It came a little before eleven. The phone rang, and I got it. It was Bill Doyle.
He seemed to be panting. “I’m out of breath,” he said, wasting some of it. “When he left there he got smart and started tricks. We let him spot Al and ditch him, you know how Saul works it, but even then we damn near lost him. He came to Eighty-sixth and Fifth and went in the park on foot. A woman was sitting on a bench with a collie on a leash, and he stopped and started talking to her. Saul thinks you’d better come.”
“So do I. Describe the woman.”
“I can’t. I was keeping back and didn’t get close enough.”
“Where is Saul?”
“On the ground under a bush.”
“Where are you?”
“Drugstore. Eighty-sixth and Madison.”
“Be at the Eighty-sixth-Street park entrance. I’m coming.”
I whirled and told Wolfe, “In Central Park. He met a woman with a dog. So long.”