The clock on the dash said 1:12 as I turned into the garage on Eleventh Avenue. Taking the caribou bag, but leaving the other stuff in the trunk, I didn’t feel too bad as I rounded the corner into Thirty-fifth Street and headed for our stoop. I was a lot better prepared to face Wolfe than I had been all day, and my head was now clear and comfortable. The weekend hadn’t been a washout after all, except that I was coming home hungry, and as I mounted the stoop I was looking forward to a session in the kitchen, knowing what to expect in the refrigerator kept stocked by Wolfe and Fritz Brenner.
I inserted the key and turned the knob, but the door would open only two inches. That surprised me, since when I am out and expected home it is not customary for Fritz or Wolfe to put on the chain bolt except on special occasions. I pushed the button, and in a moment the stoop light went on and Fritz’s voice came through the crack.
“That you, Archie?”
That was odd too, since through the one-way glass panel he had a good view of me. But I humored him and told him it really was me, and he let me in. After I crossed the threshold he shut the door and replaced the bolt, and then I had a third surprise. It was past Wolfe’s bedtime, but there he was in the door to the office, glowering at me.
I told him good evening. “Quite a reception I get,” I added. “Why the barricade? Someone been trying to swipe an orchid?” I turned to Fritz. “I’m so damned hungry I could even eat your cooking.” I started for the kitchen, but Wolfe’s voice stopped me.
“Come in here,” he commanded. “Fritz, will you bring in a tray?”
Another oddity. I followed him into the office. As I was soon to learn, he had news that he would have waited up all night to tell me, but something I had said had pushed it aside for the moment. No concern at all, not even life or death, could be permitted to shove itself ahead of food. As he lowered himself into the chair behind his desk he demanded, “Why are you so hungry? Doesn’t Mr. Sperling feed his guests?”
“Sure.” I sat. “There’s nothing wrong with the grub, but they put something in the drinks that takes your appetite. It’s a long story. Want to hear it tonight?”
“No.” He looked at the clock. “But I must. Go ahead.”
I obliged. I was still getting the characters introduced when Fritz came with the tray, and I bit into a sturgeon sandwich and went on. I could tell from Wolfe’s expression that for some reason anything and everything would be welcome, and I let him have it all. By the time I finished it was after two o’clock, the tray had been cleaned up except for a little milk in the pitcher, and Wolfe knew all that I knew, leaving out a few little personal details.