I looked at her. “I don’t know,” I said doubtfully. “Tell me your name.”
“No,” she said positively.
“Why not?”
“Because — what good would it do unless you checked on it? How would you know it was my real name? And I don’t want you checking on it. I don’t want anyone to have the faintest idea where I am for a week — until June thirtieth.”
“What happens on June thirtieth?”
She shook her head, smiling at me. “You’re good at asking questions, I know that, so I’m not going to answer any at all. I don’t want you to do anything, or Nero Wolfe either, except to let me stay here for a week, right in that room, for my meals too. I think I’ve already talked too much. I think I should have said — no, I guess that wouldn’t have worked.” She laughed a little, a low running ripple. “If I had said I had read about you and seen a picture of you, and you fascinated me, and I wanted to be near you for one wonderful week, you’d have known I was lying.”
“Not necessarily. Millions of women feel like that, but they can’t afford the fifty bucks a day.”
“I said I would pay more. Whatever you say.”
“Yeah, I know. Let’s get this settled. Are you going to stick to this — no naming or identifying?”
“I certainly intend to.”