“Wait here a minute.”
I moseyed up three flights of stairs to the plant rooms and found Wolfe with Theodore, experimenting with a new method of pollenizing for hybrid seeds. He nodded to admit I was there.
I said, “The drastic action is downstairs. Name of Frisbie. The guy that handled the Clara Fox larceny for Muir, remember? He wishes you to drop everything immediately and hurry down.”
Wolfe didn’t speak. I waited half a minute and then asked pleasantly, “Shall I tell him you’re stricken dumb?”
Wolfe grunted. He said without turning, “And you were glad to see him. Even an Assistant District Attorney, and even that one. Don’t deny it. It gave you an excuse to pester me. Very well, you’ve pestered me. Go.”
“No message?”
“None. Go.”
I ambled back downstairs. I thought Frisbie might like to have a few moments to himself, so I stopped in the kitchen for a little chat with Fritz regarding the prospects for lunch and other interesting topics. When I wandered into the office Frisbie was sitting down, frowning, with his elbows on the arms of his chair and his fingertips all meeting each other, properly matched.
I said, “Oh, yes. Mr. Frisbie. Since you say you must talk with Mr. Wolfe himself, can I get you a book or something? The morning paper? He will be down at eleven.”
Frisbie’s fingertips parted. He demanded, “He’s here, isn’t he?”