Schwartz was still there, standing rigid by the coat rack, clasping his brief case. I began politely, “Do you two gentlemen—”
“You’re Schwartz,” Fabian stated, hoarse as ever.
“Yes, Mr. Fabian,” the lawyer said hastily. He wasn’t too plastered to talk straight. “You may remember—”
“Yeah.” Fabian’s head jerked to me. “Which way?”
I took a step, but checked it because the door between the hall and the front room opened and Wolfe appeared. He said, in his best manner, “Good afternoon, Mr. Schwartz. If you’ll go to the office and make yourself comfortable we’ll join you shortly.” He paused. Schwartz, getting the cue, marched down the hall toward the door to the office. Wolfe turned. “Mr. Fabian? How do you do, sir? I’m Nero Wolfe.” He had a hand out, and Fabian came through for a shake. Wolfe was going on, “Would you step in here for a private word with me?” He moved toward the door to the front room.
Fabian, not budging, looked at me, which struck me as childish under the circumstances, but not caring to make a point of it I followed Wolfe, and Fabian followed me. When he had passed through I closed the door, and saw at a glance that the connecting door to the office was already shut. They were both soundproofed.
Figured by pounds, Wolfe would have made more than two of Fabian. Figured by survival potential, it was anybody’s guess. Wolfe didn’t seem to be concerned with either calculation. He only said, “It is a part of your legend, sir, that you never go anywhere unarmed. Are you armed now?”
As far as I could see there wasn’t the slightest change in the expression of Fabian’s eyes, but a little crease showed between his eyebrows, as if he wasn’t sure he had heard right. Then apparently he decided he had, because the crease disappeared.
“Yeah,” he said. “Any objections?”
“None at all. But — I’m not calling you a liar — but I would be better satisfied if I saw proof. Where is your weapon? Easily available?”