Wolfe said patiently, “Dr. Burton has just been telling me the exegesis of Chapin’s marriage and the former occupation of his wife. I thought perhaps—”
“Oh, he has.” Farrell shot a glance at Burton. “Then what are you asking me for?”
“Don’t be testy, Mr. Farrell; let me save your life in amity. That was the basis of your remark?”
“Of course. But what the devil have Lorrie Burton’s private affairs got to do with it? Or mine or anybody’s? I thought what we are going to pay you for is to stop—”
He broke off. He looked around at the others and his face got red. He finished to Wolfe in a completely different tone, “Forgive me. I forgot for a moment.”
“Forgot what?”
“Nothing of any importance. Only that I’m out of it. In your total of fifty-odd thousand, you’ve got me down for ten dollars. Your sources of information are up-to-date. Have you any idea what architects have been up against the past four years? Even good ones. I did the new city hall at Baltimore in 1928. Now I couldn’t get — you’re not thinking of doing any building, Mr. Wolfe? A telephone stand or a dog kennel or anything? I’d be glad to submit designs — Oh, the devil. Anyway, I forgot I’m just here ex-officio, I’m not paying my way.—Come on, Lorrie, come and finish your drink. You ought to be home in bed, you’re sagging worse than I am.” He took Burton’s arm.
Moving off, they halted for Wolfe: “Mr. Farrell. I am under the same necessity of earning your ten dollars as Mr. Collard’s nine thousand. If you have comments—”
“Hell no. I haven’t even got a comment. Nor am I even contributing ten bucks to the pot of retribution, I’m taking it out in Scotch.”
George Pratt said to Cabot, “Come on, Nick, have a little refreshment,” and they followed the other two. Alex Drummond was left alone at the corner of Wolfe’s desk; he jerked to join the procession, then jerked back. He looked at Wolfe with his bright little eyes, stepped closer to him, and made his voice low: