I would like to see Mr. Wolfe.' I had never seen him before. He was around fifty, medium-sized, with thin straight lips and the kind of eyes that play poker for blood. The first tenth of a second I thought he was one of Bascom's men, and then saw that his clothes ruled that out. They were quiet and conservative and must have had at least three try-ons. I told him: 'I'll see if he's in. Your name, please?' 'John Smith.' 'Oh. What do you want to see him about, Mr. Jones?' 'Private and urgent business.' 'Can you be more specific?' 'I can to him, yes.' 'Good. Sit down and read a magazine.' I shut the door on him, clear shut, and went to the office and told Wolfe: 'Mr. John Smith, which he must have got out of a book, looks like a banker who would gladly lend you a dime on a cupful of diamonds. I left him on the stoop, but don't worry about him being insulted because he has no feelings. Please don't ask me to find out what he wants because it might take hours.' Wolfe grunted. 'What is your opinion?' 'None at all.
