They didn’t like it, especially her. She even left the red leather chair to take the check, her lips tight, but after some give-and-take with her husband they decided to let it ride, and she put the check back on the desk. They wanted to give us more details, especially about their nephew’s five dinner guests, but Wolfe said that could wait, and they left, none too pleased. As I let them out at the front door Rackell gave me a polite thank-you nod, but she didn’t even know I was there.
Returning to the office, I got the check and put it in the safe and then stood to regard Wolfe. His nose was twitching. He looked as if he had an oyster with horseradish on it in his mouth, a combination he detests.
“It can’t be helped,” I told him. “It takes all kinds to make a clientele. What are we going to look into a little?”
He sighed. “Get Mr. Wengert of the FBI. You want to see him, this evening if possible. I’ll talk.”
“It’s nearly seven o’clock.”
“Try.”
I went to the phone on my desk, dialed RE 2–3500, talked to a stranger and to a man I had met a couple of times, and reported to Wolfe, “Not available. Tomorrow morning.”
“Make an appointment.”
I did so and hung up.
Wolfe sat scowling at me. He spoke. “I’ll give you instructions after dinner. Have we got the Gazette of the past three days?”