He picked up the grenade and indicated the thick end of the pin. “You see that notch. I put the grenade in the suitcase, attach one end of a piece of string — even a narrow strip torn from a handkerchief would do — under that notch on the pin, pull the lid nearly shut, giving myself just room enough to work, attach the other end of the string to the lining of the lid at a front corner — probably with an office pin right there on the desk, a handy place to work — and close the lid. Two minutes would do it — not more than three. Whenever and wherever Colonel Ryder opened the suitcase, he would die. Since the lid was closed when the grenade exploded, probably he jerked the lid open to put something in and immediately snapped it shut again, without noticing the string. Of course, even if he had noticed it, that wouldn’t have helped matters any.”
I was considering the matter. When he stopped I nodded. “Okay,” I agreed. “I’m right behind you. Next. Did Sergeant Bruce take it because she—”
“No,” he said positively. He put the grenade in a drawer of his desk. “That’s all.”
“It’s not even a start,” I snorted.
“It’s all for tonight.” He stood up. “Come to my room at eight in the morning, when Fritz brings my breakfast. With your notebook. I’ll have some instructions for you. It will be a busy day. We’re going to set a booby trap — somewhat more complicated than that one.”
Chapter 6
At 10:55 Tuesday morning I sat on a corner of my desk in Nero Wolfe’s office, surveying the scene and the props. I had done the arranging myself, following instructions, but I had about as much idea what was going on as if I had been blindfolded at the bottom of a well.
Wolfe had been correct in one respect. At least so far it had been a busy day — for me. After an early breakfast I had gone to his room and been told what to do — not why or what for, just what. Then I had gone to Duncan Street and followed the program, without much time to spare, for General Fife didn’t show up at his office until nearly ten o’clock. Returning home after I got through with him, I had arranged the props.
Not that they were elaborate or required much arranging; only three items, one on my desk and two on Wolfe’s. One of the latter was a large envelope that had arrived in the morning mail. The address, to Nero Wolfe, was typed, and also typed was a line at the lower left-hand corner: To be opened at six p.m. Tuesday, August 10th, if no word has been received from me.
In the upper left-hand corner was the return: