“Yes. Who is it?”
“Archie Goodwin. I want to see you. Not a message from Victor Talento.”
“What do you want?”
“Let me in and I’ll tell you.”
“No. What is it?”
“It’s very personal. If you don’t want to hear it from me I’ll go and bring Richard Meegan, and maybe you’ll tell him.”
I heard the gasp. She should have known those house phones are sensitive. After a pause. “Why do you say that? I told you I don’t know any Meegan.”
“You’re way behind. I just saw a picture called ‘Three Young Mares at Pasture.’ Let me in.”
Another pause, and the line went dead. I put the receiver on the hook, and turned and placed my hand on the knob. There was a click, and I pushed the door and entered, crossed the little lobby to the elevator, pushed the button and, when the door opened, slid in, pushed the button marked 5, and was ascending. When the elevator stopped I opened the door and emerged into a tiny foyer. A door was standing open, and on the sill was Miss Jones in a blue negligee. She started to say something, but I rudely ignored it.
“Listen,” I said, “There’s no sense in prolonging this. Last night I gave you your pick between Mr. Wolfe and Sergeant Stebbins; now it’s either Mr. Wolfe or Meegan. I should think you’d prefer Mr. Wolfe because he’s the kind of man that understands; you said so yourself. I’ll wait here while you change, but don’t try phoning anybody, because you won’t know where you are until you’ve talked with Mr. Wolfe, and also because their wires are probably tapped. Don’t put on anything red. Mr. Wolfe dislikes red. He likes yellow.”