“Fine. You, Mr. Roper?”
Roper was chewing his lip. No doubt it was hard for a man of his eminence to swallow a threat of being fired.
“The way you put it,” he told me, with a strong suggestion of a tremble in his greasy voice, “I hardly know what to say. It is true, of course, that at some future time Miss Nieder will probably own a half-interest in this business, in the success of which I have had some part for the past fourteen years. That is, she will if she is — available.”
“What do you mean, available?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He spread out his hands. “Of course your job is to get her out of it, so you can’t be expected to take an objective attitude. But the police are usually right about these things, and you know what they think.” The grease suddenly got acutely bitter. “So I merely ask, what if she’s not available? As for your—”
What stopped him was movement by Bernard. Cynthia’s partner had left his chair and taken four healthy strides to the one occupied by Roper. Roper, startled, got erect in a hurry, nearly knocking his chair over.
“I warned you last night, Ward,” Bernard said as if he meant it. “I told you to watch your nasty tongue.” His hands were fists. “Apologize to Cynthia, and do it quick.”
“Apologize? But what did I—”
Bernard slapped him hard. I couldn’t help approving of my rival’s good taste in making it a slap, certainly better than my strangling idea, and to spend a solid punch on him would have been flattering him. The first slap teetered Roper’s head to the left, and a second one, harder if anything, sent it the other way.
A thought struck me. “Don’t fire him!” I called. “Miss Nieder doesn’t want him fired! She wants him there tonight!”