The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

She's about my size. She's a blonde or she was last summer. She thinks she's very attractive; and I guess she is. I guess you would think so.

I'll see when I see her. Of course I won't mention you. I got my wallet out. My instructions from Mr. Wolfe were not to pay you until I have checked your information, but he hadn't met you and heard you, and I have. I produced two twenties and a ten. Here's half of it, with the understanding that you will say nothing about this to anyone. You impress me as a woman who can watch her tongue.

I can.

Say nothing to anyone. Right?

I won't. She put the bills in her bag. When will I get the rest?

Soon. I may see you again, but if that isn't necessary I'll mail it. If you'll give me your home address and phone number?

She did so, West 169th Street, was going to add something, decided not to, and turned to go. I watched her to the entrance. There was no spring to her legs. The relation between a woman's face and the way she walks would take a chapter in a book I'll never write.

Since I had a table reserved in the restaurant downstairs, I went down and took it and ordered a bowl of clam chowder, which Fritz never makes, and which was all I wanted after my late breakfast. Having stopped on the way to consult the phone book, I knew the address of the Stopgap Employment Services 493 Lexington Avenue. But the approach had to be considered because (1) agencies are cagey about the addresses of their personnel, and (2) if Anne Tenzer was the mother of the baby she would have to be handled with care. I preferred not to phone Wolfe. The understanding was that when I was out on an errand I would use intelligence guided by experience (as he put it), meaning my intelligence, not his.