Mystery Murder

After I first set my eyes on Clara Nest, as soon as I opened the front door and she was coming up the five steps to the stoop, she looked like a problem, though only a minor one compared to what followed.

At this very moment I was unemployed. During the years I worked for Jake Bolton and lived under his roof, I have quit my job and also been fired about the same number of times, say fifteen or twenty. Mostly we have been letting things slip by, but most times we have meant it, more or less, and that Saturday evening in July I was so fed up, I couldn't take it anymore. The main dish at dinner had been sauced steak, which both Bolton and Larry know I didn't like so much and can get along without, and we had left the dining room and crossed the hall to the office, and Larry had brought yea and Bolton had poured it, and I had said, "By the way, I told Jerry I'd phone and confirm his appointment for tomorrow noon."

And Bolton had said , "No. Please cancel it." He picked up his phone which he was previously on.

I sat in my working chair and looked across his desk at him. Since he weighs an eighth of a ton he always looks big, but when he's being unpleasant he looks even bigger. "Do you presume it possible," I asked, " that the steak has a bloating effect?"

"No indeed," he said, and stared back at his phone

If I had been a camel and the phone had been a straw you could have heard my spine crack. He knew darned well he shouldn't have picked up his phone until we had finished with the tea. I put my cup down. "I am aware," I said, "that you are sitting pretty. The bank balance is fat enough for months of paying Larry and Andy and me, and buying steak and beer in car lots and adding more orchids to the fifteen thousand you've already got. I'll even grant that a private detective has a right to refuse to take a case with or without a reason, But as I told you before dinner, this Jerry is known to me, and he asked me as a personal favour to get him ten minutes with you, and I told him to come by twelve o'clock tomorrow noon, If you're determined not to work because you tax bracket is already too high, okay, all you have to do is to tell him no. He'll be here at twelve".

He was holding his phone and his eyes were on it, but he spoke. "You know quite well, Ivan, that I must be consulted on appointments. Did you owe this man any sort of favor?"

"I do now that he has asked me for one and I said yes."

"Did you owe any one before?"

"No."

"Then you are committed but I am not. Since I wouldn't take the job it would waste his time and mine, Phone him to not come. Tell him that I have other important engagements."

So I quit. I admit that on some other occasions my quitting had been merely a threat, to push him into seeing reason, but not that time. When a mule plants it's feet a certain way there's no use trying to budge it. I swiveled, got my memo pad, wrote on it, yanked the sheet off, got up and crossed to his desk, and handed him the sheet.

"That's Jerry's number," I told him. "If you're too busy to phone him not to come, Larry can. I'm through. I'll stay with some of my friends tonight and come tomorrow for all my stuff."

His eyes had slowly left the book to glare at me. "Pfui," he said.

"I agree," I said. "Absolutely." I turned and marched out. I do not say that as I got my hat from the rack hall my course was nearly mapped for the next twenty years, or even twenty hours. Bolton owned the house but he didn't own everything in it, for the furniture in my room and on the second floor had beed bought and paid for by me. All those would have to wait until I found a place to move it to, but I would get my clothes and other items tomorrow, and would I come for them before twelve o'clock and learn from Larry whether a visitor whose name was Jerry was expected, or qould it be a better strategy to come in the evening and learn if Jerry had been admitted and given his ten minutes? Facing that problem as I pulled the door open and walked myself out, I was immediately confronted by another one unknown to me. A female was coming up the five steps to the stoop.

I couldn't greet her and ask her business, since it was easy that she would say she wanted to see Jake Bolton and I couldn't continue with a position I no longer possessed by going back to the office to ask Bolton if he would like to receive a caller. Anyway I would not do it. I could not step aside and let her enter by the door I had opened with no questions asked since there was a possibility that she was one of the various people who had it in for Wolfe, and while I might have thought about shooting him myself I did not want to get him plugged by a total stranger.

So I crossed the sill, pulled the door shut, sidestepped to pass her, and was starting down the steps when my sleeve was caught and jerked

"Hey," she said, "aren't you Ivan Coupe?" My eyes slanted down to hers. "You're guessing," I said.

"I am not, why would I, I've seen you somewhere at the Park. You're not very polite, shutting the door in my face." She spoke in jerks, as if she wasn't sure she had enough breath. "I want to see Jake Bolton."

"This is his house. Ring the bell."

"But I want to see you too. Let me in. Take me in."

My eyes had adjusted enough to the poor light to see that she was very young, attractive, beautiful, and very hyped. She had on a cap with a beak. In normal circumstances it would have been my pleasure to escort her into the front room and go and badger Wolfe into seeing her, but as things stood I didn't even put it in thoughts. "I'm very sorry," I said, "but I no longer work here any more. I just quit my job. I am now on my way to bum a bed for the night. You'll have to ring the bell, but I should warn you that in Mr. Bolton's present mood you haven't got a chance. You might as well skip it. If your trouble is urgent you ought to

"I'm not in trouble."

"Good. You're lucky."

She touched my sleeve. "I don't believe it. That you've quit."

"I just quit, would I say so if I hadn't? Running the risk that you're a journalist and tomorrow there will be a front-page spread, 'Ivan Coupe, the famous private detective, has destroyed his connection with Jake Bolton, also a detective, and it is thought-"

"Shut up!" She was already close to me, gripping my arm. She let loose and backed up a step. "I beg your pardon. I seem to be . . . . you think Jake Bolton wouldn't see me?"

"I don't think, I know."

"Anyway I want to see you too. For what I want I guess you would be better than him. I want some advice-no, not advice exactly, I want to consult you. I'll pay cash, fifty dollars. Can't we go inside?"

Naturally I was uplifted. Since I had left Bolton, and since there was no other outfit in New York I would work for, my only possible program was to set up for myself, and before I even got down to the sidewalk there was a pretty girl offering me fifty bucks just for consultation.

"I'm afraid not," I told her, "since I no longer belong here. If that's your taxi waiting that will do fine, especially with the driver gone." A glance had shown me that there was no one behind the wheel of the cab at the curb. Probably, having been told to wait for her, he had beat it to Louis diner at the corner of Sixth Avenue, which was popular with hackies.

She shook her head. "I don't-" she began, and let it hang. She glanced around. "Why not here? It shouldn't take very long-I just want you to help me win a bet." She moved, descended two steps, and sat on the landing, swaying a little as she bent. "Have a seat."

We were still on Bolton's premises, but he rarely used the outdoors part of the house, and after she paid me I could slip a buck under the door for rent. I sat down beside her, not crowding. I had often sat there watching the neighborhood kids at stoop ball.

"Should I pay in advance?" she asked. "No, thanks, I'll trust you. What's the bet about?"

"Well She was squinting at me in the dim light. "I had an argument with a friend of mine. She said there were ninety-three women cab drivers in Paris, and she thought it was very dangerous because sometimes things happen in cabs that it takes a man to handle, and I said things like that can happen anywhere just as well as in cabs, and we had an argument, and she bet me fifty dollars she could prove that something dangerous could happen in a cab that couldn't happen anywhere else. She thought up some things, but I made her admit they could happen in other places too, and then she said what if a woman cab driver left her empty cab to go into a building for something, and when she came back there was a dead woman in the cab? She claimed that it won the bet, and the trouble was I didn't know enough about what you're supposed to do when you find a dead body. That's what I want you to tell me. I'm sure she's wrong. And I'll pay you the fifty dollars."

I was squinting back at her. "You don't look it," I started

"I don't look what?"

"Loony. Two things. First, the same thing could happen if she were driving a private car instead of a cab, and why didn't you tell her that? Second, where's the danger? She merely finds a phone and notifies the police. It would be a nuisance, but you said it was dangerous."

"Oh. Of course." She bit her lip. "I left something out. It's not her cab. She has a friend who is a cab driver, and she wanted to see what driving a cab was like, and her friend let her take it. So she can't notify the police because her friend broke some law when she let her take the cab, and she broke one too, driving a cab without a license, so it wouldn't have been the same if he had been driving a private car. And the only way I can win the bet is to prove that it wouldn't be dangerous. She doesn't know how the dead woman got in the cab or anything about it. All she has to do is get the body out of the cab, but that might be dangerous unless she did it just right, and that's what I want you to tell me so I won't make some awful mistakes–I mean when I tell my friend why it wouldn't be dangerous. Things like where would she go to-to take it out of the cab, and would she have to wait until late at night, and how would she make sure there were no traces left in the cab " She bit her lip again, and her fingers were curled to make fists. "Things like that."

"I see." I had stopped squinting. "What's your name?"

She shook her head. "You don't have to know. I'm just consulting you." She stuck her fingers in the pocket of her jacket, a grayish number with pointed lapels that had seen wear, came out with a purse, and opened it.

I reached to snap it shut. "That can wait. I certainly wouldn't take your money without knowing your name. Of course you can make one up."

"Why should I" She gestured. "All right. My name is Clara Nest. Mira." She opened the purse again.

"Hold it," I told her. "A couple of questions. The dead woman she finds in the cab-does she recognize her

"No, how could she?"

"She could if she knew her when she was alive."

"She didn't."

"Good. That helps. You say she left her empty cab to go into a building for something. For what?"

"Oh, just anything. I don't know. That doesn't matter."

"It might, but if you don't know you can't tell me. I make it clear, Mis Nest, that I accept without question all that you have told me. Since I am a trained detective I am chronically suspicious, but you are so frank and intelligent and pleasing to look at that I wouldn't dream of doubting you. A man who was sap enough to size you up wrong might even suspect you of feeding him a phony, and go and take a look in that taxi, but not me. I don't even ask you where the driver is, because I assume he has gone to the corner for a ham on rye and a cuppa coffee. In short, I trust you fully. That's understood?"

Her lips were tight. She was probably frowning, but the beak of her cap screened her brow. "I guess so." She wasn't at all sure. "But maybe-if that's how you feel-maybe it would be better just to-"

"No It's better like this. Much better. About this situation your friend thought up and claims she won the bet, it has many aspects. You say you didn't know enough about what you're supposed to do when you find a dead body. First and foremost, you're supposed to notify the police immediately. That goes for everybody, but it's a must for a private detective-me, for instance if he wants to keep his license. Is that clear?"

"Yes." She nodded. "I see."

Also you're not supposed to touch the body or go close to anything near it. Also you're not supposed to leave it unguarded, but that's not so important because you may have to in order to call a cop. As for your idea that all she has to do is get the body out of the cab, and where would she go to ditch it, and would she have to wait until late at night, and so on, I admit it has possibilities and I could make a lot of practical suggestions. But you have to show that it could be done without danger, and that's too big an order. That's what licks you. Forget it. However, your friend hasn't won the bet. She was to produce a situation showing that a woman cab driver runs special risks as a hackie, and in this case the danger comes from the fact that she was not driving the cab So your friend"

"That's no help. You know very well

"Shut up. I beg your pardon."

Her fingers were curled into fists again.

"You said you could make some practical suggestions."

"I was carried away. The idea of disposing of a dead body is fascinating as long as it's only an idea. By the way, I took one thing for granted that I shouldn't have that your friend specified that the woman had died by violence. If she could have died of natural causes

"No. She had been stabbed. There was a knife, the handle of a knife...

"Then it's impossible. A hackie letting someone else drive his cab is a misdemeanor, and so is driving a cab without a license, but driving off with a dead body with a knife sticking in it, and dumping it somewhere, and not reporting it-that's a felony. Good for at least a year and probably more."

She opened a fist to grip my arm, leaning on me. "But not if she did it right! Not if no one ever knew! I told you one thing wrong-she did recognize her! She did know her when she was alive! So she can't-"

"Hold it," I growled. "Give me some money quickly.

Pay me. A dollar bill, five-don't sit and stare. See that police car? If it goes on by-no, it's stopping-pay me!"

She was going to panic. She started up, but my hand on her shoulder stopped her held her down. She opened the purse and took out folded bills without fumbling, and I took them and put them in my pocket.

"Staring is okay," I told her, not too loud. "People stare at police cars. Stay put and keep your mouth shut. I'm going to take a look. Naturally I'm curious"

That was perfectly true. I was curious. The prowl car had stopped alongside the taxi, and a cop, not the one who was driving, had got out and circled around to the door of the taxi on his side and was opening it as I reached the sidewalk. When you have a reputation for cheek you should live up to it, so I crossed to the door on my side and pulled it open. The seat was empty, but in front of it was a spread of black canvas held up by whatever was under it. The cop, lifting a corner of the canvas, snarled at me, "Back up, you," and I retreated half a step, but he hadn't said to close the door, so I had a good view when he pulled the canvas off. More light would have helped, but there was enough to see that it was a woman, or had been, and that the knife whose handle was perpendicular to her ribs was all the way in.

"My God," I said with feeling.

"Shut that door!" the cop barked. "No, don't touch

"I already have."

"I saw you. Beat it! No! What's your name?" "Coupe. Ivan Coupe. This is Jack Bolton's house, and-"

"I know it is. And I know about you. Is this your cab?"

"Certainly not. I'm not a hackie."

"I know you're not. I mean-" He stopped. Apparently he had realized that the function of a prowl cop on finding a corpse is not to argue with onlookers, His head jerked around. "Climb out, Bill. DOA. I'll call in." The cop behind the wheel wiggled out, and the one command wiggled in, and I mounted the stoop and sat down beside my client, noting that she had removed the cap and apparently had stashed it.

I kept my voice low, though it wasn't necessary since the cop was talking on his radio. "In about eight minutes," I said, "experts will begin arriving. They will not be strangers to me. Since as far as I know you merely came to get me to tell you how to win a bet, when they start asking questions I'll be glad to answer them if you want to leave it to me. I've had practice answering questions."

She was gripping my arm again. "You looked in. You saw–"

"Shut up, and I don't beg your pardon. You talk too much. Even if I still lived and worked here we wouldn't go inside because it wouldn't be natural, with cops in a prowl car finding a corpse in a taxi parked at the curb -oh, I haven't mentioned that, that there's a dead woman in the taxi. I mention it now because naturally I would, and naturally I would stick around to watch developments. I'm talking to keep you from talking, since naturally we would talk. Not only have I had practice answering questions, but I know some of the rules. There are only three methods that are any good in the Long run. You have strong fingers."

"I'm sorry." Her grip relaxed a little, but she held on "What are the three methods?"

"One. Button your lip. Answer nothing whatever, Two. Tell the truth straight through. The works. Three Tell a simple basic lie with no trimmings, and stick to it. If you try a fancy lie, or a mixture of truth and lies, or part of the truth but try to save some, you're sunk. Of course I'm just talking to pass the time. In the present situation, as far as I know, there is no reason why you shouldn't just tell the truth."

"You said to leave it to you."

"Yes, but they won't. There are very few people in their jurisdiction they wouldn't rather leave it to than me, on account of certain-here they come. We can stop talking. Naturally we would watch."

An official car I had seen before rolled to a stop behind the prowl car, and Inspector Darwin of Homicide West climbed out.

If you are surprised that an inspector had come in response to a report that a corpse had been found, I wasn't. The report had of course given out the location, in front of 745 East 38th Street, and that address held memories, most of them sour, for the personnel at Homicide East, from Darwin down. A violent death that was in any way connected with Nero Wolfe made them itch, and presumably the report had included the item that Ivan Coupe was present and had stuck his nose in.

My client and I watched the routine activities from our grandstand seat. They were swift, efficient, and thorough. Traffic was detoured at the corner of Tenth Avenue. A section of the street and sidewalk was roped off to enclose the taxi. Floodlights were focused on the taxi and surroundings. A photographer took shots from various angles. Pedestrians from both directions were shunted across the street, where a crowd gathered behind the rope. Some twenty city employees, in uniform and out, were on the scene in less than half an hour after the cop had made the radio call-five of them known to me by name and four others by sight. The second floodlight had just been turned on when Darwin came around the front of the taxi, crossed to the steps and mounted the first three, and faced me. Since I was sitting, that made our eyes level.

"All right." he said. "Let's go in. I might as well have you and Bolton together, and this woman too. That may simplify it. Open the door."

"On the contrary." I said, not moving, "it would complicate it. Mr. Bolton is in the office on his phone and knows nothing of all the excitement, and cares less. If I went in and told him you wanted to see him, and what about, you know what he would say and so do I. Nothing doing."

"Who came here in that taxi?"

"I don't know. I know nothing whatever about the taxi. When I came out it was there at the curb."

"When did you come out?"

"Twenty minutes past nine."

"Why did you come out?"

"To find a place to spend the night. I have quit my job, so if you're determined to see Mr. Bolton you'll have to ring the bell."

"You're telling me you've quit?"

"Right. I don't work here any more."

"By God. I thought you and Bolton had tried all the wrinkles there are, but this is a new one. Do you expect me to buy it?"

"It's not a wrinkle. I meant it. I wouldn't sign a pledge never to sleep here again, that depends on Mr. Bolton's handling of a certain problem, but when I left the house I meant it. The problem has no connection with that taxi or what's in it."

"Did this woman leave the house with you?"

"No. When I opened the door, coming out, she was coming up the stoop. She said she wanted to see Jake Bolton, and when I told her I no longer worked for him, and anyway he probably wouldn't see her, she said she guessed that for what she wanted I would be better than him. She offered to pay me fifty dollars for consultation on how to win a bet she had made, and we sat here to consult. We had been here fifteen or twenty minutes when the prowl car came along and stopped by the taxi, which had been standing there when I left the house, and naturally I was curious and went to take a look. The cop asked me my name and I told him. When he went to his radio to report I came back to my client, but we didn't do much consulting on account of the commotion. That's the crop."

"Have you ever seen this woman before?"

"What was the bet she wanted to consult about?"

"That's her affair. She's here. Ask her."

"Did she come in that taxi?"

"Not to my knowledge. Ask her."

"Did you see her get out of the taxi?"

"No. She was halfway up the stoop when I opened the door."

"Did you see anyone get out of the taxi? Or near it?"

"No."

"What's her name?"

"Ask her."

His head moved. "Is your name Nelly Graham?" That was no news for me, since my view through the open door had included the framed picture of the hackie and her name. As well as I had been able to tell in the dim light, the picture was not of my client.

"No," she said.

"What is it?"

"Clara Nest." Her voice was clear and steady.

"Did you drive that taxi here?"

"No."

"Did you come here in it?"

"No."

So she had picked method three, a simple basic lie.

"Did you have an appointment to see Jake Bolton?"

"No"

"Where do you live?"

"Seven-fourteen West Eighty-first Street."

"What is your occupation?"

"Modeling. Mostly fashion modeling."

"Are you married?"

"Yes, but I don't live with my husband."

"What's your husband's name?"

She opened her mouth and closed it again. "Daren Watson. I use my own name."

"Are you divorced?"

"No."

"Was that taxi here when you arrived?"

"I don't know. I didn't notice, but I suppose it was because it didn't come after we sat down."

"How did you come here?"

"I don't think that matters."

"I'll decide if it matters. How did you come?" She shook her head. "No. For instance, if somebody drove me here, or near here, you would ask him, and I might not want you to. No."

So she also knew what "no trimmings" meant.

"I advise you," Darwin advised her, "to tell me how you came."

"I would rather not."

"What was the bet you wanted to consult Ivan all about?"

"That doesn't matter either. It was a private bet with a friend." Her head turned.

"You're a detective, Mr. Coupe, so you ought to know, do I have to tell him about my private affairs just because I was sitting here with you?"

"Of course not," I assured her. "Not unless he shows some connection between your private affairs and his public affairs, and he hasn't. It's entirely up to you whether

"What the devil is all this?" Jake Bolton bellowed.

I twisted around and so did my client. The door was wide open and he was standing on the threshold, his bulk towering above us. "What's going on?" he demanded.

Since I was merely an ex-employee and Darwin was an inspector I thought it fitting to let him reply, but he didn't. Apparently he was too flabbergasted at seeing Bolton actually stick his nose outdoors. Bolton ad- vanced a step. "Ivan. I asked a question."

I had stood up. "Yes, sir, I heard you. Clara Nest, this is Mr. Bolton. Miss Clara Nest. When I left the house she was coming up the steps. I had never seen her before. When I told her I was no longer in your employ she said I would be better than you and asked to consult me. She had paid me. We sat down to confer. There was an empty taxi parked at the curb, no driver in it. A police car came along and stopped, and a cop found a dead body, female, in the taxi under a piece of canvas. I was there looking in when he removed the canvas. I came back up the stoop to sit with my client. We recessed our conference to watch the proceedings. Officers arrived promptly, including Inspector Darwin, When he got around to it he came and questioned us. I knew nothing about the taxi or its contents and said so. She told him she had not driven the taxi here and hadn't come in it. She gave him her name and address and occupation, but refused to answer questions about her private affairs-for instance, what she was consulting me about. I was telling her that it was entirely up to her when you appeared."

Bolton grunted. "Why didn't you bring Miss Nest inside?"

"Because it's not my house. Or my office.

"Nonsense. There is the front room. If you wish to stand on ceremony, I invite you to use it for consultation with your client. Sitting here in this hubbub is absurd. Have you any further information for Mr. Darwin?"

"No."

"Have you, Miss Holt?"

She was on her feet beside me. "I didn't have any," she said. "I haven't got any."

"Then get away from this turmoil. Come in." Darwin found his tongue. "Just a minute." He had come on up to the stoop and was at my elbow, focused on Wolfe. "This is all very neat. Too damn neat. Coupe says he quit his job. Did he?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Pfui. That's egregious, Mr. Darwin, and you know it."

"Did it have anything to do with Miss Nest or what she was coming to consult about?"

"No."

"Or with the fact that a taxi was parked at your door with a dead body in it?"

"No."

"Did you know Miss Holt was coming?"

"No. Nor, patently, did Mr. Coupe."

"Did you know the taxi was out here?"

"No. I am bearing with you, sir. You persist beyond reason. If Mr. Goodwin or I were involved in the circumstance that brought you here, or Miss Holt, would he have sat here with her, supine, awaiting your assault? You know him, and you know me. Come, Ivan. Bring your client." He turned.

I told Darwin, "I'll be glad to type up statements and bring them down," touched Clara Nest's arm, and followed her inside, Bolton having preceded us.

When I had shut the door and the lock had clicked Jake spoke. "Since there's no telephone in the front room and you may have occasion to use one, perhaps the office would be better. I will go to my room."

"Thank you," I said politely. "But it might be better for us to leave the back way. You may not want us here when I explain the situation. Miss Clara drove that taxi here. A friend of hers named Nelly Graham is one of the ninety-three female hackies in Paris, and she let Miss Nest take her cab or maybe Miss Nest took it without Miss Graham's knowledge. She left-"

"No," Mira said. "Judy let me take it."

"Possible," I conceded. "You're a pretty good liar. Let me finish. She left it, empty, in front of a building and went in the building for something, and when she came back there was a dead body in it, a woman, with a knife between its ribs. Either it was covered with a canvas, or she-"

"I covered it," Mira said. "It was under that panel by the driver's seat."

"She's level-headed," I told Bolton."Somewhat. She couldn't notify the police, because not only had she and her friend violated the law, but also she had recognized the dead woman. She knew her. She decided to come and consult you and me. I met her on the stoop. She told me a cockeyed tale about a bet she had made with a friend which I'll skip. I said somewhat level-headed. I let her see that I knew she was feeding me soap but kept her from blurting it out. So I told Darwin no lies, but she did, and did a good job. But the lies won't last long. It's barely possible that Nelly Graham will deny that she let someone take her cub, but sooner or later"

"I tried to phone her," Clara said, "but she didn't. I was going to tell her to say that someone stole it."

"Quit interrupting me. Did you ever hear of finger- prints? Did you see them working on that cab? So I have a client who is in a double-breasted jam. I'll know more about it after she tells me things. The point is, did she kill that woman? If I thought she did I would bow out quick-I would already have bowed out because it would have been hopeless. But she didn't. One will get you ten that she didn't. If she had-"

That interruption wasn't words; it was her lips against mine and her palms covering my ears. If she had been Bolton's client. I would have shoved her off quickly, since that sort of demonstration only ruffles him, but she was mine and there was no point in hurting her feelings. I even patted her shoulder. When she was through I resumed.

"If she had killed her she would not have driven here with the corpse for a passenger to tell you, or even me, a goofy tale about a bet with a friend. Not a chance. She would have dumped the corpse somewhere. Make it twenty to one. Add to that my observation of her while we sat there on the stoop, and it's thirty to one. Therefore I am keeping the fee she paid me, and I'm-by the way." I reached in my pocket for the bills she had given me, unfolded them, and counted. Three twenties, three tens, and a five. Returning two twenties and a ten to my pocket, I offered her the rest. "Your change. I'm keeping fifty."

She hesitated, then took it. "I'll pay you more. Of course. What are you going to do?"

"I'll know better after you answer some questions.

One that shouldn't wait: what did you do with the cap?"

"I have it." She patted her front.

"Good." I returned to Bolton. "So we'll be going. Thank you again for your offer of hospitality, but Darwin may be ringing the bell any minute. We'll go out the rear, Miss Nest. This way."

"No." Bolton snapped it. "This is preposterous. Give me half of that fifty dollars."

I raised a brow. "For what?"

"To pay me. You have helped me with many prob- lems; surely I can help you with one. I am not being quixotic. I do not accept your headstrong decision that our long association has ended, but even if it has, your repute is inextricably involved with mine. Your client is in a pickle. I have never tried to do a job without your help; why should you try to do one without mine?"

I wanted to grin at him, but he might have misunderstood. "Okay," I said, and got a twenty from the pocket where I had put the fee, and a five from my wallet, and handed them to him. He took them, turned, and headed for the office, and Mira and I followed.