“I think we are all pretty well rested,” replied Saul, probably the only one of the trio who knew the definition of enervating. “I think I can speak for all of us when I say that we are ready for whatever you have in mind.”
“Excellent. Archie has been communicating with Lon Cohen, who was able to supply us with some information about Miles Hirsch.” Wolfe turned to me, and I gave them everything we had gotten from Lon about Hirsch.
“I’m surprised that I have never heard of him,” Saul said. “He must keep a low profile.”
“Cohen said Hirsch’s clip file is very thin,” I replied. “He probably likes it that way.”
“I would like to shine some light upon this shadowy gentleman,” Wolfe said. “Do you think you can learn more about his activities, nefarious or otherwise?”
“I don’t just think so, I know so,” Orrie added with his usual bravado. “Just turn us loose.”
“I agree with Orrie,” Saul said. “Having a place on Park Avenue means Hirsch must be spending a good chunk of his time in New York, which ought to help us. He’s got to eat, so we should be able to find some of his hangouts. Also, it just happens that I’m in touch with a man up in Saratoga Springs who knows his way around their racetrack. He may be able to give us a steer regarding Hirsch’s activities involving thoroughbreds.”
“Saul, by all means, communicate with your Saratoga Springs man,” Wolfe said. “To reiterate, we must cast a wide net to learn as much as possible about this individual, who spent time with Miss Carr in the Albany area. Are there any other suggestions?”
“As Saul says, the man has got to eat,” Fred added. “We need to divide up the Midtown restaurants, particularly the more expensive ones, which are the places Hirsch is most likely to dine.”
“And do we know his building on Park Avenue?” Orrie asked. “I can go over there and cozy up to the doorman.”
Wolfe turned to me. “Archie, his address?”
I gave the number to Orrie, who jotted it down in his notebook and announced that co-op would be his first stop after our meeting broke up.
“I can start hitting the restaurants,” Fred said. “Some of the maître d’s have lockjaw when asked who their regulars are, but others like to brag about the famous people who are habitués.”
“Habitués, eh? You’ve been working to improve your vocabulary. I am very impressed,” said a smirking Orrie, who never misses a chance to needle Fred, perhaps in envy of the other man’s plodding though tireless work ethic.
Durkin did not take the bait and just smiled tightly, while Saul played field general. “Okay, Mr. Wolfe, here is the plan: Orrie will start at that Park Avenue palace, while Fred and I will begin nosing around the swank eateries. We’ll put together a list, and I’ll take the ones east of Fifth Avenue in Midtown with Fred tackling the joints to the west. And, Orrie, when you’re done on Park Avenue, you work the spots from Twenty-Third Street south.”
If Cather did not like the assignment he was given, he remained mum, well aware that Panzer was a fair-haired boy in Wolfe’s book, never mind that Saul’s hair was as dark as a raven’s feathers.
The meeting broke up, the boys headed out on their assignments, and Wolfe went to the kitchen to monitor Fritz’s progress with lunch. If I were Fritz, I would banish Wolfe from his domain, but then, I am not owner of the brownstone and the employer of the best chef this side of Paris. And I really should not be too worried about Fritz Brenner, who has shown in the past that he can hold his own in any argument with his boss involving the use of such ingredients as tarragon, saffron, and sage.
Wolfe and I were in the office with coffee after lunch when the telephone rang — an excited Orrie Cather. “Archie, I’ve got a hot one,” he said as I signaled Wolfe to pick up his receiver.
“I am on the line, Orrie. What have you learned?”
“After our meeting, Mr. Wolfe, I talked to the doorman at Hirsch’s Park Avenue address and learned that he stays in New York about half the time, and that he likes Italian food. Then I started hitting the eateries in Little Italy. At the third restaurant I visited, La Trattoria Toscana, on Mulberry Street, which food lovers have told me is the best place in the neighborhood, I talked to the host, and bingo!”
“Go on, Orrie,” Wolfe snapped.
“This guy is named Antonio, no surprise in a place like that. I slipped him a fin, which I figured might not be enough, but damned if it didn’t set him to talking like a stool pigeon. Turns out that Miles Hirsch loves the joint and has dinner there at least once a week when he’s in town, sometimes more often. He usually eats with two or more others, sometimes one of them a woman.”
“Does he know when Mr. Hirsch will next visit the establishment?”
“No, but I’ve got that covered, Mr. Wolfe. I slipped good old Antonio another fin, and he said he will call me the next time Hirsch makes a reservation.”
“And when that occurs, you will telephone us immediately,” Wolfe said.
“Yes, sir, I will.”
“Satisfactory, Orrie.” After the call had ended, Wolfe turned to me. “Would it disconcert you to go to this restaurant and meet with Miles Hirsch?”
“I’m surprised you would ask. I don’t get disconcerted easily.”
“The man could very well be dangerous.”
“So can I, under the right circumstances. I assume you want to see Hirsch.”
“Your assumption is correct. Do you believe the act of bringing him here can be accomplished without violence?”
“I do. It is possible Orrie may call when you are upstairs with the orchids, or we are in the dining room.”
Wolfe scowled. “We will deal with that contingency if it occurs.”
We heard nothing from Orrie, Saul, or Fred the rest of the day, which meant the latter two had not discovered any restaurants patronized by Miles Hirsch. But we did have La Trattoria Toscana in our sights and had to hope we would get a call from Orrie Cather at some point.
That point came two days later, when Orrie phoned at two thirty and told me Hirsch had made a seven thirty reservation for that night.
After thanking Orrie and passing the information along to Wolfe, I told him I planned to be at the restaurant by eight o’clock.
“You will miss dinner.”
“But you won’t. If I can pry Hirsch loose, and that’s a big ‘if,’ I may be able to get him here by the time you are finished with your veal birds in casserole and have returned to the office.”
Wolfe made a face but said nothing and returned to his current book. He was grumpy because it was likely he would have to do some work tonight.
I managed to locate my favorite cabbie, Herb Aronson, who drove me to the restaurant on Mulberry Street. On our way down to Little Italy, I outlined the plan and told him I didn’t know how long I would be inside.
“Don’t worry, Archie. I’ll keep the motor — and the meter — running. And per your orders, I will not attempt to engage your guest in conversation.”
“Assuming I will be able to coax our guest to leave the restaurant and climb into your vehicle,” I said. “See you in a while.”
I went inside and saw a stout, dark-haired man in a tuxedo at a podium just inside the dining room door. “Are you Antonio?” I asked.
“I am, sir,” he said with the slightest of bows. “How may I assist you?”
“I have a message for Mr. Hirsch, and I understand that he is dining here tonight. Can you see that he gets this right now?”
Antonio knit his brow but nodded and took a folded sheet of paper from me on which I had printed, in block letters, two words. I watched as he strode across the half-filled dining room to a table in a back corner where three people sat — two men and a woman. The maître d’ handed my note to the smaller of the men, a wiry fellow with a long face and white hair.