Free Might as Well Be Dead by Nero Wolfe Page B

provides. Mr. Freyer says that Mrs. Molloy has no attorney, and I’m going to suggest to her that she retain Mr. Parker. Mr. Freyer thinks it inadvisable to suggest him, and I agree. If Molloy kept no records in his office you will first have to find them. Any questions?”
    Orrie shook his head. “Not now. I may have after I’ve talked with Freyer. If I do I’ll phone you.”
    Wolfe made a face. Except in emergencies the boys never call between nine and eleven in the morning or four and six in the afternoon, when he is up in the plant rooms, but even so the damn phone rings when he’s deep in a book or working a crossword or busy in the kitchen with Fritz, and he hates it. He went to Keems.
    “Johnny, Archie will give you names and addresses. Mr. Thomas L. Irwin and Mr. and Mrs. Jerome Arkoff. They were Mrs. Molloy’s companions at the theater; it was Mrs. Arkoff who phoned Mrs. Molloy that she had an extra ticket and invited her to join them. That may have no significance; X may merely have been awaiting an opportunity and grasped it; but he must have known that Mrs. Molloy would be out for the evening, and it is worth inquiry. Two investigators looked into it for Mr. Freyer, but they were extraordinarily clumsy, judging by their reports. If you get any hint that the invitation to Mrs. Molloy was designed, confer with me at once. I have known you to overstrain your talents.”
    “When?” Johnny demanded.
    Wolfe shook his head. “Some other time. Will you communicate with me if you find cause for suspicion?”
    “Sure. If you say so.”
    “I do say so.” Wolfe turned to Saul Panzer. “For you, Saul, I had something in mind, but it can wait. It may be worth the trouble to learn why Molloy had in his possession an envelope addressed to Richard Randall, containing a bill for rental of a safe-deposit box, even though it was more than three years ago. If it were a simple matter to get information from the staff of a safe-deposit company about a customer I wouldn’t waste you on it, but I know it isn’t. Any questions?”
    “Maybe a suggestion,” Saul offered. “Archie might phone Lon Cohen at the Gazette and ask him to give me a good print of a picture of Molloy. That would be better than a newspaper reproduction.”
    The other three exchanged glances. They were all good operatives, and it would have been interesting to know, as a check on their talents, whether they had all caught the possibility as quickly as Saul had that Molloy had himself been Richard Randall. There was no point in asking them, since they would all have said yes.
    “That will be done,” Wolfe told him. “Anything else?”
    “No, sir.”
    Wolfe came to me. “Archie. You’ve gone through Mr. Freyer’s file and seen the report on Miss Delia Brandt, Molloy’s secretary at the time of his death. You know where to find her.”
    “Right.”
    “Please do so. If she has anything we can use, get it. Since you are working for Mrs. Molloy you may need her approval. If so, get that.”
    Saul smiled. Orrie laughed. Johnny tittered. Fred grinned.

Chapter 8
    I JOINED WOLFE in the dining room at seven-fifteen as usual, and sat at table, but I didn’t really dine because I had an eight-thirty date down in the Village and had to rush it some. Par for Wolfe from clams to cheese is an hour and a half.
    Dating Delia Brandt hadn’t been any strain on my talents. I had got her on the phone at the first try, given her my own name and occupation, and told her I had been asked by a client to see her and find out if she could supply enough material on Michael M. Molloy, her late employer, for a magazine article under her by-line, to be ghosted by the client. The proceeds would be split. After a few questions she said she would be willing to consider it and would be at home for me at eight-thirty. So I hurried a little with the roast duckling and left Wolfe alone with the salad.
    It wouldn’t have hurt the house at 43 Arbor Street any to get the same