The Mother Hunt (Rex Stout Library)

Wolfe shook his head. No. In that case her reception of Mr. Goodwin, when she found that they had been traced, would have been quite different. No. Whatever she knew of the baby's past, she knew nothing of its intended future. And whoever left it in your vestibule must have satisfied himself that none of its garments held any clue to its origin, so he didn't know enough about infants' clothing to realize that the buttons were unusual, even extraordinary, and might be traced. But Mr. Goodwin realized it, and so did I.

I didn't.

He glared at her. That is informative merely about you, madam, not about the problem. My concern is the problem, and now I not only have to do a job I have undertaken, I must also avoid being charged, along with Mr. Goodwin, with commission of a felony. If Ellen Tenzer was killed to prevent her from revealing facts about the baby that was left in your vestibule, and almost certainly she was, Mr. Goodwin and I are both withholding evidence regarding a homicide, and as I said, we're in a pickle. I do not want to give the police your name and the information you have entrusted to me in confidence. You would be disturbed and pestered, and probably badgered, and you are my client; so my self-esteem would suffer. It is my conceit to expose myself to reproach only from others, never from myself. But if Mr. Goodwin and I withhold your name and what you have told us, it won't do merely to meet our commitment to you and leave the homicide to the police; in addition to finding the mother, we must either also find the murderer or establish that there was no connection between Ellen Tenzer's death and her association with the baby that was left in your vestibule. Since it's highly probable that there was a connection, I shall be tracking a murderer on your behalf and at your expense. Is that clear?

Lucy's eyes came to me. I told you I hate it.

I nodded. The trouble is, you can't just bow out. If you drop it, if you're no longer his client, we'll have to open up, at least I will. I'm a VIP, I'm the one who last saw Ellen Tenzer alive. Then you'll have the cops. Now you have us. You'll just have to take your pick, Mrs. Valdon.

She opened her mouth and closed it again. She turned, got her bag from the stand, opened it, took out a slip of paper, rose, stepped to me, and handed me the paper. I took it and read, handwritten in ink: