Instantly she released me, seized the elbow of her companion to hurry him across the sill, and whispered at him explosively, “Come in and shut the door! You might have thought she was a duchess diving into a hock shop.

Not that she was my idea of a duchess physically. As I attended to the door and got the man's hat and topcoat hung on the rack, I took them in. She was a paradox-bony from the neck up and ample from the neck down. On her chin and jawbone and cheekbone the skin was stretched tight, but alongside her mouth and nose were tangles of wrinkles.

As I helped her off with her fur coat I told her, “Look, Mrs Rackham. You came to consult Nero Wolfe, huh?

“Yes, she whispered. She nodded and said right out loud, “Of course.

“Then you ought to stop trembling if you can. It makes Mr Wolfe uneasy when a woman trembles, because he thinks she's going to be hysterical, and he might not listen to you. Take a deep breath and try to stop.

“You were trembling all the way down here in the car, the man said in a mild baritone.

“I was not! she snapped. That settled, she turned to me. This is my cousin,

Calvin Leeds. He didn't want me to come here, but I brought him along anyhow.

Where's Mr Wolfe?

I indicated the door to the office, went and opened it, and ushered them in.

I have never figured out Wolfe's grounds for deciding whether or not to get to his feet when a woman enters his office. If they're objective they're too complicated for me, and if they're subjective I wouldn't know where to start.