I emptied the pitcher into the glass. “So I guess Sperling’s hunch was good and he really is a Commie. With a picture of the card and the assortment I got of Rony, I should think you could get that lined up by that character who has appeared as Mr. Jones on our expense list now and then. He may not actually be Uncle Joe’s nephew, but he seems to be at least a deputy in the Union Square Politburo. Can’t you get him to research it?”
Fritz had brought another tray, with beer, and Wolfe poured the last of the second bottle.
“I could, yes.” He drank and put the glass down. “But it would be a waste of Mr. Sperling’s money. Even if that is Mr. Rony’s card and he is a party member, as he well may be, I suspect that it is merely a masquerade.” He wiped his lips. “I have no complaint of your performance, Archie, which was in character, and I should know your character; and I can’t say you transgressed your instructions, since you had a free hand, but you might have phoned before assuming the risks of banditry.”
“Really.” I was sarcastic. “Excuse me, but since when have you invited constant contact on a little job like tripping up a would-be bridegroom?”
“I haven’t. But you were aware that another factor had entered, or at least been admitted as conjecture. It is no longer conjecture. You didn’t phone me, but someone else did. A man — a voice you are acquainted with. So am I.”
“You mean Arnold Zeck?”
“No name was pronounced. But it was that voice. As you know, it is unmistakable.”
“What did he have to say?”
“Neither was Mr. Rony’s name pronounced, nor Mr. Sperling’s. But he left no room for dubiety. In effect I was told to cease forthwith any inquiry into the activities or interests of Mr. Rony or suffer penalties.”
“What did you have to say?”