My show’s going big, but I had a lot of debts and still have. And even if I had it—what’s the idea? Blackmail? If you’re that kind151” “Please, Mr. Frost. I beg you. May I speak?” Llewellyn glared at him.
Wolfe settled back in his chair. “There are three things I like about you, sir, but you have several bad habits. One is your assumption that words are brickbats to be hurled at people in an effort to stun them. You must learn to stop that.
Another is your childish readiness to rush into action without stopping to consider the consequences. Before you definitely hired me to undertake an investigation you should have scrutinized the possibilities. But the point is that you hired me; and let me tell you, you burned all bridges when you goaded me into that mad sortie to Fifty-second Street. That will have to be paid for.
You and I are bound by contract; I am bound to pursue a certain inquiry, and you are bound to pay my reasonable and commensurate charge. And when, for personal and peculiar reasons, you grow to dislike the contract, what do you do? You come to my office and try to knock me out of my chair by propelling words like ‘blackmail’ at me! Pfui! The insolence of a spoiled child!” He poured beer, and drank. Llewellyn Frost watched him. I, after getting it into my notebook, nodded my head at him in encouraging approval of one of his better efforts.
The client finally spoke. “But look here, Mr. Wolfe. I didn’t agree to let you go up there and… that is…I didn’t have any idea you were going…” He stopped on that, and gave it up. “I’m not denying the contract. I didn’t come here and start throwing brickbats. I just asked, if we call it off now, how much do I owe you?” “And I told you.” “But I haven’t got ten thousand dollars, not this minute. I think I could have it in a week. But even if I did, my God, just for a couple of hours’ work—” “It is not the work.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “It is simply that I will not permit my self-conceit to be bruised by the sort of handling you are trying to give it. It is true that I hire out my abilities for money, but I assure you that I am not to be regarded as a mere peddler of gewgaws or tricks. I am an artist or nothing. Would you commission Matisse to do a painting, and, when he had scribbled his first rough sketch, snatch it from him and crumple it up and tell him, That’s enough, how much do I owe you?’ No, you wouldn’t do that. You think the comparison is fanciful? I don’t. Every artist has his own conceit. I have mine. I know you are young, and your training has left vacant lots in your brain; you don’t realize how offensively you have acted.” “For God’s sake.” The client sat back. “Well.” He looked at me as if I might suggest something, and then back at Wolfe. He spread out his hands, palms up.
“All right, you’re an artist. You’re it. I’ve told you, I haven’t got ten thousand dollars. How about a check dated a week from today?” Wolfe shook his head. “You could stop payment. I don’t trust you; you are incensed; the flame of fear and resentment is burning in you. Besides, you should get more for your money, and I should do more to earn it. The only sensible course—” The ring of the telephone interrupted him. I swung around to my desk and got it.
I acknowledged my identity to a gruff male inquiry, waited a minute, and heard the familiar tones of another male voice. What it said induced a grin.
I turned to Wolfe: “Inspector Cramer says that one of his men saw you up at McNair’s place this morning, and nearly died of the shock. So did he when he heard it. He says it would be a pleasure to discuss the case with you a while on the telephone.” “Not for me. I am engaged.” I returned to the wire and had more talk. Cramer was as amiable as a guy stopping you on a lonely hill because he’s out of gas. I turned to Wolfe again: “He’d like to stop in at six o’clock to smoke a cigar. He says, to compare notes. He means S O S.” Wolfe nodded.
I told Cramer sure, come ahead, and rang off.
The client had stood up. He looked back and forth from me to Wolfe, and said with no belligerence at all, “Was that Inspector Cramer? He—he’s coming here?” “Yeah, a little later.” I answered because Wolfe had leaned back and closed his eyes. “He often drops around for a friendly chat when he has a case so easy it bores him.” “But he…I…” Llewellyn was groggy. He straightened up. “Listen, goddam it. I want to use that phone.” “Help yourself. Take my chair.” I vacated and he moved in. He started dialing without having to look up the number. He was jerky about it, but seemed to know what he was doing. I stood and listened.
“Hello, hello! That you, Styce? This is Lew Frost. Is my father still there? Try Mr. McNair’s office. Yes, please… Hello, Dad? Lew… No… No, wait a minute.
Is Aunt Gallic still there? Waiting for me? Yeah, I know… No, listen, I’m talking from Nero Wolfe’s office, 918 West 35th Street. I want you and Aunt Callie to come down here right away… There’s no use explaining on the phone, you’ll have to come…I can’t explain that… Well, bring her anyway… Now, Dad, I’m doing the best I can… Right. You can make it in ten minutes… No, it’s a private house…” Wolfe’s eyes were closed.
CHAPTER Four
That conference was a lulu. On several occasions I have run through pages of my notebook where I took it down, just for the entertainment. Dudley Frost was one of the very few people who have sat in that office and talked Nero Wolfe to a frazzle. Of course, he did it more by volume than by vigor, but he did it.
It was after three when they got there. Fritz ushered them in. Calida Frost, Helen’s mother, Lew’s Aunt Callie—though I suppose it would be more genteel to introduce her as Mrs. Edwin Frost, since I never got to be cronies with her—she came first, and sure enough, she was the medium-sized woman with the straight back and proud mouth. She was good-looking and well made, with deep but direct eyes of an off color, something like the reddish brown of dark beer, and you wouldn’t have thought she was old enough to be the mother of a grownup goddess.
Dudley Frost, Lew’s father, weighed two hundred pounds, from size rather than fat. He had gray hair and a trimmed gray moustache. Some rude collision had pushed his nose slightly off center, but only a dose observer like me would have noticed it. He had on a beautiful gray pin-stripe suit and sported a red flower in his lapel.
Llewellyn went to the office door and brought them across and introduced them.
Dudley Frost rumbled at Wolfe, “How do you do.” He gave me one too. “How do you do.” I was getting chairs under them. He turned to our client: “What’s all this, now? What’s the trouble, son? Look out, Calida, your bag’s going to fall. What’s up here, Mr. Wolfe? I was hoping to get in some bridge this afternoon. What’s the difficulty? My son has explained to me—and to Mrs. Frost—my sister-in-law—we thought it best for him to come straight down here—” Llewellyn blurted at him, “Mr. Wolfe wants ten thousand dollars.” He cackled. “God bless me, so do I. Though I’ve seen the time—but that’s past.” He gazed at Wolfe and in a change of pace ran all his words together: “What do you want ten thousand dollars for, Mr. Wolfe?” Wolfe looked grim, seeing already that he was up against it. He said in one of his deeper tones, “To deposit in my bank account.” “Ha! Good. Damn good and I asked for it. Strictly speaking, that was the only proper reply to my question. I should have said, let me see, for what reason do you expect to get ten thousand dollars from anyone, and from whom do you expect it? I hope not from me, for I haven’t got it. My son has explained to us that he engaged you tenta—tentatively for a certain kind of job in a fit of foolishness.
My son is a donkey, but surely you don’t expect him to give you ten thousand dollars merely because he’s a donkey? I hope not, for he hasn’t got it either.
Nor has my sister-in-law—have you, Calida? What do you think, Calida? Shall I go on with this? Do you think I’m getting anywhere?” Mrs. Edwin Frost was looking at Wolfe, and didn’t bother to turn to her brother-in-law. She said in a low pleasant tone, “I think the most important thing is to explain to Mr. Wolfe that he jumped to a wrong conclusion about what Helen said.” She smiled at Wolfe. “My daughter Helen. But first, since Lew thought it necessary for us to come down here, perhaps we should hear what Mr.