Wolfe said, “Sit back in your chair, Mr. McNair. No? You’ll work yourself into a fit. Then let what come? Death?”
“Anything.”
Wolfe shook his head. “A bad state of mind. But apparently your mind has practically ceased to function. You are incoherent. Of course you have now made completely untenable your position in regard to the poisoned candy. Obviously—”
McNair broke in, “I’ve named you. Will you do it?”
“Permit me, please.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “Obviously you know who poisoned the candy, and you know it was meant for you. You are obsessed with fear that this unfriendly person will proceed to kill you in spite of the fatal bungling of that effort. Possibly others are in danger also; yet, instead of permitting someone with a little wit to handle the affair by giving him your confidence, you sit there and drivel and boast to me of your stubbornness. More than that, you have the gall to request me to agree to undertake a commission although I am completely ignorant of its nature and have no idea how much I shall get for it. Pfui! — No, permit me. Either all this is true, or you are yourself a murderer and are attempting so elaborate a gullery that it is no wonder you have a headache. You ask, will I do it. If you mean, will I agree to do an unknown job for an unknown wage, certainly not.”
McNair still had his hold of the edge of the desk, and kept it there while Wolfe poured beer. He said, “That’s all right. I don’t mind your talking like that. I expected it. I know that’s the kind of a man you are, and that’s all right. I don’t expect you to agree to do an unknown job. I’m going to tell you about it, that’s what I came here for. But I’d feel easier... if you’d just say... you’ll do it if there’s nothing wrong with it... if you’d just say that...”
“Why should I?” Wolfe was impatient. “There is no great urgency; you have plenty of time; I do not dine until eight o’clock. You need not fear your nemesis is in ambush for you in this room; death will not stalk you here. Go on and tell me about it. But let me advise you: it will be taken down, and will need your signature.”
“No.” McNair got energetic and positive. “I don’t want it written down. And I don’t want this man here.”
“Then I don’t want to hear it.” Wolfe pointed a thumb at me. “This is Mr. Goodwin, my confidential assistant. Whatever opinion you have formed of me includes him of necessity. His discretion is the twin of his valor.”
McNair looked at me. “He’s young. I don’t know him.”