“Archie.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I can’t do this. You’ll have to.”
“You mean dope it? I’m sorry, I’m busy.”
“I mean execute it.” He made a face. “I will not undertake to handle that young woman. It would be an ordeal, and I might botch it. It’s just the thing for you. Your notebook. I’ll dictate a document and then we’ll discuss it.”
“Yes, sir. I wouldn’t call Miss Bosley really young.”
“Not Miss Bosley. Miss James.”
“Oh.” I got the notebook.
VII
At a quarter past four, Wolfe having gone up to the plant rooms for his afternoon session with the orchids, I sat at my desk, glowering at the phone, feeling the way I imagine Jackie Robinson feels when he strikes out with the bases full. I had phoned Clara James to ask her to come for a ride with me in the convertible, and she had pushed my nose in.