“Yeah. Don’t let it get you down. You just dropped in for a shave?”
“Yes, sir. Write it down, and I’ll sign it.”
“Who’s your barber?”
“Ed.”
“That’s Graboff. He’s busy.”
“So I see. I’m not pressed. I’ll chat with you or read a magazine or get a manicure.”
“I don’t feel like chatting.” Purley had not relaxed the scowl. “You know a guy that works here named Carl Vardas? And his wife, Tina, a manicure?”
“I know Carl well enough to pay him a dime for my hat and coat and tie. I can’t say I know Tina, but of course I’ve seen her here. Why?”
“I’m just asking. There’s no law against your coming here for a shave, since you need one and this is where you come, but the sight of either you or Wolfe makes me want to scratch. No wonder, huh? So to have it on the record in case it’s needed, have you seen Vardas or his wife this morning?”
“Sure I have.” I stretched my neck to get closer to his ear and whispered, “I put them in our front room and told them to wait, and beat it up here to tell you, and if you’ll step on it—”