“In about three hours. Not less, maybe more.”
“Okay. Don’t stop for a drink, I’ll have one ready, and a sandwich. Oh yes, bring along a Gazette letterhead and envelope. We’ve run out of stationery.”
“What is it, a gag?”
“No, sir. Far from. It may even get you a raise.”
I hung up and turned to Wolfe. “May I make a suggestion? If you want him tender and it’s worth a steak, I’ll tell Fritz to take one from the freezer and start it thawing.”
He said to do so and I went to the kitchen and had a conference with Fritz. Then, back in the office, I sat and listened to Wolfe breathe some more. It went on for minutes that added up to an hour. Finally he opened his eyes, straightened up, and took from his pocket some folded papers which I recognized as sheets torn from his memo pad.
“Your notebook, Archie,” he said like a man who has made up his mind.
I got it from the drawer and uncapped my pen.
“If this doesn’t work,” he growled at me, as if it were all my fault, “there will be no other recourse. I have tried to twist it so as to leave an alternative if it fails, but it can’t be done. We’ll either get him with this or not at all. On plain paper, double-spaced, two carbons.”
“Heading or date?”