Too Many Clients

"May I speak with Mr. Yeager?" "He's not available at the moment. Who is this, please?" I hung up. Not only did I know the voice of Sergeant Purley Stebbins of Homicide West, but also it was I who some years back had informed him that when one answers the phone at the home of the John Does one says not "Mr. Doe's residence" but "Mrs. Doe's residence." So I hung up, departed, signed to Al Goller to stay put, walked to the corner of 68th Street and turned right, and proceeded far enough to see that the dick behind the wheel of the PD car double-parked in front of Number 340 was the one who usually drove Stebbins. Whirling, I went back the way I had come, to the lunchroom and the phone booth, dialed the number of the Gazette, asked for Lon Cohen, and got him. My intention was to ask him if he had heard of any interesting murders recently, but I didn't get to. His voice came. "Archie?" "Right. Have you--" "How the hell did you know Thomas G. Yeager was going to be murdered when you called me three hours ago?" "I didn't. I don't. I merely--" "Balls. But I appreciate it. Thanks for a pageone box. NERO WOLFE SCOOPS THE COPS AGAIN. I'm writing it now: 'Nero Wolfe, private eye extraordinary, was plunging into the Yeager murder case more than two hours before the body was discovered in an excavation on West Eighty-second Too Many Clients 13 Street. At five-five p.m. his lackey, Archie Goodwin, phoned the Gazette office to get--'" "You'll eat it. The whole world knows I'm not a lackey, I'm a flunky, and the idea of Nero Wolfe plunging. Besides, this is the first time I've phoned you for a month. If someone called and imitated my voice it was probably the murderer, and if you had been smart enough to keep him on while you had the call traced you might have--" "Okay. Start over. When can you give me something?"