"Mine."

"You can tell me about it."

I turned. "Come along."

He followed me to the office. When I offered to take his coat he said he would keep it on, which was sensible, since the heat had been off for two hours, and we had lowered the thermostat four degrees to save oil. I moved up one of the yellow chairs for him and sat at my desk and asked him what it was.

He gestured with both hands. "It's what you said. Life and death. For me. A man is going to kill me."

"That won't do. Good waiters are scarce, and anyway you're not old enough to die. Who is he, and why?"

"You make it a joke. Death is not a joke."

"Sure it is. It's life that's not a joke. Who's going to kill you?"

"I'll tell Mr. Wolfe."

"He's in bed asleep. He sees people only by appointment, but for you he would make an exception. Come at eleven in the morning. Or if it's urgent, tell me."

"I-" He looked at me. Since he had seen me at close quarters at least fifty times, maybe a hundred, surely he had me sized up, so he may not have been con- sidering me, but he was deciding something for at least ten seconds. He opened his mouth and shut it, then opened it again to speak. "You see, Mr. Good-win, I know Mr. Wolfe is the greatest detective in the world. Felix says he is-not only Felix, everybody does. Of course you're a good detective too, everybody knows that too, but when a man is sure he's going to be killed unless he-unless…"

His hands on his knees were fists, and he opened them, palms up. "I've just got to tell Mr. Wolfe."