“You may be interrupted, if they’re needed.”
“I shall be patient.”
“All right. You tell them, Lew?”
He looked around, grabbed his handkerchief from the desk and stuffed it in his pocket, and bustled out.
Llewellyn Frost, rising, began to protest, “I don’t see why you didn’t—”
Wolfe stopped him. “Mr. Frost. I endure only to my limit. Obviously, Mr. McNair is sick, but you cannot make that claim to tolerance. Don’t forget that you are responsible for this grotesque expedition. Where is this booth?”
“Well, I’m paying for it.”
“Not adequately. You couldn’t. Come, sir!”
Frost led us out and back down the corridor, and opened the door at the end on the left. He switched on lights, said he would be back soon, and disappeared. I moved my eyes. It was a small paneled room with a table, a smoking stand, full-length mirrors, and three dainty silk chairs. Wolfe stood and looked at the mess, and his lips tightened.
He said, “Revolting. I will not — I will not.”