He repeated it. "Archie Goodwin. Thank you. If I may ask, in what capacity do you represent Miss Tormic?"

I was exasperated. "Look here," I said, "I am willing to stipulate that a lawyer has a right to live, and I'm aware that even when he's dead no worm will enter his coffin because if it did he'd make it sign some kind of a paper. I suppose if you don't get that thing signed you'll have a tantrum. Give it to me."

From the envelope, which he was still clutching in his hand, he extracted the document and handed it over. A glance showed me that his two informal sentences were, in fact, five legal-sized paragraphs. I got out my pen and with a quick flourish signed on the dotted line at the bottom: "Queen Victoria."

"There," I said, and shoved it at him and moved off before he could react, considering how dignity slows a man up.

The room was about empty. Miltan's wife was over by a desk, talking with Belinda Reade. Carla Lovchen, along with the others, had disappeared, presumably to let the rich fat man enjoy some fun. He must have been a pip of a swordsman, I reflected, as I got my hat and coat from the rack and meandered to the hall and out the street door to the sidewalk.

My wrist-watch told me it was a quarter to six. Wolfe would still be up in the plant rooms, and he wasn't enthusiastic about being disturbed regarding business while there, but I considered that this wasn't business, properly speaking, but a family matter. So I found a drugstore with a phone booth and called the number.

"Hallo, Mr Wolfe? Mr Goodwin speaking."

"Well?"

"Well, I'm in a drugstore at 48th and Lexington. It's all over. It was a farce in three acts. First she, meaning your daughter, seemed to be more bored than bothered. Second, a chap named Percy said she was frisking his coat for cigarettes, not Driscoll's for diamonds, which appeared to be news to her, judging from her expression. Third act, enter Driscoll with a trouble hound and a written apology. There hadn't been any diamonds in his coat. None had been stolen. His mistake. Sorry and damn sorry. So I'm headed for home. I may add that she doesn't resemble you a particle and she is very good-look-"

"You're sure it's clear?"

"It's cleared up. Settled. I wouldn't say it's entirely clear."

"You went there with two problems. What about the second one?"

"No light on it. Not a glimmer. No chance to sniff around on it. There was a mob present, and when the meeting broke up both Balkans went off to give fencing lessons."

"Who is the man named Percy?"

"Percy Ludlow. My age, and a good deal like me: courteous, gifted, of distinguished appear-"

"You say my-she seemed to be bored. Do you mean to imply-is she stupid?"

"Oh, no. I mean it. Maybe she's a little complicated, but she's not stupid."

Silence. No talk. It lasted so long that I finally said, "Hallo, you there?"

"Yes. Get her and bring her here. I want to see her."

"Yeah, I thought so. I expected that. It's a perfectly natural feeling and does you credit, but that's why I phoned, to explain that I asked her if she had a message for you; and she said no; and I said she ought to drop in on you to say hallo; and she said she would some day, and now she's in there crossing blades with Percy-"

"Wait till she's through and bring her."

"Do you mean that?"

"I do."

"I may have to carry her or-"

He hung up, which is a trick I detest.

I went to the fountain and got a glass of grapefruit juice, and while drinking it considered persuasions to use on her short of force, but developed nothing satisfactory, and then strolled back along 48th Street to the scene of operations.

Nikola Miltan and his wife were the only ones in the office. It looked to me as if she had been headed for the door when I entered, but when I took off my hat and coat and put them on the rack, explaining that I wanted to see Miss Tormic when she was disengaged, apparently she changed her mind and decided to stick around. Miltan invited me to have a chair, and I sat down not far from the desk where he was, while his wife opened a door of the big glass cabinet and began rearranging things which didn't need it.

"I have met Mr Nero Wolfe," Miltan offered politely.

I nodded. "So I understand."

"He is a remarkable man. Remarkable."

"Well, I know of one guy that would agree with you."

"Only one?"

"At least one. Mr Wolfe."

"Ah. A joke." He laughed politely. "I imagine there are many others. In fact-what is it, Jeanne?"

His wife had uttered a foreign exclamation, of surprise or maybe dismay. "The col de mart," she told him. "It's not here. Did you remove it?"

"I did not. Of course not. It was there-I'm sure-"

He got up and trotted over to the cabinet, and I arose and wandered after him. Together they stared at a spot. He stretched, and then ducked, to inspect the other shelves.

"No," she said, "it's not there. It's gone. There is nothing else gone. I was in favour long ago of having a lock put on-"

"But, my dear." Miltan looked defensive. "There is no sensible reason that could possibly exist why anyone would want to take that col de mart. It was a nice curiosity, but of no particular value."

"What's a col de mort?" I asked.

"Oh, just a little thing."

"What kind of a little thing?"

"Oh, a little thing-look." He put an arm through the open door of the cabinet and placed a finger upon the point of the йpйe which was displayed there. "See? It's blunt."

"I see it is."

"Well, once in Paris, years ago, a man wanted to kill another man, and he made a little thing with a sharp point, very cleverly, which he could fit over the end of an йpйe." He took the weapon from the shelf and dangled it in his hand. "Then, with the thing fitted on, he made a thrust in quarte-"

He made a lunge at an imaginary victim in my neighbourhood, so unexpected and incredibly swift that I side-stepped and nearly tripped myself up, and was perfectly willing to concede him the championship. Just as swiftly he was back to normal position.

"So." He smiled, and returned the weapon to its place. "A thrust in quarte gets the heart, theoretically, but that time it was not theory. A member of the police who was a friend of mine gave me the little thing as a curiosity. The newspapers called it col de mort. Neck-no, not neck. Collar. Collar of death. Because it fitted the end of the йpйe like a collar. It was amusing to have it."

"It's gone," said his wife shortly.

"I hope not gone." Miltan frowned. "There is no reason for it to be gone. There has been enough talk of stealing around here. We will find out. We will ask people."

"I hope you find it," I told him. "It sounds cute. Speaking of asking people, I was about to ask you if it would be okay for me to have a little chat with whoever it is that cleans up the fencing rooms."

"Why. what for?"

"Oh, just a little chat. Who does the cleaning?"

"The porter. But I can't imagine why you should want-"

His wife interrupted him, with her eyes on me. "He wants to find out if cigarette stubs and ashes were found in the room where Miss Tormic and Mr Ludlow were fencing yesterday," she said calmly.

I grinned at her. "If you will pardon a personal remark, Mrs Miltan, I might have known from your eyes that you had that in you."

She merely continued to look at me.

"For my part," Miltan declared, "I don't see why you should want to know about cigarette stubs, and I don't see how my wife knew you wanted to. I am slow-witted."

"Well, you have to be slow at something, to even up for your speed with that sticker. May I see the porter?"

"No," Jeanne Miltan said bluntly.

"Why not?"

"It isn't necessary. I don't know what is in your mind, but I saw you looking at Miss Tormic, you who were supposed to be here as her friend. If you want to know whether she and Mr Ludlow were smoking cigarettes, ask her."