“So you spend that day with him as a vicar for his daughter.” Wolfe shivered. “His mourning day. Ghoulish. And he puts diamonds on you. However... you are aware, of course, that your cousin, Mr. Llewellyn Frost, wants you to quit your job. Aren’t you?”
“Perhaps I am. But that isn’t even any of my business, is it? It’s his.”
“Certainly. Hence mine, since he is my client. Do you forget that he hired me?”
“I do not.” She sounded scornful. “But I can assure you that I am not going to discuss my cousin Lew with you. He means well. I know that.”
“But you don’t like the fuss.” Wolfe sighed. The foam had gone from his beer, and he tipped a little more in the glass, lifted it, and drank. I sat and tapped with my pencil on my notebook and looked at Miss Frost’s ankles and the hint of shapeliness ascending therefrom. I wasn’t exactly bored, but I was beginning to get anxious, wondering if the relapse germ was still working on Wolfe’s nerve centers. Not only was he not getting anywhere with this hard-working heiress, it didn’t sound to me as if he was half trying. Remembering the exhibitions I had seen him put on with others — for instance, Nyura Pronn in the Diplomacy Club business — I was beginning to harbor a suspicion that he was only killing time. At anything like his top form, he should have had this poor little rich girl herded into a corner long ago. But here he was...
I was diverted by the doorbell buzz and the sound of Fritz’s footsteps in the hall going to answer it. The idea popped into my head that Mr. Dudley Frost, not liking the way I had hung up on him, might be dropping around to get his nose straightened, and in a sort of negligent way I got solider in my chair, because I knew Wolfe was in no mood to be wafted away again by that verbal cyclone, and I damn well wasn’t going to pass out any more of the Old Corcoran.
But it wasn’t the cyclone, it was only the breeze, his son. Our client. Fritz came in and announced him, and at Wolfe’s nod went back and brought him in. He wasn’t alone. He ushered in ahead of him a plump little duck about his own age, with a round pink face and quick smart eyes. Lew Frost escorted this specimen forward, then dropped it and went to his cousin.
“Helen! You shouldn’t have done this—”
“Now, Lew, for heaven’s sake, why did you come here? Anyway, it’s your fault that I had to come.” She saw the plump one. “You too, Bennie?” She looked mad and grim. “Are you armed?”
Lew Frost turned to Wolfe, looking every inch a football player. “What the hell are you trying to pull? Do you think you can get away with this kind of stuff? How would you like it if I pulled you out of that chair—”