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I’ll have to tell him, but I will not tell him that it may be his son who has been convicted of murder and ask him to resolve the matter. If it is not his son, what am I? A bungler. But for my suggestion: if you’ll arrange for Mr. Goodwin to see him and speak with him, that will do it.”
    “How?” The lawyer frowned. “Goodwin has already seen him.”
    “I said ‘and speak with him.’” Wolfe turned. “Archie. How long would you need with him to give us a firm conclusion?”
    “Alone?”
    “Yes. I suppose a guard would be present.”
    “I don’t mind guards. Five minutes might do it. Make it ten.”
    Wolfe went back to Freyer. “You don’t know Mr. Goodwin, but I do. And he will manage it so that no resentment will bounce to you. He is remarkably adroit at drawing resentment to himself to divert it from me or one of my clients. You can tell the District Attorney that he is investigating some aspect of the case for you; and as for your client, you can safely leave that to Mr. Goodwin.” He glanced up at the wall clock. “It could be done this evening. Now. I invite you to dine with me here. The sooner it’s settled the better, both for you and for me.”
    But Freyer wouldn’t buy that. His main objection was that it would be difficult to get access to his convicted client at that time of day even for himself, but also he wanted to think it over. It would have to wait until morning. When Wolfe sees that a point has to be conceded he manages not to be grumpy about it, and the conference ended much more sociably than it had begun. I went to the hall with Freyer and got his coat from the rack and helped him on with it, and let him out.
    Back in the office, Wolfe was trying not to look smug. As I took the picture of Paul Herold from his desk to return it to the drawer, he remarked, “I confess his coming was opportune, but after your encounter with him in the courtroom it was to be expected.”
    “Uh-huh.” I closed the drawer. “You planned it that way. Your gifts. It might backfire on you if his thinking it over includes a phone call to Omaha or even one to the Missing Persons Bureau. However, I admit you did the best you could, even inviting him to dinner. As you know, I have a date this evening, and now I can keep it.”
    So he dined alone, and I was only half an hour late joining the gathering at Lily Rowan’s table at the Flamingo Club. We followed the usual routine, deciding after a couple of hours that the dance floor was too crowded and moving to Lily’s penthouse, where we could do our own crowding. Getting home around three o’clock, I went to the office and switched a light on for a glance at my desk, where Wolfe leaves a note if there is something that needs early-morning attention, found it bare, and mounted the two flights to my room.
    For me par in bed is eight full hours, but of course I have to make exceptions, and Wednesday morning I entered the kitchen at nine-thirty, only half awake but with my hair brushed and my clothes on, greeted Fritz with forced cheerfulness, got my orange juice, which I take at room temperature, from the table, and had just swallowed a gulp when the phone rang. I answered it there, and had Albert Freyer’s voice in my ear. He said he had arranged it and I was to meet him in the City Prison visitors’ room at ten-thirty. I said I wanted to be alone with his client, and he said he understood that but he had to be there to identify me and vouch for me.
    I hung up and turned to Fritz. “I’m being pushed, damn it. Can I have two cakes in a hurry? Forget the sausage, just the cakes and honey and coffee.”
    He protested, but he moved. “It’s a bad way to start a day, Archie, cramming your breakfast down.”
    I told him I was well aware of it and buzzed the plant rooms on the house phone to tell Wolfe.

Chapter 4
    I WASN’T EXACTLY ALONE. Ten feet to my right a woman sat on a wooden chair just like mine, staring through the holes of the steel lattice at a