Rex Stout and his estate are the sole proprietors of Nero Wolfe and Archie Goodwin. I'm just a fan. For those who haven't read the mysteries, the original books were written between 1934 and 1975. This story is somewhere in that time frame.

Relations had been strained between Wolfe and I for the past few days. A petty argument, but if not for that, I wonder how this whole incident might have turned out differently.

She came up behind me at the bank that morning, "Are you Nero Wolfe's Archie Goodwin?"

"No." I turned to face the small woman who had bruised my pride. "I belong to myself."

"Of course." The smile on her lips didn't quite reach her brown eyes. She pushed a stray wisp of chestnut hair behind her ear. "I'm glad I found you. You probably don't remember me, though. I'm Alice..."
"Wait," I held up a finger, "Harris, wasn't it? You lived with Miss O'Neal."

"You have a spectacular memory, Mr. Goodwin."

Alice Harris had lived a few blocks away from me in my boyhood home of Ohio. She had been one of my sister's friends, so I had known her well enough to recognize her.

"I ought to confess to you that I was the one who put the toad in your coat pocket."

She laughed, and the bank teller coughed. I told Alice to go on ahead of me, but she declined. "I'm only here to ask you a question."

"Alright. Please wait for me." I made the necessary deposits, and returned to Alice. "So what is this question?"

"Could you possibly get me an appointment with Mr. Wolfe?"

It figures. I thought to myself, then decided that I might be able to have some fun with this situation."you happen to be in luck, Miss Harris."

"It's Mrs. Dickens, I'm sorry to say." She interrupted.

"Mrs. Dickens, then." I took a quick glance at my watch. "It's just 10 o'clock now, and Mr. Wolfe won't be available until 11, but you can come and wait for him. Besides, if you tell me about why you want to see him, I can help you get it across to him."

"That would be wonderful, Archie." She squeezed my arm as we went outside to hail a cab.

Once we were settled in the cab she asked me what I had been doing since she had moved away from Ohio.

"Nearly twenty years is a lot to cover in just one cab ride." She had moved to California after her aunt died. I had been about fourteen at the time. I gave her the basics, then reciprocated with the same question to her.

"Nothing as adventurous as you. Seventeen is a good age to start working, and I did. I worked as a secretary until I married Mr. Dickens ten years ago."

We continued with the small talk until the cab came to a stop in front of the brownstone. I escorted her in, and brought a chair for her by my desk.

"So," I said, leaning back in my own chair, "What exactly do you want Mr. Wolfe for?"

"I think my husband committed a murder." She stated, quite matter of fact. "Can you find out if he did?"

"Sure. And then what do you want us to do with him?"

"If... If he did, you would have to turn him over to the police?"

I considered for a moment, "It would depend on how much evidence we found. If we discovered, say, the weapon used to cause someone's death laying in his desk drawer, we would have to give it over to the police. Unless we wanted to go to in front of the judge and explain why we were withholding evidence. On the other hand, if we only found circumstantial evidence, enough to answer your question, we wouldn't necessarily have to turn it in. I mean, you should be obligated to uphold the law- but if you've hired us for one purpose, that's what we'll do."