“The joint is deserted, except for Sperling, and I think he’s going over his will. You scared ’em so that they all scrammed.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine twenty-two.”
“She said before bedtime. Call Fritz.”
We had talked with Fritz only an hour ago, but what the hell, it was on the house, so I went to the instrument on the table between the beds and got him. There was nothing new. Andy Krasicki was up on the roof with five men, still working, and had reported that enough glass and slats were in place for the morning’s weather, whatever it might be. Theodore was still far from cheerful, but had had a good appetite for dinner and so on.
I hung up and relayed the report to Wolfe, and added, “It strikes me that all that fixing up may be a waste of our client’s money. If Gwenn decides we’ve got to prove it and we make a dive for a foxhole, what do glass and slats matter? It’ll be years before you see the place again, if you ever do. Incidentally, I noticed you gave yourself a chance to call it off, and also Sperling, but not me. You merely said that your base of operations will be known only to Mr. Goodwin, taking Mr. Goodwin for granted. What if he decides he’s not as vain as you are?”
Wolfe, who had put down a book by Laura Hobson to listen to my end of the talk with Fritz, and had picked it up again, scowled at me.
“You’re twice as vain as I am,” he said gruffly.
“Yeah, but it may work different. I may be so vain I won’t want me to take such a risk. I may not want to deprive others of what I’ve got to be vain about.”
“Pfui. Do I know you?”