The League of Frightened Men

I got up and went to open a window and damn near fell out. The cold air was like ice. The way I felt I was sure of two things: first, that if my head went on like that much longer it would blow up, and second, that Wolfe was dead. It seemed obvious that after that woman once got him into that taxi there was nothing for her to do with him but kill him. I stood looking out onto Perry Street, trying to hold my head together, and I had a feeling that all of New York was there in front of me, between me and the house fronts I could see across the street – the Battery, the river fronts, Central Park, Flatbush, Harlem, Park Avenue, all of it – and Wolfe was there somewhere and I didn't know where. Something occurred to me, and I held on to the window jamb and leaned out enough so I could see below.

There was the roadster, where I had parked it, its fender shining with the reflection from a street light. I had an idea that if I could get down there and get it started I could drive it all right.

I decided to do that, but before I moved away from the window I thought I ought to decide where to go. One man in one roadster, even if he had a head on jhim that would work, wouldn't get far looking for that taxi. It was absolutely hopeless. But I had a notion that there was something important I could do, somewhere important I could go, if only I could figure out where it was. All of a sudden it came to me that where I wanted to go was home. I wanted to see Fritz, and the office, and go over the house and see for myself that Wolfe wasn't there, look at things…

I didn't hesitate. I let go of the window jamb and started across the room, and just as I got to the hall the telephone rang.

I could walk a little better. I went back to the telephone stand and picked up the receiver and said hello. A voice said:

"Chelsea-two three-ninetwo-four?

Please give me Mr. Chapin's apartment."

I nearly dropped the receiver, and I went stiff. I said, "Who is this?" The voice said:

"This is someone who wishes to be connected with Mr. Chapin's apartment.

Didn't I make that clear?"

I let the phone down and pressed it against one of my ribs for a moment, not wanting to make a fool of myself. Then I put it up to my mouth again: "Excuse me for asking who it is. It sounded like Nero Wolfe. Where are you?"

"Ah! Archie. After what Mrs. Chapin has told me, I scarcely expected to find you operating an apartment house switchboard. I am much relieved. How are you feeling?"

"Swell. Wonderful. How are you?"