Death Times Three SSC Read Online Free PDF

and his voice trembled with ferocity. "Whoever put that in there is going to regret it."

    He said no more, and I concentrated on the beans and pickles and milk. When he had finished the cheese he got up and left the room, taking the third bottle of beer along, and when I was through I cleared the table and went to the kitchen and washed up. Then I proceeded to the office. He had his mass deposited in the oversized chair behind his desk, and was leaning back with his eyes closed and a twist to his lips which showed that the beer descending his gullet had washed no wrath down with it. Without opening his eyes he muttered at me, "Where's that jar?"

    "Right here." I put it on his desk.

    "Get Mr. Whipple, at the laboratory."

    I sat at my desk, and looked up the number and dialed it. When I told Wolfe I had Whipple he got himself upright and reached for his phone and spoke to it:

    "Mr. Whipple? ... This is Nero Wolfe ... Good afternoon, sir. Can you do an analysis for me right away? ... I don't know. It's a glass jar containing a substance which I foolishly presumed to be edible ... I have no idea. Mr. Goodwin will take it down to you immediately."

    I was glad to have an errand that would take me away from that den of dejection for an hour or so, but something more immediate intervened. The doorbell rang and, since Fritz was out of commission, I went to answer it. Swinging the front door open, I found myself confronted by something pleasant. While she didn't reach the spectacular and I'm not saying that I caught my breath, one comprehensive glance at her gave me the feeling that it was foolish to regard the world as an abode of affliction merely because Fritz had the grippe. Her cheeks had soft in-curves and her eyes were a kind of chartreuse, something the color of my bathroom walls upstairs. They looked worried.

    "Hello," I said enthusiastically.

    "Mr. Nero Wolfe?" she asked in a nice voice from west of Pittsburgh. "My name is Amy Duncan." I knew it was hopeless. With Wolfe in a state of mingled rage and despondency, and with the bank balance in a flourishing condition, if I had gone and told him that a good-looking girl named Duncan wanted to see him, no matter what about, he would only have been churlish. Whereas there was a chance.I invited her in, escorted her down the hall and into the office, and pulled up a chair for her.

    "Miss Duncan, Mr. Wolfe," I said, and sat down.

    "She wants to ask you something."

    Wolfe, not even glancing at her, glared at me. "Confound you!" he muttered. "I'm engaged. I'm busy." He transferred it to the visitor: "Miss Duncan, you are the victim of my assistant's crack-brained impudence. So am I. I see people only by appointment." She smiled at him. "I'm sorry, but now that I'm here it won't take long--"

    "No." His eyes came back to me. "Archie, when you have shown Miss Duncan out, come back here." He was obviously completely out of control. As for that, I was somewhat edgy myself, after the three days I had just gone through, and it looked to me as if a little cooling off might be advisable before any further interchange of sentiments. So I arose and told him firmly, "I'll run along down to the laboratory. Maybe I can give Miss Duncan a lift." I picked up the jar. "Do you want me to wait--?"

    "Where did you get that?" Amy Duncan said.

    I looked at her in astonishment. "Get it? This jar?"

    "Yes. Where did you get it?"

    "Bought it. Sixty-five cents."

    "And you're taking it to a laboratory? Why? Does it taste funny? Oh, I'll bet it does! Bitter?"

    I gawked at her in amazement. Wolfe, upright, his eyes narrowed at her, snapped, "Why do you ask that?"

    "Because," she said, "I recognized the label. And taking it to a laboratory--that's what I came to see you about! Isn't that odd? A jar of it right here--"

    On any other man Wolfe's expression would have indicated a state of speechlessness, but I have never yet seen him flabbergasted to a point where he was unable to articulate. "Do