Since I knew the building better than he did, I took the lead in the corridor and got us downstairs and out to the street. In the taxi he sat with his lips pressed tight, gripping the strap. There was no conversation. At the curb in front of home I paid the driver, got out and held the door for him, preceded him up the stoop, and used my key, but the key was not enough. The door opened an inch and was stopped by the chain bolt, so I had to ring for Fritz. After he had come and let us in, Wolfe instructed us, “Never again an unbolted door. Never!” To Fritz: “You proceeded with the kidney?”
“Yes, sir. You didn’t phone.”
“The dumplings and burnt sugar?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Satisfactory. Beer, please. I’m so dry I crackle.”
His hat and stick disposed of, he went to the office, and I tagged. For hours I had been sweaty where the leather holster kept my skin from breathing, and it was a relief to get rid of the thing. That attended to, I did not sit at my desk. Instead I went to the red leather chair — the chair where a thousand clients had sat, not to mention thousands who had never attained cliency. I lowered myself into it, leaned back, and crossed my legs. Fritz came with beer, and Wolfe opened, poured, and drank.
He looked at me. “Buffoon,” he stated.
I shook my head. “No, sir. I sit here not as a gag but to avoid misunderstanding. As a client, the closer to you the better. As an employee, nothing doing until my personal problem is solved. If you meant what you said down there, tell me how much you want for a retainer, and I’ll give you a check. If not, all I can do is bound out of your house like a man obsessed.”
“Confound it, I’m helpless! I’m committed!”
“Yes, sir. How about a retainer?”