She greeted Wolfe in a hurry and me not at all, and without taking time to sit down, demanded of him: "The paper? Have you got the paper?"

She looked drawn and she acted jerky.

Wolfe said, "Yes, it's here. Please sit down, won't you?"

"I. the paper!"

"Give it to her, Archie."

I went to the safe and got it. It was still in the envelope addressed to Saul Panzer. I removed it, tossed the envelope in the waste-basket, and handed the paper to her. She unfolded it and inspected it.

Wolfe said, extending his hand, "Let me see it, please."

That didn't appeal to her. She made no move to comply. He frowned at her and repeated his request in a crisper tone, and she handed it over but kept her eyes glued to it. He gave it a glance, folded it up, and asked her:

"Where is Miss Lovchen?"

"I suppose she's at the studio. She said she was going there."

"Surely there'll be no fencing lessons there to-day."

"I don't know. That's what she said."

"You saw her this morning?"

"Of course. We live together in a little flat on 38th Street." She put her hand out. "Give me-"

"Wait a minute. I don't know why I assumed that Miss Lovchen would accompany you here this morning-it was stupid of me to do so, but I did. Anyway, it was she who left this paper here, and I'd rather return it to her. If she-"

"I'll take it to her."

"No. I think not. Here, Archie. Go along with Miss Tormic to Miltan's and deliver this to Miss Lovchen. I like it better that way-"

"That's absurd!" the client protested. "What's the difference whether it's me or Carla?"

"None, perhaps. But this suits me better. It's neater." He handed the thing to me and then regarded her gloomily. "I hope you know what you're doing. I hope you have some idea of what's going on. I haven't. Mr Faber has come here twice for the purpose of getting hold of that paper."

"Oh." She compressed her lips. "He has?"

"Yes. The second time was only a little more than an hour ago, and Mr Goodwin lost his temper and hit him in the eye. So. I presume you girls realize that possession of that document-"

"We realize it."

"Very well. Do you still expect to complete your. errand. to-day?"

"Yes."

"When and where?"

She shook her head.

He shrugged. "Did you keep your appointment with Mr Cramer this morning?"

"Yes, but not with Mr Cramer. A man came and took me down there, and two men talked with me. That's where I came from, here."

"You told about finding those things in your pocket and so on."

"Yes."

"Did they ask about your political mission-anything of that sort?"

"Why, no, they don't know anything about that."

"Were you followed when you left there?"

"I-" She bit it off. In a moment she said, "I don't think so." Her head jerked at me and back at him. "If you're going to insist-I haven't much time. I must see Carla anyway, but if he's going-"

Wolfe nodded. "All right. Pfui. Archie, give that paper to Miss Lovchen in the presence of Miss Tormic."

I suggested, "Fred's in the front room-"

"No. You do it."

"Cramer's due in half an hour."

"I know. Hurry back."

I ushered her out. That roadster was still at the kerb in front where I had left it. We climbed in and I warmed up the engine a minute, and rolled. She was completely don't-touch-me. Whatever her mind was on, it certainly wasn't on me, and during the short ride to 48th Street I accepted that as the status quo.

Across the street from Miltan's a little group was collected on the sidewalk, and in front of the entrance a flatfoot was pacing a short beat. He gave us an eye as we went in, but made no attempt to interfere. Inside was no sign of life in the hall or reception room; but a murmur came from the rear and we went back there to the large office. Jeanne Miltan was in a chair at a desk, with two squad dicks, each with a notebook, seated facing her. Her husband, looking haggard and hopeless, was pacing the floor, shaking his head at himself. As we entered one of the dicks looked up and barked:

"What do you want?"

I waved a friendly hand. "Okay, private business."

Neya intercepted Miltan and asked, "Is Miss Lovchen upstairs?"

He groaned. "No one is upstairs. We are deserted. We are ruined. Mr Goodwin, can you tell me-"

"I'm sorry, I can't tell you a darned thing. Has Miss Lovchen been here this morning?"

"She came and stayed a while, but she left."

"How long ago?"

"Oh, my God, I don't know-half an hour." He clapped a hand to his head and stared at Neya. "She said to tell you something if you came-"

Jeanne Miltan's voice sounded: "She went home, Miss Tormic."

"That's it," Miltan agreed. "She said to tell you she went home. That was all. She went home."

"What do you want with her?" a dick demanded.

"Sell her a chance on a turkey raffle. Come on, Miss Tormic."

We went back out to the sidewalk. Halting there, I asked her, "You said 38th Street? East or west?"

She smiled at me. "It's silly for you to go. It's so silly. Why don't you just give it to me?"

"I'd love to," I assured her. I didn't see any sense in antagonizing her if she was my future wife. "I really would." We were moving along to the roadster. "But here's my car and I have to go downtown anyway. Besides, if I don't follow instructions I'll get fired. What's the address?"

"404 East 38th."

"Okay, that'll only take-excuse me a minute." I had caught a glimpse of something comical. "Climb in," I told her, "I'll be right back."

I left her and went down the sidewalk to where a taxi had parked twenty feet behind the roadster. My glimpse had been of the passenger inside ducking out of our sight. As I lifted a foot to the running-board the driver said:

"Busy."

"Yeah, so I see." I stretched my neck to get a better view of Fred Durkin huddled on the seat. So Wolfe was putting a tail on his own client. "I just wanted to save you some trouble. 404 East 38th Street."

I returned to the roadster and got in and started off, telling Neya that I had merely exchanged the time of day with a Russian nobleman friend of mine who was driving a taxicab for his health. She said nothing. Apparently she was concentrating again on Balkan history, or whatever kind it was she was making. I retaliated by concentrating on my driving.

There was space for me directly in front of 404. It was an old house, one of a row, that had been done over into inexpensive flats by blocking off the stairs and sticking in some partitions. Eight steps up to the stoop, then a vestibule with mailboxes and bell buttons, then the door into the narrow hall. It wasn't even necessary for Neya to use her key on the door because it had stopped an inch short of closing and all I had to do was push it open. I let her go ahead. She led me up two flights of stairs with just enough light to keep you from groping, went to a door towards the front, and opened her bag and started fishing for a key. Then she thought better of that and pushed the button, and I could hear a bell ringing inside. But nothing else was heard, though after an interval she rang the bell again, and then again.

She muttered, "He said she was coming home."

"So he did. Got a key?"

She opened her bag again, and this time produced the key. She used it herself, pushed the door open, went in four paces with me on her heels, and stopped in her tracks, jerking her head up and freezing there. Over her shoulder I could see what she saw: the body of a man sprawled on the floor in a very unlikely attitude; and the face, which was the one I had undertaken to alter with my fist two hours previously.

Before I could stop her she jerked her head up higher and yowled in to space: "Carla!"

Chapter Thirteen I said resentfully, "Will you kindly close your trap?"