He stood up. “I’ll let you know tomorrow,” he said.
Wolfe grunted. “Oh no. I want to phone the police to come for her. They’ll want a statement from you. Archie?”
I got up and moved and was between the company and the door. Heath moved too. “I’m going,” he said, and came. When I stood pat he swerved to circle around me. It would have been a pleasure to plug him, but I refrained and merely got his shoulder, whirled him, and propelled him a little. He stumbled but stayed upright.
“This is assault,” he told Wolfe, not me. “And illegal restraint. You’ll regret this.”
“Bosh.” Wolfe suddenly blew up. “Confound it, do you think I’m going to let you walk out to call a meeting of your Politburo? Do you think I don’t know when I’ve got you hooked? You can’t possibly hang onto her. Talk sense! Can you?”
“No,” he said.
“Are you ready to disclose the facts?”
“Not to you. To the police, yes.”
Mrs. Rackell snapped at him, “Have you gone mad, you fool?”
He stared at her. I’ve heard a lot of phony cracks in that office, of all kinds and shapes, but that one by Henry Jameson Heath took the cake. Staring at her, he said calmly, “I must do my duty as a citizen, Mrs. Rackell.”