The Second Confesion

I hung up and relayed the report to Wolfe, and added, “It strikes me that all that fixing up may be a waste of our client's money. If Gwenn decides we've got to prove it and we make a dive for a foxhole, what do glass and slats matter?

It'll be years before you see the place again, if you ever do. Incidentally, I noticed you gave yourself a chance to call it off, and also Sperling, but not me. You merely said that your base of operations will be known only to Mr Goodwin, taking Mr Goodwin for granted. What if he decides he's not as vain as you are?” Wolfe, who had put down a book by Laura Hobson to listen to my end of the talk with Fritz, and had picked it up again, scowled at me.

“You're twice as vain as I am,” he said gruffly.

“Yeah, but it may work different. I may be so vain I won't want me to take such a risk. I may not want to deprive others of what I've got to be vain about.” Tfui. Do I know you?” “Yes, sir. As well as I know you.” “Then don't try shaking a bogey at me. How the devil could I contemplate such a plan without you?” He returned to the book.

I knew he thought he was handing me a compliment which should make me beam with pleasure, so I went and flopped on the bed to beam. I didn't like any part of it, and I knew Wolfe didn't either. I had a silly damn feeling that my whole future depended on the verdict of a fine freckled girl, and while I had nothing against fine girls, freckled or unfreckled, that was going too far. But I wasn't blaming Wolfe, for I didn't see how he could have done any better. I had brought a couple of fresh magazines up from the living-room, but I never got to look at them, because I was still on the bed trying to decide whether I should hunt up Madeline to see if she couldn't do something that would help on the verdict, when the phone buzzed. I rolled over to reach for it.

It was one of the helps saying there was a call for Mr Goodwin. I thanked her and then heard a voice I knew.