I arose and handed it to him, together with a couple of sheets of typewriter paper, and stood and watched with interested approval as he wrote “Clara James” over and over again, comparing each attempt with the sample I had secured. Meanwhile, at intervals, he spoke.
“It’s highly unlikely that anyone will ever see it — except our clients... That’s better... There’s time to phone all of them before dinner — first Mrs. Mion and Mr. Weppler — then the others... Tell them my opinion is ready on Mrs. Mion’s claim against Mr. James... If they can come at nine this evening — If that’s impossible tomorrow morning at eleven will do... Then get Mr. Cramer... Tell him it might be well to bring one of his men along...”
He flattened the typed statement on his desk blotter, forged Clara James’ name at the bottom, and compared it with the true signature which I had provided.
“Faulty, to an expert,” he muttered, “but no expert will ever see it. For our clients, even if they know her writing, it will do nicely.”
VIII
It took a solid hour on the phone to get it fixed for that evening, but I finally managed it. I never did catch up with Gifford James, but his daughter agreed to find him and deliver him, and made good on it. The others I tracked down myself.
The only ones that gave me an argument were the clients, especially Peggy Mion. She balked hard at sitting in at a meeting for the ostensible purpose of collecting from Gifford James, and I had to appeal to Wolfe. Fred and Peggy were invited to come ahead of the others for a private briefing and then decide whether to stay or not. She bought that.
They got there in time to help out with the afterdinner coffee. Peggy had presumably brushed her teeth and had a nap and a bath, and manifestly she had changed her clothes, but even so she did not sparkle. She was wary, weary, removed, and skeptical. She didn’t say in so many words that she wished she had never gone near Nero Wolfe, but she might as well have. I had a notion that Fred Weppler felt the same way about it but was being gallant and loyal. It was Peggy who had insisted on coming to Wolfe, and Fred didn’t want her to feel that he thought she had made things worse instead of better.
They didn’t perk up even when Wolfe showed them the statement with Clara James’ name signed to it. They read it together, with her in the red leather chair and him perched on the arm.
They looked up together, at Wolfe.