Bennie?”
“Now, Helen.” The lawyer sounded persuasive. “Don't start on me. I came here because when Lew told me about it, it seemed the best thing to do. – Be quiet,
Lew! It seems to me that if we just discuss this thing quietly…”
The telephone rang, and I got back in my chair for it. Leach went on talking, spreading oil. As soon as I learned who it was on the phone I got discreet. I pronounced no names and kept my words down. It appeared to me likely that this time it was the right one. I asked him to hold the wire a minute, and choked the transmitter, and wrote on a piece of paper, McN wants to pay us a call, and handed it across to Wolfe.
Wolfe glanced at it and stuck it in his pocket and said softly, “Thank you,
Archie. That's more like it. Tell Mr. Brown to telephone again in fifteen minutes.”
I had trouble with that. McNair was urgent and wasn't going to be put off. The others had stopped talking. I made it reasurring but firm, and finally managed it. I hung up and told Wolfe:
“Okay.”
He was making preparations to arise. He shoved his chair back, got his hands on its arms for levers, and up came the mountain. He stood and distributed a glance and put on his crispest tone:
“Gentlemen. It is nearly four o'clock and I must leave you. – No, permit me. Miss
Frost has kindly accepted my invitation to come to my plant rooms and see my orchids. She is…she and I have concluded a little agreement. I may say that I am not an ogre and I resent your silly invasion of my premises. You gentlemen are leaving now, and certainly she is free to accompany you if she chooses to do that. – Miss Frost?”
She stood up. Her lips were compressed, but she opened them to say, “I'll look at the orchids.”
They all began yapping at once. I got up and prepared for traffic duty in case of a jam. Llewellyn broke loose from his lawyer and started toward her, ready to throw her behind his saddle and gallop off. She gave them a good brave stare:
“For heaven's sake, shut up! Don't you think I'm old enough to take care of myself? Lew, stop that!”
She started off with Wolfe. All they could do was take it and look foolish. The lawyer friend pulled at his little pink nose. Perren Gebert stuck his hands in his pockets and stood straight. Llewellyn strode to the door, after the orchid lovers had passed through, and all we could see was his fine strong back. The sound of the elevator door closing came from the hall, and the whirr of its ascending.
I announced, “That'll be all for the present, and I don't like scenes. They get on my nerves.”
Lew Frost whirled and told me, “Go to hell.”
I grinned at him. “I can't plug you, because you're our client. But you might as well beat it. I've got work to do.”
The plump one said, “Come on, Lew, well go to my office.”
Perren Gebert was already on the move. Llewellyn stood aside and glared him full of holes as he passed. Then Leach went and nudged his friend along. I tripped by to open the front door for them; Llewellyn was continuing with remarks, but I disdained them. He and his attorney went down the stoop to the sidewalk and headed east; Gebert had climbed into a neat little convertible which he had parked back of the roadster and was stepping on the starter. I shut the door and went back in.
I switched on the house phone for the plant room and pressed the button. In about twenty seconds Wolfe answered, and I told him:
“It's quiet and peaceful down here now. No fuss at all.”
His murmur came at me: “Good. Miss Frost is in the middle room, enjoying the orchids…reasonably well. When Mr. McNair phones, tell him six o'clock. If he insists on coming earlier, let him, and keep him. Let me know when he is there, and have the office door closed. She left her vanity case on my desk. Send Fritz up with it.”
“Okay.”
I switched off and settled to wait for McNair's call, reflecting on the relative pulling power of beauty in distress and two million iron men and how it probably depended on whether you were the romantic type or not
Chapter Eight
Two hours later, at six o'clock, I sat at my desk pounding the typewriter with emphasis and a burst of speed, copying off the opening pages of one of Hoehn's catalogues. The radio was turned on, loud, for the band of the Hotel Portland
Surf Room. Together the radio and I made quite a din. Boyden McNair, with his right elbow on his knee and his bent head resting on the hand which covered his eyes, sat near Wolfe's desk in the dunce's chair, yclept that by me on the day that District Attorney Anderson of Westchester sat in it while Wolfe made a dunce of him.
McNair had been there nearly an hour. He had done a lot of sputtering on the phone and had refused to wait until six o'clock, and had finally appeared a little after five, done some sputtering, and then settled down
