conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the first three paragraphs for a book with the title 'Too Many Clients'
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Too Many Clients
  It was wide open. The only facts they had, leaving off the tassels, were: a) the body had been found at 12:35 a.m. by a watchman making his rounds on a North River pier in the Forties; b) she had been dead not more than three hours and probably less; c) she had been shot in the back of the head with a.32; d) she had last been seen alive by the two girl friends who had gone to the movie with her, and who said she had got up and left a little before nine o'clock and hadn't come back; she had said nothing to them; they had supposed she was going to the rest room; and e) her father and mother refused to talk to reporters. There was no hint of any suspicion that there was any connection between her death and that of Thomas G. Yeager, whose body had been found three days earlier in a hole in the street she had lived on.
  I gave him the crop, including, of course, my call on Fred. When I had finished I handed him the evidence I had got from Maria's drawer. "One item," I said, "might mislead you—labels from four champagne bottles. I do not and will not believe that Maria drank any of the champagne. She got the labels when her father or mother brought the bottles down to dispose of them."
  I pointed to one of the four-sketch groups. "I can name her," I said. "Ten to one. I have danced with her. Her husband owns a chain of restaurants and is twice her age."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: four more paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: When I left the taxi in front of 340 East 68th Street, at two minutes past five, I stood for a glance around before going to the entrance. Here was where it had started three days ago. There was where the NYPD car had been double-parked with Purley Stebbins' driver in it. Around the corner was the lunchroom where I had phoned Lon Cohen. As I entered the vestibule to push the button I asked myself, if I had known what was ahead would I have given Mike Collins the extra forty bucks? But I didn't answer because I didn't know what was still ahead.
  I didn't know how Wolfe felt about it, but I was more interested in where Mrs. Yeager had been last night than in any of the others. Of course inheriting widows of murdered men always deserve attention, and not only that, she had known that Yeager was not merely two-timing her, he was twenty-timing her. Her shrugging it off was noble if true, and a good line if false. Her wanting to see that room was natural if true, and again a good line if she had seen it before, Sunday night, when she went there to kill him. Her alibi as published, that she had been in the country and hadn't returned to town until Monday morning, might already have been found leaky by the cops. I suspected that it had, since Cramer had had a tail on her yesterday.
  One point in her favor, she wasn't in bed. A uniformed maid showed me through an arch into a living room that would have held six of the Houghs', and in a couple of minutes our Client Number Four appeared. I stood. She stopped just inside the arch and said, "So you're on time. Come on." She had a hat on, and a fur stole, not the mink.
  I was observing an interesting fact, that two chins can look fully as determined as one. I couldn't possibly talk her out of it, and there was no use trying. I made one stab at it.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Reverse the sentences.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I made one stab at it.. I couldn't possibly talk her out of it, and there was no use trying.
  I was observing an interesting fact, that two chins can look fully as determined as one." She had a hat on, and a fur stole, not the mink. Come on. She stopped just inside the arch and said, "So you're on time. I stood. A uniformed maid showed me through an arch into a living room that would have held six of the Houghs', and in a couple of minutes our Client Number Four appeared.
  One point in her favor, she wasn't in bed. I suspected that it had, since Cramer had had a tail on her yesterday. Her alibi as published, that she had been in the country and hadn't returned to town until Monday morning, might already have been found leaky by the cops. Her wanting to see that room was natural if true, and again a good line if she had seen it before, Sunday night, when she went there to kill him. Her shrugging it off was noble if true, and a good line if false. Of course inheriting widows of murdered men always deserve attention, and not only that, she had known that Yeager was not merely two-timing her, he was twenty-timing her. Yeager had been last night than in any of the others.
  I didn't know how Wolfe felt about it, but I was more interested in where Mrs. As I entered the vestibule to push the button I asked myself, if I had known what was ahead would I have given Mike Collins the extra forty bucks? But I didn't answer because I didn't know what was still ahead. Around the corner was the lunchroom where I had phoned Lon Cohen. There was where the NYPD car had been double-parked with Purley Stebbins' driver in it. Here was where it had started three days ago.When I left the taxi in front of 340 East 68th Street, at two minutes past five, I stood for a glance around before going to the entrance
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: the last three paragraphs
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: I didn't go to Eden Street. I had no overwhelming desire to see the Houghs again, or Meg Duncan offstage. On Monday I sent the umbrella and the cigarette case by messenger.
  I should add a note, in case anyone reading this report takes a notion to go and take a look at the bower. You won't find it on 82nd Street. Nor will you find any of the people where I have put them. The particulars of the performance were exactly as I have reported them, but for obvious reasons I have changed names and addresses and a few other details—for instance, the title of the play Meg Duncan was starring in. It's still on and she's as good as ever; I went one night last week just to see.
  Now, for the first time ever, enjoy a peek into the life of Nero Wolfe's creator, Rex Stout, courtesy of the Stout Estate. Pulled from Rex Stout's own archives, here are rarely seen, never-before-published memorabilia. Each title in "The Rex Stout Library" will offer an exclusive look into the life of the man who gave Nero Wolfe life.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Swap the first and the last sentence.
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Each title in "The Rex Stout Library" will offer an exclusive look into the life of the man who gave Nero Wolfe life. I had no overwhelming desire to see the Houghs again, or Meg Duncan offstage. On Monday I sent the umbrella and the cigarette case by messenger.
  I should add a note, in case anyone reading this report takes a notion to go and take a look at the bower. You won't find it on 82nd Street. Nor will you find any of the people where I have put them. The particulars of the performance were exactly as I have reported them, but for obvious reasons I have changed names and addresses and a few other details—for instance, the title of the play Meg Duncan was starring in. It's still on and she's as good as ever; I went one night last week just to see.
  Now, for the first time ever, enjoy a peek into the life of Nero Wolfe's creator, Rex Stout, courtesy of the Stout Estate. Pulled from Rex Stout's own archives, here are rarely seen, never-before-published memorabilia.I didn't go to Eden Street.