“We can’t help her any. We’ll notify the police, but not from here. I tell you I know something about this. Come on, let’s get going.”
I hefted his arm, and he got to his feet, and I headed him for the door. I had decided against fingerprints there, so I used my hankerchief for wiping the knob and turning it, and the same on the outside. The hall was deserted and there was no sound of life. I hustled Roy along, got him out to the street, and turned toward Christopher, taking a normal pedestrian gait. My heart was pumping. I admit it. It looked as if I was going to put it over, with only one item left, to dispose of Roy for 24 hours.
I took him into a bar on Seventh Avenue, got him onto a chair at a table, ordered two double Scotches, told him I’d be back in a minute, and went to the phone booth and dialed a number.
“Lily? Me. Are you packing?”
“Yes, damn you. What—”
“Me talking. No time for explanations. All for now is, don’t leave till I phone you again. Okay?”
“Did you go—”
“Sorry. Busy. Stay there till I phone you.”
Back at the table, Roy was fingering his glass and beginning to tremble again. I saw that he got the drink down, all of it, and then leaned forward to him:
“Now listen, Roy. Get this. You can trust me. You know who I am, and you know who Nero Wolfe is. That ought to be enough. We’re going to find out who killed Ann, and you’ve got to help us. You want to, don’t you?”