“Then you’ll never get in. I use my neck. What do you want? Now we’re even.”
A voice came at me from behind. “What is all this uproar?”
Wolfe had emerged from the office and was advancing, which wasn’t as impetuous as it might have seemed. It was close to dinnertime, and he would soon have had to mobilize himself anyhow. Fritz trotted off toward the kitchen, where something was probably reaching its climax.
I told Wolfe, “It’s Andy Fomos, who ruined a shoe for me yesterday.” I told the crack, “In ten seconds we close the door the rest of the way, and don’t think we can’t.”
“What you told me yesterday!” he bellowed.
“What? Do you mean about Priscilla Eads going to make your wife a director of Softdown?”
“Yes! I was thinking about it, and a little while ago I phoned that Mrs. Jaffee. She wouldn’t say much, but she told me who you are and said I should see you. If that woman was going to make my wife an important thing like a director there must have been some good reason, and I want you to tell me what it was. She must have owed my wife something big, and I want to know what it was, because if it belongs to me I want it. My wife would have wanted me to have it. And you must know about it, or why did you come to see me?”
I turned to Wolfe. “When you send me out for objects you get ‘em, huh? This one completes the order. Do you want it?”
He was standing with his gaze focused through the one-way glass at the visitor. Fomos was not quite as impressive draped as he had been in shorts, but he was quite a figure. Wolfe grunted. “If he came this evening would he be uncontrollable?”
“Not if I have tools handy, and I will.”