“I don't know, never saw him before.” The young man was trying to open the entrance door without dropping anything. He succeeded, and they passed through, and the door closed behind them.

In a minute another of the doors in the square hall opened and the female wrestler appeared. She came in my direction, but, reaching me, trotted on by, made for a door near a corner off to the left, opened it, and was gone.

I was beginning to feel neglected.

Ten minutes more and I decided to take the offensive. I was on my feet and had taken a couple of steps when there was another entrance, again from an inside door at the far side of the square hall, and I halted. The newcomer headed for me, not at a jerky trot but with a smooth easy flow, saying as she approached: “Mr Goodwin?” I admitted it.

“I'm Deborah Koppel.” She offered a hand. “We never really catch up with ourselves around here.” She had already given me two surprises. At first glance I had thought her eyes were small and insignificant, but when she faced me and talked I saw they were quite large, very dark, and certainly shrewd. Also, because she was short and fat, I had expected the hand I took to be pudgy and moist, but it was firm and strong though small. Her complexion was dark and her dress was black. Everything about her was either black or dark, except the grey, almost white by comparison, showing in her night-black hair.

“You told Miss Fraser on the phone,” she was saying in her high thin voice, “that you have a suggestion for her from Mr Nero Wolfe.” “That's right.” “She's very busy. Of course she always is. I'm her manager. Would you care to tell me about it?” “I'd tell you anything,” I declared. “But I work for Mr Wolfe. His instructions are to tell Miss Fraser, but now, having met you, I'd like to tell her and you.”