She eyed me. “You have your full share of gall, don’t you? Did you want to see me?”
“I thought we might have a little private talk.”
“Not now. I’ll be busy in the kitchen for half an hour.”
“Then later. By the way, Mr. Lewent invited me to stay for dinner, but under the circumstances I think I should ask you if it will be inconvenient.”
“Mr. Lewent is Mr. Huck’s guest, and if he invited you — of course. Mr. Huck eats in his room.”
I told her yes, I knew that, and she left. In a moment I followed. Thinking it advisable to let Lewent know that he had invited me to stay for dinner, I went back up two flights of stairs and to his door, and knocked. No result. I knocked louder, and still no result. As I stood there the door of the elevator, ten paces down the hall, slid open, and out came the wheelchair. Huck, seeing me, stopped his vehicle and called, “You still here?”
“Yes, sir. If you don’t mind.”
“Why should I?”
He touched a button, and off it scooted, to the door of his room. He opened it and rolled through, and the door swung shut. I looked at my wristwatch, lifting it to close range in the dim light; it was two minutes past five. Thinking that Lewent might be taking a nap, I knocked again and, getting no response, I gave it up and went back to the stairs, descended, left the house, walked to Madison and down a block to a drugstore, went into a phone booth, and dialed a number.
Wolfe answered. I reported. “No progress. No nothing, except that if you get sick I’ve got a line on a nurse that can coo it out of you. I will not be home to dinner, God help me. I am calling to tell you that and to consult you.”