He poured beer, and drank. Llewellyn Frost watched him. I, after getting it into my notebook, nodded my head at him in encouraging approval of one of his better efforts.
The client finally spoke. “But look here, Mr. Wolfe. I didn’t agree to let you go up there and... that is... I didn’t have any idea you were going...” He stopped on that, and gave it up. “I’m not denying the contract. I didn’t come here and start throwing brickbats. I just asked, if we call it off now, how much do I owe you?”
“And I told you.”
“But I haven’t got ten thousand dollars, not this minute. I think I could have it in a week. But even if I did, my God, just for a couple of hours’ work—”
“It is not the work.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “It is simply that I will not permit my self-conceit to be bruised by the sort of handling you are trying to give it. It is true that I hire out my abilities for money, but I assure you that I am not to be regarded as a mere peddler of gewgaws or tricks. I am an artist or nothing. Would you commission Matisse to do a painting, and, when he had scribbled his first rough sketch, snatch it from him and crumple it up and tell him, ‘That’s enough, how much do I owe you?’ No, you wouldn’t do that. You think the comparison is fanciful? I don’t. Every artist has his own conceit. I have mine. I know you are young, and your training has left vacant lots in your brain; you don’t realize how offensively you have acted.”
“For God’s sake.” The client sat back. “Well.” He looked at me as if I might suggest something, and then back at Wolfe. He spread out his hands, palms up. “All right, you’re an artist. You’re it. I’ve told you, I haven’t got ten thousand dollars. How about a check dated a week from today?”
Wolfe shook his head. “You could stop payment. I don’t trust you; you are incensed; the flame of fear and resentment is burning in you. Besides, you should get more for your money, and I should do more to earn it. The only sensible course—”
The ring of the telephone interrupted him. I swung around to my desk and got it. I acknowledged my identity to a gruff male inquiry, waited a minute, and heard the familiar tones of another male voice. What it said induced a grin.
I turned to Wolfe: “Inspector Cramer says that one of his men saw you up at McNair’s place this morning, and nearly died of the shock. So did he when he heard it. He says it would be a pleasure to discuss the case with you a while on the telephone.”
“Not for me. I am engaged.”