He had said, "This is Nero Wolfe's house, isn't it?" and I had said yes but Mr. Wolfe wouldn't be available until six o'clock, and he had said, "I know, he's up in the plant rooms from four to six, but I want to see Archie Goodwin. You're Mr. Goodwin?" I had admitted it and asked him what about, and he had said he wanted to consult me professionally. By then I had sized him up, or thought I had, and it didn't look very promising, but time could be wasted with him as well as without him, so I had taken him to the office. Another point against him was that he had no hat. Ninety-eight per cent of men who can pay big fees wear hats. Leaning back in the red leather chair with his chin lowered and his intelligent gray eyes aimed at me, he spoke. "I'll have to tell you who I am, of course." I shook my head. "Not unless it's material." "It is." He crossed his legs. The tops of his socks, gray with little red dots, were down nearly to his shoes. "Else there was no use coming. I want to consult you in the strictest confidence." Too Many Clients 3 I nodded. "Naturally. But this is Nero Wolfe's office, and I work for him. If you get a bill it will be from him." "I know." Apparently that was a triviality. His eyes were intelligent. "I expect a bill and I'll pay it. I can speak in assured confidence?" "Certainly. Unless you're loaded with something too heavy for me to hold, like murder or treason." He smiled. "Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out. Treason doth never prosper. I am loaded with neither. None of my crimes is statutory. Then in confidence, Mr. Goodwin, my name is Yeager, Thomas G. Yeager. You may possibly have seen or heard it, though I am no celebrity. I live at Three-forty East Sixty-eighth Street. My firm, of which I am executive vice-president, is Continental Plastic Products, with offices in the Empire State Building." I did not blink.