“Any coffee?”
“No,”
“Bacon or ham?”
“No. I have nothing at all.”
“Bosh. If you think we are spies from Podgorica, or even Belgrade, you are wrong. We are—”
The man cut in. “You must not say Podgorica. You must say Titograd.”
Wolfe nodded. “I am aware that the change has been made, but I haven’t made up my mind whether to accept it. We have returned recently from the world outside, we are politically unattached, and we are starving. If necessary, my son, who is armed, can engage you while I enter the barn and get chickens — we would need two. It would be simpler and more agreeable for you to take this money and have your wife feed us. Have you any bacon or ham?”
“No.”
“Something left of a kid?”
“No.”