"Hey, no you don't. That's my mink! Get out of the way!"

She pushed past me, her open negligйe doing practically nothing to conceal distractions, and emerged with a mink coat that looked all the same to me. I took it and trotted back in. Zorka, shod, was on her feet, and Barrett was tying the girdle of the red gown. She swayed a little while we got the coat on her and buttoned it up to her chin, but navigated well enough when I hooked on to her arm and escorted her to the foyer. Miss Reade was standing there holding the outer door open. As we passed through Barrett told her, "I'll have to take them down. If the phone rings, don't answer it. I'll be right back."

She stumbled on the stairs, but I had a good hold and we got her into the elevator without mishap. Barrett pushed the button and we descended. At the ground floor he preceded us along the corridor and opened the street door.

"Do you want me to help-?"

"No, thanks. If they trace that call, my advice-"

"Go to hell!"

The door shut and I was alone on the sidewalk with my booty. She was clinging to my arm and at intervals was saying something that sounded like "Oops." I squeezed her hand reassuringly and started to convey her gently in the direction of Grand Central, but had negotiated less than half a block when a taxi appeared and I flagged it. Getting her in was more a matter of strength than strategy. She was floppy on the cushion, and I held her against me as we bounced along and around a corner towards Lexington Avenue. She was now murmuring something like "Urpees."

The roadster was still there, like a faithful dog waiting for its master. The taxi-driver was sympathetic and helpful, and with his assistance it was an easy matter to make the transfer. As we were boosting her in she started to kick, but with a firm tone and a firm hand I got her on to the seat and the door closed. The driver nodded his thanks for the moderate tip I gave him and offered advice: "Taking her out, if she gets nasty, work from behind. That way she can't reach your face and she's not so apt to bite."

"Okay. Much obliged."

I climbed in and started the engine and rolled. As I rounded the corner to head downtown she said, "Gribblezook." I replied, "Hvala Bogu." Apparently it was satisfactory, for she relaxed into the corner and shut up. A couple of times en route I opened my mouth to inform her where we were bound for and what she had to look forward to, but a glance at her made me decide I'd be wasting my breath. The traffic was at home in bed where it belonged, and I made good time down to 35th and then cross-town.

I stopped at the kerb in front of the house, grabbed her shoulder and straightened her up, and called her name. No response and her eyes were shut. I shook her. I turned her loose and she flopped in the corner as runny as mush. I pinched her thigh, a good one, and she didn't flinch. I pulled her up straight and shook her again, and her head bounced on to my shoulder and stayed there, and then rolled off. "Hell! I muttered. "It's only ten yards to a touchdown." And I climbed out, pulled her across to my side, got my shoulder under her, and hoisted her up. She was as dead as a bag of oats. I distributed her weight better, something around 120, and crossed the sidewalk, staggered up the steps, and rang the bell-two shorts and a long. In a minute the door opened as far as the chain and Fritz's voice came through:

"Archie?"

"Yeah. Open up."

The door swung open and I entered. After one glance at my cargo Fritz staggered back a step.

"Grand Dieu! Is she dead?"

"Naw, she's not even sick. Lock the door."

The door of the office was standing open and I went through sidewise to keep from knocking her head against the jamb. Wolfe was there reading a book. He looked up and saw what I had, made a face, dog-eared a page and closed the book, and sat and shook his head. A glance at the couch showed me that it was still covered with the maps which he had spread all over it three days previously with instructions that they were not to be touched, so I put her down on the floor, in the middle of the rug, straightened my back to remove a kink, pointed an unwavering finger at her, and said casually, "Madame Zorka."

He folded his arms. "What's the matter with her?"

"Nothing."

"Did you hit her?"

"No."

"Don't be an ass. You don't carry women around and lay them on the floor when there's nothing wrong with them. Is she unconscious?"

"I don't think so. Her contention is that she is in a drunken stupor. But I think she's playing charades. I found her in a penthouse love nest on Madison Avenue. Barrett furnishes the nest and Belinda Reade the love. You know? Belinda was there and Zorka was her guest. Zorka denied that she had made any phone call to this office and she refused to leave. I made a phone call to work up pressure, and she came. She is almost certainly listening carefully to what we are saying. She'll smother in here with that fur coat buttoned up."

I stooped and unfastened the coat and flung it open. Wolfe got to his feet, walked around the desk and stood frowning down at her.

"She has no stockings on."

"Right."

"What's that thing she's wearing? A dress?"

"Oh heavens, no. I think it's a drinking gown."

"And you think she's shamming?"

"I do."

"Well." He turned and called, "Fritz!" Fritz was right there. Wolfe told him, "Bring a dozen ice cubes."

I knelt down beside the patient and felt her pulse and then pried open her eyelid and took a look at the iris, and announced that it would be perfectly safe to proceed with the experiment. Wolfe, looking down at me, nodded gravely. Fritz appeared with the dish of ice cubes and Wolfe told him to give them to me. I took a cube and laid it on her cheek and it slid off. I picked it up and carefully placed it at the base of her neck, in a little depression where the shoulder began, and it stayed nicely. Then I gently but firmly lifted her arm, held it up with my left hand, and with my right hand got another cube and as modestly as possible worked it under the edge of the red robe until it was snug in her armpit, and let the arm down.

The reaction was so sudden and violent, it startled me into spilling the rest of the cubes all over the rug, and her knees in my belly nearly spilled me too. She didn't stop at sitting up, but scrambled to her feet, with Wolfe retreating to make room for her. She shook herself, more of a spasm than a shake, and the ice cube emerged from under the hem of the gown to the floor. She goggled around at us, perceived a chair, and sank into it.

"What-what-"she stammered.

"Wrong line," I told her. "Say, 'Where am I?' "

She groaned and pressed both palms against her forehead. Wolfe, having waited until Fritz had retrieved all the cubes, moved back to his chair and lowered his fundament. He regarded her sourly for a full minute of silence and then spoke to me.

"And what," he demanded resentfully, "would you suggest that we do with her?"

"Search me. It was you that wanted her."

"I don't want her like that."

"Send her home." I added emphatically, "In a taxi."

"We can't send her home. The police are looking for her, and one will be posted at her door, and I want to talk to her first."

"Go ahead and talk to her."

"I want to ask her some questions. Is she capable of coherence?"

"Capable, yes. But I doubt if she'll cohere, with ice or without. Go on and try it."

He looked at her. "Madame Zorka, I am Nero Wolfe. I would like to discuss something with you. When were you last in Yugoslavia?"

With her face covered with her hands, she shook her head, moaned, and muttered something not even as intelligible as gibblezook.

"But, madame," Wolfe said patiently, "I'm sorry you don't feel well, but that is a very simple question." Then he spouted some lingo at her, a couple of sentences, that may have been words, but not to me. She didn't even shake her head.