“Where he always is,” I replied, negotiating rugs. “At home, sitting down.”
He was scowling at me. “I thought he was with you. When I phoned him a few minutes ago he intimated that he might be. He’s not coming?”
“No. Never. I’m glad you phoned him again because, as he told you this morning in my hearing, he’ll need the cooperation of all of you.”
“He’ll get mine,” Pohl stated grimly. “Since he’s not coming for it himself, I suppose I ought to give this to you.” He took papers from his breast pocket, looked through them, selected one and held it out. I stepped to the desk to take it.
It was a single sheet, with “Memo from Sigmund Keyes” on it, printed fancy, and scrawled in ink was a list of towns:
Dayton, Ohio Aug. 11 & 12 Boston Aug. 21 Los Angeles Aug. 27 to Sept. 5 Meadville, Pa. Sept. 15 Pittsburgh Sept. 16 & 17 Chicago Sept. 24–26 Philadelphia Oct. 1
“Much obliged,” I thanked him, and stuck it in my pocket. “Covers a lot of country.”
Pohl nodded. “Talbott gets around, and he’s a good salesman, I admit that. Tell Wolfe I did just as he said, and I got it out of a record right here in Keyes’ desk, so no one knows anything about it. Those are all the out-of-town trips Talbott has made since August first. I have no idea what Wolfe wants it for, but by God it shows he’s on the job, and whoever does know what a detective is after? I don’t give a damn how mysterious it is as long as I can help him get Talbott.”
I had an eye cocked at him, trying to decide whether he was really as naïve as he sounded. It gave me one on Wolfe, knowing that he had tried to keep Pohl away from a phone by giving him work to do, and here Pohl had cleaned it up in no time at all and was ready to ask for more. But instead of asking Wolfe for more, he asked me. He shot it at me.
“Go out and get me some sandwiches and coffee. There’s a place on Forty-sixth Street, Perrine’s.”