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didn’t thank me, but since she may not even have known I was there I didn’t hold it against her.
    Purley was in the hall when I re-entered, with his hat on. I asked him, “Did you shut the panel?”
    “Taking candy from a kid I might expect,” he said offensively. “But taking candy from a dead kid, by God!”
    He was leaving, and I sidestepped to block him. “Oaf. Meaning you. If we had insisted on her taking it back she would have-”
    I chopped it off at his grin of triumph. “Got you that time!” he croaked, and brushed past me and went.
    So as I stepped into the office I was biting a nail. It is not often that Purley Stebbins can string me, but that day he had caught me off balance because my sentiments had been involved. Naturally I reacted by trying to take it out on Wolfe. I went to his desk for the little packet, unfolded the paper, and arranged the contents neatly in front of him: two dollar bills, four quarters, nine dimes, and eight nickels.
    “Right,” I announced. “Four dollars and thirty cents. Hearty congratulations. After income tax and deducting ten cents for expenses-the phone call to Stebbins yesterday-there will be enough left to-”
    “Shut up,” he snapped. “Will you return it to her tomorrow?”
    “I will not. Nor any other day. You know damn well that’s impossible.”
    “Give it to the Red Cross.”
    “You give it.” I was firm. “She may never come again, but if she does and asks me what we did with Pete’s money I won’t feel like saying Red Cross and I won’t feel like lying.”
    He pushed the dough away from him, to the other edge of the desk, toward me. “You brought him into this house.”
    “It’s your house, and you fed him cookies.”
    That left it hanging. Wolfe picked up his current book from the other end of his desk, opened to his place, swiveled and maneuvered his seventh of a ton to a comfortable position, and started reading. I went to my desk and sat, and pretended to go over yesterday’s reports from Saul and Fred and Orrie while I considered the situation. Somewhat later I pulled the typewriter around, put in paper, and hit the keys. The first draft had some flaws, which I corrected, and then typed it again on a fresh sheet. That time I thought it would do. I turned to face Wolfe and announced, “I have a suggestion.”
    He finished his paragraph, which must have been a long one, before glancing at me. “Well?”
    “We’re stuck with this dough and have to do something with it. You may remember that you told Pete that the point is not so much to earn a fee as it is to feel that you earned it. I should think you would feel you earned this one if you blow it all on an ad in the paper reading something like this:
    “Woman with spider earrings and scratch on cheek who on Tuesday, driving a car, told boy at Thirty-fifth Street and Ninth Avenue to get a cop, please communicate with Nero Wolfe at address in phone book.”
    I slid the paper across his desk to him. “In the Times the fee might not quite cover it, but I’ll be glad to toss in a buck or two. I regard it as brilliant. It will spend Pete’s money on Pete. It will make Cramer and Stebbins sore, and Stebbins has it coming to him. And since there’s not one chance in a million that it will get a nibble, it won’t expose you to the risk of any work or involvement. Last but not least, it will get your name in the paper. What do you say?”
    He picked up the sheet and glanced over it with his nose turned up. “Very well,” he agreed grumpily. “I hope to heaven this has taught you a lesson.”

Chapter 3
    The hardware manufacturer’s son was finally spotted and corralled the next day, Thursday afternoon. Since that was a hush operation for more reasons than one-to show you how hush, he wasn’t a hardware manufacturer and he wasn’t from Youngstown-I can supply no details. But I make one remark. If Wolfe felt that he earned the fee he soaked that bird for, no ego was ever put to a severer