Wolfe spoke sharply, “Mr. Frost! This is my office!”
The lawyer took hold of our client — his too, of course — and held on. Perren Gebert paid no attention to either of them. He went past them before he stopped to incline his torso in Wolfe’s direction. “Mr. Wolfe? How do you do? Permit me.” He turned and bowed again, at Helen Frost, with a different technique. “So there you are! How are you? You’ve been crying! Forgive me, I have no tact, I shouldn’t have mentioned that. How are you? All right?”
“Certainly I’m all right! For heaven’s sake, Perren, why did you come?”
“I came to take you home.” Gebert turned and shot the dark eyes at Wolfe. “Permit me, sir. I came to escort Miss Frost home.”
“Indeed,” Wolfe murmured. “Officially? Forcibly? In spite of anything?”
“Well...” Gebert smiled. “Semi-officially. How shall I say it... Miss Frost is almost my fiancée.”
“Perren! That isn’t true! I’ve told you not to say that!”
“I said ‘almost,’ Helen.” He raised his palms to deprecate himself. “I put in the ‘almost,’ and I permit myself to say it only in hope—”
“Well, don’t say it again. Why did you come?”
Gebert got in another bow. “The truth is, your mother suggested it.”