the doorbell rang and I went. When I told him it was Ballou he grunted, and when I ushered him in the photographs were not in sight.

Ballou didn't offer a hand. He got settled in the red leather chair, apparently expecting to be there a while. His face had no sag. He aimed his eyes at Wolfe and

said, "I would give something to know how much you knew yesterday."

Wolfe adjusted his bulk. It looked as if it was going to take another performance. "You don't mean that," he said. "It's much too broad. I knew innumerable things that wouldn't interest you. If you confine it to what I knew about the identity of X, the answer is nothing. I not only had no knowledge, I had no basis for a conjecture. I was completely-"

"You talk too much. You knew why you wanted to know. You knew why it was important enough to get me here. You can tell me that now, and you will."