The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

That took some fancy understanding. I sat and worked on it while I finished the martini, four or five minutes, got up and put my glass on the bar, touching hers to show I understood, which I didn't, and departed. In the lower hall, on my way out, I picked up the small suitcase which she had helped me pack.

At that time of day getting a taxi in that part of town is like expecting to draw a ten to an eight, nine, jack, and queen, and it was only twenty-four short blocks and four long ones, and the suitcase was light. Anyway I'm a walker. I wanted to make it before Wolfe got down to the office, and did; it was 5:54 when I mounted the stoop of the old brownstone, used my key, entered, went to the office, put the suitcase on my chair, and unpacked. By the time the sound of the elevator came, all the items were spread out on Wolfe's desk, just about covering it, and when he walked in I was at my desk, busy with papers. When he stopped and let out a growl I swiveled.

What the devil is this? he demanded.

I arose and pointed. Sweater. Hat. Overalls. T-shirt. Undershirt. Blanket. Booties. Rubber pants. Diaper. You have to hand it to her for keeping the diaper. The maid wasn't there and she didn't get a nurse until the next day. She must have washed it herself. There are no laundry marks or store labels. The sweater, hat, overalls, and booties have brand labels, but I doubt if they will help. There's something about one item that might possibly help. If you don't spot it yourself it may not be worth mentioning.

He went to his made-to-order chair and sat. The maid and the cook?

We had a conference. They're out. Do you want it verbatim?

Not if you're satisfied.

I am. Of course if we draw nothing but blanks we can check on them.

What else?