A little after nine o’clock a phone call came from Saul Panzer. He asked for Wolfe and I put him through to the plant rooms; and then, to my disgust but not my surprise, Wolfe shooed me off the line. I stretched out my legs and looked at the tips of my shoes and told myself that the day would come when I would walk into that office carrying a murderer in a suitcase, and Nero Wolfe would pay dearly for a peek. Soon after that, Cramer phoned. He was also put through to Wolfe, and this time I kept my line and scribbled it in my notebook, but it was a waste of paper and talent. Cramer sounded tired and bitter, as if he needed three drinks and a good long nap. The gist of his growlings was that they were on the rampage at the District Attorney’s office and about ready to take drastic action. Wolfe murmured sympathetically that he hoped they would do nothing that would interfere with Cramer’s progress on the case, and Cramer told Wolfe where to go. Kid stuff.
I got out a book on toxicology, and I suppose to an ignorant onlooker I would have appeared to be a studious fellow buried in research, but as a matter of fact I was a caged tiger. I wanted to get in a lick somewhere, so much that it made my stomach ache. I wanted to all the more, because I had scored a couple of muffs on the case, once when I had failed to bring Gebert away from that gang of gorillas up at Glennanne, and once when I had beat it from 73rd Street three minutes before Perren Gebert got his right there on the spot.
It was the humor I was in that made me not any too hospitable when, around ten o’clock, Fritz brought me the card of a visitor and I saw it was Mathias R. Frisbie. I told Fritz to show him in. I had heard of this Frisbie, an Assistant District Attorney, but had never seen him. I observed, when he entered, that I hadn’t missed much. He was the window-dummy type — high collar, clothes pressed very nice, and embalmed stiff and cold. The only thing you could tell from his eyes was that his self-esteem almost hurt him.
He told me he wanted to see Nero Wolfe. I told him that Mr. Wolfe would be engaged, as always in the morning, until eleven o’clock. He said it was urgent and important business and he required to see him at once. I grinned at him:
“Wait here a minute.”
I moseyed up three flights of stairs to the plant rooms and found Wolfe with Theodore, experimenting with a new method of pollenizing for hybrid seeds. He nodded to admit I was there.
I said, “The drastic action is downstairs. Name of Frisbie. The guy that handled the Clara Fox larceny for Muir, remember? He wishes you to drop everything immediately and hurry down.”
Wolfe didn’t speak. I waited half a minute and then asked pleasantly, “Shall I tell him you’re stricken dumb?”
Wolfe grunted. He said without turning, “And you were glad to see him. Even an Assistant District Attorney, and even that one. Don’t deny it. It gave you an excuse to pester me. Very well, you’ve pestered me. Go.”
“No message?”
“None. Go.”
I ambled back downstairs. I thought Frisbie might like to have a few moments to himself, so I stopped in the kitchen for a little chat with Fritz regarding the prospects for lunch and other interesting topics. When I wandered into the office Frisbie was sitting down, frowning, with his elbows on the arms of his chair and his fingertips all meeting each other, properly matched.
I said, “Oh, yes. Mr. Frisbie. Since you say you must talk with Mr. Wolfe himself, can I get you a book or something? The morning paper? He will be down at eleven.”
Frisbie’s fingertips parted. He demanded, “He’s here, isn’t he?”
“Certainly. He’s never anywhere else.”
“Then — I won’t wait an hour. I was warned to expect this. I won’t tolerate it.”
I shrugged. “Okay. I’ll make it as easy as I can for you. Do you want to look at the morning paper while you’re not tolerating it?”
He stood up. “Look here. This is insufferable. Time and time again this man Wolfe has had the effrontery to obstruct the operations of our office. Mr. Skinner sent me here—”
“I’ll bet he did. He wouldn’t come again himself, after his last experience—”
“He sent me, and I certainly don’t intend to sit here until eleven o’clock. Owing to an excess of leniency with which Wolfe has too often been treated by certain officials, he apparently regards himself as above the law. No one can flout the processes of justice — no one!” The high color had got higher. “Boyden McNair was murdered three days ago right in this office, and there is every reason to believe that Wolfe knows more about it than he has told. He should have been brought to see the District Attorney at once — but no, he has not even been properly questioned! Now another man has been killed, and again there is good reason to believe that Wolfe has withheld information which might have prevented it. I have made a great concession to him by coming here at all, and I want to see him at once. At once!”
I nodded. “Sure, I know you want to see him, but keep your shirt on. Let’s make it a hypothetical question. If I say you’ll have to wait until eleven o’clock, then what?”
He glared. “I won’t wait. I’ll go to my office and I’ll have him served. And I’ll see that his license is revoked! He thinks his friend Morley can save him, but he can’t get away with this kind of crooked underhanded—”
I smacked him one. I probably wouldn’t have, except for the bad humor I was in anyway. It was by no means a wallop, merely a pat with the palm at the side of his puss, but it tilted him a little. He went back a step and began to tremble, and stood there with his arms at his sides and his fists doubled up.
I said, “They’re no good hanging there at your knees. Put ’em up and I’ll slap you again.”
He was too mad to pronounce properly. He sputtered, “You’ll re — regret this. You’ll—”
I said, “Shut up and get out of here before you make me mad. You talk of revoking licenses! I know what’s eating you, you’ve got delusions of grandeur, and you’ve been trying to hog a grandstand play ever since they gave you a desk and a chair down there. I know all about you. I know why Skinner sent you, he wanted to give you a chance to make a monkey of yourself, and you didn’t even have gump enough to know it. The next time you shoot off your mouth about Nero Wolfe being crooked and underhanded I won’t slap you in private, I’ll do it with an audience. Git!”
In a way I suppose it was all right, and of course it was the only thing to do under the circumstances, but there was no deep satisfaction in it. He turned and walked out, and after I had heard the front door close behind him I went and sat down at my desk and yawned and scratched my head and kicked over the wastebasket. It had been a fleeting pleasure to smack him and read him out, but now that it was over there was an inclination inside of me to feel righteous, and that made me glum and in a worse temper than before. I hate to feel righteous, because it makes me uncomfortable and I want to kick something.