“Yes, sir.” I went to my desk, sat, and swiveled to face him. “Any for me?”
“We’ll see.” He was glowering. “I suppose you have to know. I had a call from Bari. It is now past midnight in Italy. Mrs. Britton arrived in Bari at noon and left a few hours later in a small boat to cross the Adriatic.”
I goggled. “How the hell did she get to Italy?”
“I don’t know. My informant may, but he thinks it necessary to use discretion on the phone. I am taking it that she’s there. For the present we shall keep it to ourselves. The new instructions for Saul and Fred and Orrie will be on the ground that it is more urgent to disclose the murderer than to find Mrs. Britton. As for—”
“Saul will smell it. He’ll know.”
“Let him. He won’t know where she is, and even if he did, no matter. Who is more trustworthy, Saul or you?”
“I would say Saul. I have to watch myself pretty close.”
“Yes. As for Mr. Cramer and Mr. Stahl, we owe them nothing. If they’re still looking for her they may find someone else.” He sighed way down, leaned back, and shut his eyes, presumably to try to devise a program for the hired help.
So the first call from Telesio didn’t stop operations, it merely changed the strategy. With the second one it was different. It came four days later, at two-thirty a.m. Monday. Of course it was half-past eight in the morning at Bari, but I was in no shape to manage that calculation as I yanked myself enough awake to realize that I hadn’t dreamed it — the phone was ringing. I rolled over and reached for it. When I heard that it was a call from Bari, Italy, for Mr. Nero Wolfe I told the operator to hold it, turned on the light, went and flipped the switch controlling the gong that splits the air if anyone steps within ten feet of the door of Wolfe’s room at night, and then descended one flight and knocked. His voice came, and I opened the door and entered and pushed the wall switch.
He made a magnificent mound under the electric blanket, lying there blinking at me. “Well?” he demanded.