It’s a pleasure to work with Saul because I can concentrate completely on my part and pay no attention to him. We both like a searching job, when it’s not the kind where you have to turn couches upside down or use a magnifying glass, because when you’re through you’ve got a plain final answer, yes or no. For that room, on which we spent a good hour, it was no. Not only was there no membership certificate, there was nothing at all that was worth taking home to Wolfe. The only thing resembling a safe was a locked bond box, which one of the keys fitted, in a drawer of the desk, and all that it contained was a bottle of fine liqueur Scotch, McCrae’s, half full. Apparently that was the one item he didn’t care to share with the cleaning woman. We left the most tedious part, flipping through the books, to the last, and did it together. There was nothing in any of them but pages.
“This bird trusted nobody,” Saul complained.
In our next objective, the bedroom, which was about half the size of the front room, Saul darted a glance around and said, “Thank God, no books.”
I agreed heartily. “We ought to always bring a boy along for it. Flipping through books is a hell of a way to earn a living for grownups.”
The bedroom didn’t take as long, but it produced as little. The further we went the more convinced I got that Rony had either never had a secret of any kind, or had had so many dangerous ones that no cut and dried precautions would do, and in view of what had happened to the plant rooms the choice was easy. By the time we finished with the kitchenette, which was about the size of Wolfe’s elevator, and the bathroom, which was much larger and spick-and-span, the bottle of Scotch locked in the bond box, hidden from the cleaning woman, struck me as pathetic — the one secret innocent enough to let into his home.
Thinking that that notion showed how broad-minded I was, having that kind of a feeling even for a grade A bastard like Rony, I thought I should tell Saul about it. The gloves were back in the briefcase and the briefcase under my arm, and we were in the hall, headed for the door, ready to leave. I never got the notion fully explained to Saul on account of an interruption. I was just reaching for the doorknob, using my handkerchief, when the sound of the elevator came, stopping at that floor, and then its door opening. There was no question as to which apartment someone was headed for because there was only one to a floor. There were steps outside, and the sound of a key being inserted in the lock, but by the time it was turned and the door opened Saul and I were in the bathroom, with its door closed to leave no crack, but unlatched.
A voice said, not too loud, “Anybody here?” It was Jimmy Sperling.
Another voice said, lower but with no sign of a tremble in it, “Are you sure this is it?” It was Jimmy’s mother.
“Of course it is,” Jimmy said rudely. It was the rudeness of a guy scared absolutely stiff. “It’s the fifth floor. Come on, we can’t just stand here.”
Steps went to the front, to the living room. I whispered to Saul to tell him who they were, and added, “If they came after something they’re welcome to anything they find.”