Sergeant Purley Stebbins was big and strong but not handsome. His rusty old swivel chair squeaked and groaned as he leaned back.

"Oh, hell," I said, sitting, "I forgot. I meant to bring a can of oil for that chair my next trip here." I cocked my head. "What are you glaring about? Is my face dirty?"

"It don't have to be dirty." He went on glaring. "Goddam it, why did they have to pick Nero Wolfe?"

I considered a moment, maybe two seconds. "I am glad to know," I said pleasantly, "that the cops and the feds are collaborating so closely. Citizens can sleep sound. Wengert must have phoned the minute I left. What did he say?"

"He spoke to the Inspector. What do you want?"

"Maybe I should speak to the Inspector."

"He's busy. So the Rackells have hired Wolfe?"

I lifted my nose. "Mr. and Mrs. Rackell have asked Mr. Wolfe to investigate the death of their nephew. Before he starts to whiz through it like a cyclone he wants to know whether he will be cramping the style of those responsible for the national security. I've seen Wengert, and the heat has got him. He's not interested. I am now seeing you because of the Commie angle, which has not appeared in the papers. If it is against the public interest for us to take the job, tell me why. I know you and Cramer think it's against the public interest for us to eat, let alone detect, but that's not enough. We would need facts."

ii

"Uh-huh," Purley growled. "We give 'em to you and Wolfe decides he can use 'em better than we can. Nuts. I'll tell you one fact: this one has got stingers. Lay off."

I nodded sympathetically. "That's probably good advice. I'll tell Mr. Wolfe." I arose. "We would like you to sign a statement covering the substance of this interview. Three copies, one--"