I returned to the office.
Wolfe leaned back. “We have only ten minutes until lunch. Now this afternoon, for you and Saul...”
Chapter 15
The locksmith soaked me $8.80 for eleven keys. That was about double the market, but I didn’t bother to squawk because I knew why: he was still collecting for a kind of a lie he had told a homicide dick six years ago at my suggestion. I think he figured that he and I were fellow crooks and therefore should divvy.
Even with keys it might have taken a little maneuvering if Louis Rony had lived in an apartment house with a doorman and elevator man, but as it was there was nothing to it. The address on East Thirty-seventh Street was an old five-story building that had been done over in good style, and in the downstairs vestibule was a row of mailboxes, push buttons, and perforated circles for reception on the speaking tube. Rony’s name was at the right end, which meant the top floor. The first key I tried was the right one, and Saul and I entered, went to the self-service elevator, and pushed the button marked 5. It was the best kind of setup for an able young man with a future like Rony, who had probably had visitors of all kinds at all hours.
Upstairs it was the second key I tried that worked. Feeling that I was the host, in a way, I held the door open for Saul to precede me and then followed him in. We were at the center of a hall, not wide and not very long. Turning right, toward the street front, we stepped into a fairly large room with modern furniture that matched, bright-colored rugs that had been cleaned not long ago, splashy colored pictures on the walls, a good supply of books, and a fireplace.
“Pretty nice,” Saul remarked, sending his eyes around. One difference between Saul and me is that I sometimes have to look twice at a thing to be sure I’ll never lose it, but once will always do for him.
“Yeah,” I agreed, putting my briefcase on a chair. “I understand the tenant has given it up, so maybe you could rent it.” I got the rubber gloves from the briefcase and handed him a pair. He started putting them on.
“It’s too bad,” he said, “you didn’t keep that membership card Sunday night when you had your hands on it. It would have saved trouble. That’s what we want, is it?”
“It’s our favorite,” I began on the second glove. “We would buy anything that looks interesting, but we’d love a souvenir of the American Communist party. The best bet is a safe of some kind, but we won’t hop around.” I motioned to the left. “You take that side.”