I turned to him. “I can try again and maybe with luck get a human being.”
He shook his head. “After lunch. It is two minutes to one.”
I got up and stretched, thinking I would be able to do a lot of destructive criticism on a corn fritter myself, especially with Fritz’s sauce. It was at that moment that Wolfe’s notion decided to come to him instead of waiting longer for him to go to it. It was a coincidence, too, though that was of no importance; she must have been trying to get our number while I was talking.
The telephone rang. I sat down again and got it. It was a woman’s voice, and she asked to speak to Nero Wolfe. I asked if I might have her name, and when she said “Evelyn Hibbard” I told her to hold the line and put my hand over the transmitter.
I grinned at Wolfe. “It’s a Hibbard.”
His brows lifted.
“A female Hibbard named Evelyn. Voice young, maybe a daughter. Take it.”
He took his receiver off and I put mine back to my ear and got my pad and pencil ready. As Wolfe asked her what she wanted I was deciding again that he was the only man I had ever met who used absolutely the same tone to a woman as to a man. He had plenty of changes in his voice, but they weren’t based on sex. I scribbled on the pad my quick symbols, mostly private, for the sounds in the receiver:
“I have a note of introduction to you from a friend, Miss Sarah Barstow. You will remember her, Mr. Wolfe, you... you investigated the death of her father.[2] Could I see you at once? If possible. I’m talking from the Bidwell, Fifty-second Street. I could be there in fifteen minutes.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Hibbard, I am engaged. Could you come at a quarter past two?”