The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

First, there is a live baby. I saw it. She didn't just dream it. There's nothing unusual about the vestibule; the door has no lock and it's only four steps up, anyone could pop in and out; trying to find someone who saw somebody doing so seventeen days ago after dark would be a waste of my time and the client's money. I didn't include the cleaning woman in the conference because if the baby was hers it would be a different color, and I didn't include the nurse because she was hired through an agency the next day. There's a fine Tekke rug in the nursery, which was a spare bedroom. You are aware that I know about rugs from you, and about pictures from Miss Rowan. There's a Renoir in the living room, and I think a Cйzanne. The client uses Follansbee gin. I am in bad with her because I forgot she's an Armstead and used a little profanity. She'll sleep it off.

Why the profanity?

She jiggled my arm and I spilled gin on my pants.

He eyed me. You had better report verbatim.

Not necessary. I'm satisfied.

No doubt. Have you any suggestions?

Yes, sir. It looks pretty hopeless. If we get nowhere in a couple of weeks you can tell her you have discovered that it's my baby, I put it in the vestibule, and if she'll marry me she can keep it. As for the mother, I can simply Shut up.