The Second Confesion

When in the office after dinner, he once more settled back and shut his eyes, I thought, my God, this is going to be Nero Wolfe's last case. He's going to spend the rest of his life at it. I had myself done a good day's work and saw no sense in sitting all evening listening to him breathe. Considering alternatives, and deciding for Phil's and a few games of pool, I was just opening my mouth to announce my intention when Wolfe opened his.

“Archie. Get Mr Cohen down here as soon as possible. Ask him to bring a Gazette letterhead and envelope.” “Yes, sir. Is the ironing done?” “I don't know. We'll see. Get him.” At last, I thought, we're off. I dialled the number, and after some waiting because that was a busy hour for a morning paper, got him.

His voice came. “Archie? Buy me a drink?” “No,” I said firmly. “Tonight you stay sober. What time can you get here?” “Where is here?” “Nero Wolfe's office. He thinks he wants to tell you something.” “Too late.” Lon was crisp. “If it will rate the Late City, tell me now.” “It's not that kind. It hasn't come to a boil. But it's good enough so that instead of sending an errand boy, meaning me, he wants to see you himself, so when can you get here?” “I can send a man.” “No. You.” “Is it worth it?” “Yes. Possibly.” “In about three hours. Not less, maybe more.” “Okay. Don't stop for a drink, I'll have one ready, and a sandwich. Oh yes, bring along a Gazette letterhead and envelope. We've run out of stationery.” “What is it, a gag?” “No, sir. Far from. It may even get you a rise.” I hung up and turned to Wolfe. “May I make a suggestion? If you want him tender and it's worth a steak, I'll tell Fritz to take one from the freezer and start it thawing.” He said to do so and I went to the kitchen and had a conference with Fritz.

Then, back in the office, I sat and listened to Wolfe breathe some more. It went on for minutes that added up to an hour. Finally he opened his eyes, straightened up, and took from his pocket some folded papers which I recognized as sheets torn from his memo pad.

“Your notebook, Archie,” he said like a man who has made up his mind.

I got it from the drawer and uncapped my pen.