Wolfe glanced at Zov and back at Stritar. “Regarding Comrade Zov. I presume his danger is greater than ours. If Shuvalov was confident that he could reach him in Titograd to punish him for ignoring a message, surely they can reach him when the motive is so much stronger. That is his concern, and yours, but, having rescued him from torture and perhaps death, naturally we feel an interest in him. I am willing to propose something if it is not impertinent.”
“You couldn’t be more impertinent than to march into my office and announce you had no papers. What do you propose?”
“That you send Zov to America for a while. He could either go with us or come to us after he arrives, and we would see to his needs and his safety. It offers several advantages: it would remove him temporarily from peril here, if there is any; it would give us someone in America who is familiar with conditions here, to advise us; it would give you an agent there whom you trust, to report on us and our associates; and it would give me a messenger I could rely on if I had something confidential or valuable to send to you.” Wolfe flipped a hand. “Of course, for some reason unknown to me, it may be quite impractical.”
Stritar and Zov had exchanged not one glance, but several. Stritar said, “It is worth considering. It may not be entirely impractical.”
“I thought it might not be,” Wolfe said, “since Zov returned only recently from a trip to America. That was what suggested it to me. I even thought it possible you might have another mission for him there. If so, he might need help, and what we did today, especially my son, may have demonstrated that we could be capable of supplying it.”
Stritar looked at Zov. Then he studied Wolfe. Then he transferred to me. I was aware, from tones and expressions and the atmosphere, that we were at a crisis, but I didn’t know what kind, so all I could do was meet his eyes and look loyal and confident and absolutely intrepid. After he had analyzed me clear through to my spine he returned to Wolfe.
“Did you ever,” he asked, “hear of a man named Nero Wolfe?”
I claim a medal for handling not only my face but all my nerves and muscles. His pronunciation was fuzzy, but not too fuzzy for me to get it. I knew they were at a crisis, and suddenly that bozo snaps out the name Nero Wolfe. How I kept my hand from starting for my holster I don’t know. Wolfe showed no sign of panic, but that was no help. He wouldn’t panic if you paid him.
“Of course,” he said. “If you mean the well-known detective in New York. Everyone in America has heard of him.”
“Do you know him?”