Too Many Clients

"I only saw him. She could have been in the bathroom." "Where's the bathroom?" He pointed. "At that end." I went to his wife. "When she saw you she said, "Thank God it's you.'" She nodded. "I heard her. She must see me some time when she came in, in the hall or a door was open. We don't know her. We never saw her." "The things you don't know. All right now, you two. It will take hours and will have to wait because I have things to do, but one question now." To him: "When you put the body in the hole why did you climb in and put the tarp over it?" He was surprised. "But he was dead! A man dead, you cover him! I knew that thing was in there, I had seen it." That was the moment that I decided that Cesar Perez had not killed Thomas G. Yeager. Possibly his wife had, but not him. If you had been there looking at him as he said that, you would have decided the same. When I had been trying to account for the tarp the simplest explanation had never occurred to me, that long ago people covered dead men to hide them from vultures, and it got to be a habit. "That was decent," I said. "Too bad you didn't wear gloves. Okay, that's all for now. I have work to do. You heard me give that woman Nero Wolfe's address, Six-eighteen West Thirty-fifth Street. Be there at six o'clock this afternoon, both of you. I'm your detective temporarily, but he's the boss. You certainly need help, and after you tell him about it we'll see. Where are Yeager's keys? Don't say 'We 46 Rex Stout don't know.' You said you took them. Where are they?" "I have them safe," Mrs. Perez said. "Where?" "In a cake. I made a cake and put them in. There are twelve keys in a thing." "Including the keys to the door and the elevator?"