“You’re darned tooting I have. You’ve seen a paper signed by the executor of the estate that owns this. I’ve got another one in my pocket. Well, come on, who’s in charge? Who’s responsible for this outrage?”
There was a cackle from the porch, a shadow in the corner. “I’ve got a right to be here, ain’t I, Archie?”
I peered at it. “Oh, hi, Fred. What are you doing out here in the cold?”
He ambled toward me. “We didn’t want to open the door, because this bunch of highbinders might take a notion—”
I snorted. “Where would they get it from? — All right, nobody’s in charge, is that it? Fred, call Saul—”
“I’ll take the responsibility!” A little squirt had popped up and I saw his spectacles. He squealed, “I’m the Assistant District Attorney of this county! We have a legal right—”
I did some towering over him. “You have a legal right to go home and go to bed. Have you got a warrant or a subpoena or even a cigarette paper?”
“No, there wasn’t time—”
“Then shut up.” I turned to Rowcliff and the trooper. “You think I’m being tough? Not at all, I’m just indignant and I have a right to be. You’ve got a nerve, to come to a private house in the middle of the night and expect to go through it, without any evidence that there has ever been anything or anyone criminal in it. What do you want, the red box? It’s Nero Wolfe’s property, and if it’s in there I’ll get it and put it in my pocket and walk out with it, and don’t try to play tag with me, because I’m sensitive about coming in contact with people.” I brushed past them and mounted the porch, crossed to the door and rapped on it:
“Come here, Fred. Saul!”