The Father Hunt

The male voice that answered had to know precisely what I wanted to see Mr. Jarrett about, and I told him: a silver abacus made by Paul Revere that was in my possession. He told me to hold the wire, and in five minutes came back on and said that Mr. Jarrett said that Paul Revere never made a silver abacus. I said the hell he didn't, tell him I've got it right here in my hand. It worked. After another wait he came back again and said Mr. Jarrett would see me and the abacus at three o'clock.

When I arrived, on the hour, I was shown the chairs under the maple tree and told that Mr. Jarrett would be with me shortly. "Shortly" ran into twenty-two minutes, one for each year of Amy's life, which I would have regarded as a good sign if I believed in signs. As he approached I noted that he looked his seventy-six, but he walked more like fifty-six. Then he got closer and sat and I saw the eyes, and they looked like a thousand and seventy-six. He got his feet up before he said, "Where is it?"

"That was just a dodge," I said. "I have no silver abacus. In fact, I have never seen one."

He turned his head and sang out, "Oscar!"

"But," I said, "I have something for you. A message from your daughter."

"My daughter? You're a liar."

"Not Catherine. Amy. Amy Denovo." I glanced at the man who had left the house and was coming. "It's very- personal."

"You're not only a liar, you're an idiot."

"I'll be glad to discuss that, but I'd rather do it privately."

The man arrived. He stopped two steps from Jarrett's chair and stood. "You called, sir?"

Jarrett, not looking at him, said, "I thought I wanted something, but I don't. Leave."

The man turned and went. I said, "I didn't know that was still being done. What have you got on him?"

He said, "Who are you?"

"I gave my name on the phone, Archie Goodwin. I work for a private detective named Nero Wolfe. The message from Amy is that now, since her mother is dead, she would like to know something about her father."

"I could have you kicked out," he said, "but I prefer to let you commit yourself so I can have the police come and get you. I called you an idiot because anybody with any sense would know how I would treat a blackmailer and you must be one. Go ahead, commit yourself."

"I already have." I was leaning back, comfortable. "It would be a spot for a little fancy blackmailing, but Amy has paid Mr. Wolfe a good big retainer and we're committed to her. Of course it's your money, or it was. It came out of what you sent her mother, for her."

"Go ahead."