"Mr. Wolfe I am terribly sorry for…"
"Nero. You can call me that since we are in the same living quarters. I don't allow too many people to address me with my first name. I am sure you won't mind me addressing your name with the same regards. There is nothing you need to apologize for Archie. What is done is done and all one can do is continue on despite."
"You haven't told me yet though why all of these people come to our place?" I asked meekly. Nero grinned as he spoke in response to my question.
"Well, I have a trade of my own. I'm a consulting detective, if you can understand what that is. My father was one in London, so I guess I get that from him. Here in New York City we have lots of Government detectives and lots of private ones. When these fellows are at fault they come to me, and I manage to put them on the right path. They lay all the evidence before me, and I am generally able, by the help of my knowledge of the history of crime, to set them straight. There is a strong consistency about crime. Cramer is a well-known detective. He got himself into confusion recently over a forgery case, and that was what brought him here."
"What about these other people?"
"Let me make this simple to you. They are all people who are in dilemma about something, and want a little enlightening. I listen to their story, they listen to my comments, we get the proper authorities involved, and then I pocket my fee."
"So without leaving your room you can unravel some bind which other men can make nothing of, although they have seen every detail for themselves?"
"I have a kind of sixth sense that way. Many times a case turns up which that's full of complexity. Then I have to bunker down and see things with my own eyes. You see I have a lot of special knowledge which I apply to the problem, and which facilitates matters wonderfully. Observation with me is second nature. You appeared to be surprised when I told you, on our first meeting, that you had come from Mexico."
"You were told, no doubt."
"It was quite easy for me to figure out. You're skin is a slight tanner than an average man living in Ohio. That means you were out in the hot sun for quite an extended period of time. You're skin and eyes also have a jaundice tint to them. When you spoke you had been in Mexico, it made sense to me immediately. Malaria can be easily contacted in such an area."
"Yes and that is why I was discharged not long after I contacted it. I was useless in the fight if I was so terribly ill," I said, sighing. "You remind me of a Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I had no idea that such individual did exist outside of stories."
Nero Wolfe groaned at the mention as he reached in his white shirt pocket for a lucky strike cigarette and his matches.
"No doubt you think that you are complimenting me in comparing me to Holmes as I do share his genetics," he observed.
"You are Sherlock Holmes's son?" I stammered. "I wasn't even aware he had a son!"
"He has a son and daughter. It is not a publicized fact. I keep this fact hidden even from my servants. The woman that Dr. Watson refers to as The Woman is my mother. My sister lives with our father and his wife Mrs. Russell in Sussex. When Mrs. Hudson passed away, my sister took it upon herself to be the one taking care of them. My mother's name was changed in the stories to protect her identity. Nero Wolfe is not my real name for that same reason. It is quite embarrassing at times to be compared to a man that you know is your father.
Now, in my opinion, Dr. Watson's take on events are really very showy and superficial. Father has analytical genius, no doubt; but he was by no means such a phenomenon as Dr. Watson appeared to imagine. Those books made me positively ill."
I felt rather indignant at having Sherlock Holmes whom I had admired treated in this hostile style. I walked over to the window, and stood looking out into the busy street. "This fellow may be very quick," I said to myself, "but he is certainly very proud."
"I know well that I have it in me to make my name famous without him. No man lives in this city that has brought the same amount of study and of natural talent to the exposure of crime which I have done. Yet what is the result? Once in a while some buffoon with a motive so crystal clear that even a police officer can see through it."
I was still annoyed at his arrogant style of conversation. I thought it might be best to change the topic.
"I wonder what that man across the street is looking for," I asked, pointing to a robust, plainly-dressed individual who was walking slowly, looking anxiously at the numbers. He had a large blue envelope in his hand, and was evidently the bearer of a message.
"You mean the retired sergeant of Marines," said Nero Wolfe, with a yawn.
"Hogwash!" thought I to myself. "He knows that I cannot verify his guess."
The thought had hardly passed through my mind when the man whom we were watching caught sight of the number on our door, and ran rapidly across the roadway. We heard a loud knock, a deep voice below, and heavy steps ascending the stair.
"For Mr. Wolfe," he said, stepping into the room and handing my friend the letter.
