"Did you put this money here, Fritz?"

Of course that forced me. I swiveled. "No, sir, I did."

"Indeed. Thank you, Fritz." He got his eighteen-carat opener from the drawer, uncapped a bottle, and poured. Fritz departed. Wolfe let the foam subside a little, not too much, lifted the glass, and took two healthy swallows. Putting the glass down, he tapped the new non-counterfeit fifties, still in a fan under the paperweight, with a fingertip, and demanded, "Well? Flummery?"

"No, sir."

"Then what?"

I bubbled with eager frankness. "I admit it, sir, what you said Friday about my excessive labors and the bank balance-that really hurt. I felt I wasn't doing my share, with you sweating it out four hours a day up with the orchids. I was sitting here this afternoon mulling over it, some of the hardest mulling I've ever done, when the doorbell rang."

He was reacting to my opening as expected. Turning to his place in the book, he started reading. I went right on.

"It was a human female in her twenties, with unprecedented eyes, a fine wholesome figure, a highly polished leather suitcase, and a hatbox. She tooted her knowledge of the premises and you and me, bragging about her reading. I brought her in here and we chatted. She wouldn't tell her name or anything else about herself. She wants no advice, no information, no detective work, no nothing. All she wants is board and room for one week, with meals served in her room, and she specified the south room, which, as you know, is on the same floor as mine."