Rex Stout - Red Box, The

Guinan, telling a customer that in spite of the fact that the little green sport suit on the model was of High Meadow Loom hand-woven material and designed by

Mr. McNair himself, it could be had for a paltry three hundred. I thought of the husband and shivered and crossed my fingers as I stepped into the elevator. And

I remarked to myself, “I'll say it's a sinister joint.”

The floor above was just as elegant, but quieter. There was no merchandise at all in sight, no saleswomen and no. customers. A long wide corridor had doors on both sides at intervals, with etchings and hunting prints here and there on the wood paneling, and in the large room where we emerged from the elevator there were silk chairs and gold smoking stands and thick deep-colored rugs. I took that in at a glance and then centered my attention on the side of the room opposite the corridor, where a couple of goddesses were sitting on a settee. One of them, a blonde with dark blue eyes, was such a pronounced pippin that I had to stare so as not to blink, and the other one, slender and medium-dark, while not as remarkable, was a cinch in a contest for Miss Fifty-second Street.

The blonde nodded at us. The slender one said, “Hello, Lew.”

Llewellyn Frost nodded back. “Lo, Helen. See you later.”

As we went down the corridor I said to Wolfe, “See that? I mean, them? You ought to get around more. What are orchids to a pair of blossoms like that?”

He only grunted at me.

Frost knocked at the last door on the right, opened it, and stood aside for us to precede him. It was a large room, fairly narrow but long, and there was only enough let-up on the elegance to allow for the necessities of an office. The rugs were just as thick as up front, and the furniture was Decorators' Delight.

The windows were covered with heavy yellow silk curtains, sweeping in folds to the floor, and the light came from glass chandeliers as big as barrels.

Frost said, “Mr. Nero Wolfe. Mr. Goodwin. Mr. McNair.”

The man at the desk with carved legs got up and stuck out a paw, without enthusiasm. “How do you do, gentlemen. Be seated. Another chair, Lew?”

Wolfe looked grim. I glanced around at the chairs, and saw I'd have to act quick, for I knew that Wolfe was absolutely capable of running out on us for less than that, and having got him this far I was going to hold on to him if possible. I stepped around to the other side of the desk and put a hand on

Boyden McNair's chair. He was still standing up.

“If you don't mind, sir. Mr. Wolfe prefers a roomy seat, just one of his whims.

The other chairs are pretty damn narrow. If you don't mind?”

By that time I had it shoved around where Wolfe could take it. McNair stared. I brought one of the Decorators' Delights around for him, tossed him a grin, and went around and sat down by Llewellyn Frost.

McNair said to Frost, “Well, Lew, you know I'm busy. Did you tell these gentlemen I agreed to give them fifteen minutes?”

Frost glanced at Wolfe and then looked back at McNair. I could see his hands, with the fingers twined, resting on his thigh; the fingers were pressed tight.

He said, “I told them I had persuaded you to see them. I don't believe fifteen minutes will be enough-”

“It'll have to be enough. I'm busy. This is a busy season.” McNair had a thin tight voice and he kept shifting in his chair-that is, temporarily his chair. He went on, “Anyway, what's the use? What can I do?” He spread out his hands, glanced at his wrist watch, and looked at Wolfe. “I promised Lew fifteen minutes. I am at your service until 11:20.”

Wolfe shook his head. “Judging from Mr. Frost's story, I shall need more. Two hours or more, I should say.”

“Impossible,” McNair snapped. “I'm busy. Now, fourteen minutes.”

“This is preposterous.” Wolfe braced his hands on the arms of the borrowed chair and raised himself to his feet. He stopped Frost's ejaculation by showing him a palm, looked down at McNair and said quietly, “I didn't need to come here to see you, sir. I did so in acknowledgment of an idiotic but charming gesture conceived and executed by Mr. Frost. I understand that Mr. Cramer of the police has had several conversations with you, and that he is violently dissatisfied with the lack of progress in his investigation of the murder of one of your employees on your premises. Mr. Cramer has a high opinion of my abilities. I shall telephone him within an hour and suggest that he bring you-and other persons-to my office.” Wolfe wiggled a finger. 'Tor much longer than fifteen minutes.”

He moved. I got up. Frost started after him.

“Wait!” McNair called out. “Wait a minute, you don't understand!” Wolfe turned and stood. McNair continued, “In the first place, why try to browbeat me? That's ridiculous. Cramer couldn't take me to your office, or any place, if I didn't care to go, you know that. Of course Molly-of course the murder was terrible.

Good God, don't I know it? And naturally I'll do anything I can to help clear it up. But what's the use? I've told Cramer everything I know, we've been over it a dozen times. Sit down.” He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his forehead and nose, started to return it to his pocket and then threw it on the desk. “I'm going to have a breakdown. Sit down. I worked fourteen hours a day getting the spring line ready, enough to kill a man, and then this comes on top of it. You've been dragged into this by Lew Frost. What the devil does he know about it?” He glared at Frost. “I've told it over and over to the police until

I'm sick of it. Sit down, won't you? Ten minutes is all you'll need for what I know, anyhow. That's what makes it worse, as I've told Cramer, nobody knows anything. And Lew Frost knows less than that.” He glared at the young man. “You know damn well you're just trying to use it as a lever to pry Helen out of here.” He transferred the glare to Wolfe. “Do you expect me to have anything better than the barest courtesy for you? Why should I?”

Wolfe had returned to his chair and got himself lowered into it, without taking his eyes off McNair's face. Frost started to speak, but I silenced him with a shake of the head. McNair picked up the handkerchief and passed it across his forehead and threw it down again. He pulled open the top right drawer of his desk and looked in it, muttered, “Where the devil's that aspirin?” tried the drawer on the left, reached in and brought out a small bottle, shook a couple of tablets onto his palm, poured half a glass of water from a thermos carafe, tossed the tablets into his mouth, and washed them down.

He looked at Wolfe and complained resentfully, “I've had a hell of a headache for two weeks. I've taken a ton of aspirin and it doesn't help any. I'm going to have a breakdown. That's the truth-”

There was a knock, and the door opened. The intruder was a tall handsome woman in a black dress with rows of white buttons. She came on in, glanced politely around, and said in a voice full of culture:

“Excuse me, please.” She looked at McNair: “That 1241 resort, the cashmere plain tabby with the medium oxford twill stripe-can that be done in two shades of natural Shetland with basket instead of tabby?”