“You can’t, not at once,” I told her. “You could rush there in a taxi, but you might as well wait till I go to Sixty-fifth Street and get my car, because it’s after four o’clock and he’s up with the orchids, and he wouldn’t see you until six even though you are the only client he’s got still out of jail.”
“But this is urgent!”
“Not for him it isn’t, not until six o’clock. Unless you want to tell me about it. I’m permitted upstairs. Do you?”
“No.”
“Then shall I go get my car?”
“Yes.”
I went.
XII
At three minutes past six Wolfe, down from the plant rooms, joined us in the office. By the time Dorothy and I had got there she had made it perfectly plain that as far as I was concerned she was all talked out, our conversation during the ride downtown having consisted of her saying at one point, “Look out for that truck,” and me replying, “I’m driving,” so during the hour’s wait I hadn’t even asked her if she wanted a drink. And when Wolfe had entered and greeted her, and got his bulk adjusted in his chair behind his desk, the first thing she said was, “I want to speak to you privately.” Wolfe shook his head.
“Mr. Goodwin is my confidential assistant, and if he didn’t hear it from you he soon would from me. What is it?”