suppose I was wrong? Or suppose he had not sent the Sikh and indeed knew nothing about the Sikh, but suppose he had his own ideas about doing me out of my fee? Was it possible I’d let myself be snowed by the elegant manner and the Martingale Club membership? The rich, I’ve noted, are no more eager to part with a bundle than anyone else. And here I was, meeting him on his own turf, bringing him the book like a dutiful dog with the evening paper in his mouth. Lord, I couldn’t even testify that Whelkin had fifteen thousand dollars, let alone that he was prepared to hand it over to me.
I went to the men’s room, book in hand. When I returned I had both hands free. The book was wedged under my belt against the small of my back, out of sight beneath my suit jacket.
I finished the last of my drink. I’d have liked another, but that could wait until the completion of my business transaction.
First things first.
The house on Sixty-sixth Street was an elegant brownstone with a plant-filled bay window on the parlor floor. Taller buildings stood on either side of it, but the old brownstone held its own. I walked up a half flight of stairs and studied a row of bells in the vestibule.
M. Porlock. 3-D.
I rang twice. Nothing happened for a moment and I checked my watch again. It said 6:29 and it is a watch that rarely lies. I placed my finger on the bell again, tentatively, and at that instant the answering buzzer sounded and I pushed the door open.
There were two apartments on the parlor floor, four each on the three floors above it. (The basement had its own entrance.) I mounted two flights of carpeted stairs with an increasing feeling of mingled anticipation and dread. The D apartments were at the rear of the building. The door of 3-D was slightly ajar. I gave it a rap with my knuckles and it was almost immediately drawn open by a square-shouldered woman wearing a muted-plaid skirt and a brass-buttoned navy blazer. Her dark-brown hair was very short and irregularly cut, as if the barber had been either a drunken friend or a very trendy beautician.
She said, “Mr. Rhodenbarr? Do come in.”
“I was supposed to meet—”
“Ruddy Whelkin, I know. He’s expected at any moment. He rang up not ten minutes ago to say he’d been momentarily detained.” She smiled suddenly. “I’m to make you comfortable, you see. I’m Madeleine Porlock.”
I took the hand she extended. “Bernie Rhodenbarr,” I said. “But you already know that.”
“Your reputation precedes you. Won’t you have a seat? And may I get you a drink?”
“Not just now,” I said. To the drink, that is; I seated myself in a tub chair upholstered in glove-soft green Naugahyde. The living room was small but comfortable, with a Victorian rosewood love seat and a floral-slip-covered easy chair in addition to the tub chair. The bold abstract oil over the love seat somehow complemented the furnishings. It was a nice room, and I said as much.
“Thank you. You’re sure you won’t have a little sherry?”
“I’ll pass for now.”
There was classical music playing on the radio, a woodwind ensemble that sounded like Vivaldi. Madeleine Porlock crossed the room, adjusted the volume. There was something familiar about her but I couldn’t think what it was.
“Ruddy should be here any moment,” she said again.
“Have you known him long?”
“Ruddy? Seems like ages.”
I tried picturing them as a couple. They didn’t bear mentioning in the same breath with Steve and Eydie, or even Bob and Carol and Ted and Alice, but they weren’t utterly inconceivable. He was a good deal older than she, certainly. She looked to be in her early thirties, although I’m terrible at judging people’s ages.
Did I know her from somewhere?
I was on the verge of asking when she clapped her hands together as if she’d just hit on the principle of specific gravity. “Coffee,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
“You’ll have a cup of coffee. It’s freshly made. You will have some, won’t you?”
I’d turned down the drink because I wanted to remain alert. All the more reason to have the coffee. We agreed on cream and sugar and she went off to prepare it. I settled myself in the tub chair and listened to the music, thinking how nice it would be to be able to play the bassoon. I’d priced bassoons once and they cost a lot, and I