“No,” Wolfe assured him. “Though of course only the event can certify us. We agree with your daughter.” He looked at me. “Don’t we?”
I nodded. “Completely. I like the way she put it. The best I can do is ‘a Commie is a louse’ or something like that.”
Sperling looked at me suspiciously, apparently decided that I merely had IQ trouble, and returned to Wolfe, who was talking.
“Exactly what,” he was asking, “is the situation? Is there a possibility that your daughter is already married to Mr. Rony?”
“Good God, no!”
“How sure are you?”
“I’m sure. That’s absurd — but of course you don’t know her. There’s no sneak in her — and anyhow, if she decides to marry him she’ll tell me — or her mother — before she tells him. That’s how she’d do it—” Sperling stopped abruptly and set his jaw. In a moment he let it loose and went on, “And that’s what I’m afraid of, every day now. If she once commits herself it’s all over. I tell you it’s urgent. It’s damned urgent!”
Wolfe leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Sperling regarded him a while, opened his mouth and closed it again, and looked at me inquiringly. I shook my head at him. When, after another couple of minutes, he began making and unmaking fists with his big bony hands, I reassured him.
“It’s okay. He never sleeps in the daytime. His mind works better when he can’t see me.”
Finally Wolfe’s lids went up and he spoke. “If you hire me,” he told Sperling, “it must be clear what for. I can’t engage to get proof that Mr. Rony is a Communist, but only to find out if proof exists, and, if it does, get it if possible. I’m willing to undertake that, but it seems an unnecessary restriction. Can’t we define it a little better? As I understand it, you want your daughter to abandon all thought of marrying Mr. Rony and stop inviting him to your home. That’s your objective. Right?”