“What convinced you?”
“The way he talks, the way I’ve sized him up, the way he practices his profession — and there are things in Bascom’s reports, you’ll see that when you read them—”
“But Mr. Bascom got no proof.”
“No. Damn it.”
“Whom do you call a Communist? A liberal? A pink intellectual? A member of the party? How far left do you start?”
Sperling smiled. “It depends on where I am and who I’m talking to. There are occasions when it may be expedient to apply the term to anyone left of center. But to you I’m using it realistically. I think Rony is a member of the Communist party.”
“If and when you get proof, what are you going to do with it?”
“Show it to my daughter. But it has to be proof. She already knows what I think; I told her long ago. Of course she told Rony, and he looked me in the eye and denied it.”
Wolfe grunted. “You may be wasting your time and money. Even if you get proof, what if it turns out that your daughter regards a Communist party card as a credential for romance?”
“She doesn’t. Her second year in college she got interested in communism and went into it, but it didn’t take her long to pull out. She says it’s intellectually contemptible and morally unsound. I told you she’s smart enough.” Sperling’s eyes darted to me and went back to Wolfe. “By the way, what about you and Goodwin? As I said, I looked you up, but is there any chance I’m putting my foot in it?”