That had been my suggestion to Wolfe just before Paul Whipple rang the doorbell, and using it verbatim appealed to one of my flaws, I’m not sure which one. It wasn’t answered. She looked down her long thin nose at me and asked, “Whom do you wish to see?” I didn’t press her, since Whipple had made it unnecessary. I told her Mr. Henchy, and it was urgent. She used the phone and told me to go on in, and as I went down the hall Harold R. Oster appeared in the doorway of the corner room. I would have preferred to have Henchy alone because lawyers always complicate things, but didn’t make an issue of it. He didn’t offer a hand, and neither did Henchy when Oster nodded me in and closed the door. Neither of them nodded me to a chair. I said, standing, to Henchy at his desk, “Paul Whipple has told Nero Wolfe-not on the phone, in person-what he told you he would, about Peter Vaughn, and Mr. Wolfe wants to see you.
