Wolfe’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t mean that, Mr. Koven—”
“You’re damn right I mean it!”
“Then there’s a misunderstanding. I heard Miss Lowell’s talk with you on the phone, both ends of it. I got the impression that my threat to inform the police about Mr. Getz’s death was what brought you down here. Now you seem—”
“It wasn’t any threat that brought me here! It’s that blackmailing suit you started! I want to make you eat it and I’m going to!”
“Indeed. Then I gather that you don’t care who gets my information first, you or the police. But I do. For one thing, when I talk to the police I like to be able—”
The doorbell rang. When visitors were present Fritz usually answered the door, but he had orders to stick to his post in the kitchen, so I got up and went to the hall, circling behind the arc of the chairs. I switched on the stoop light for a look through the one-way glass. One glance was enough. Stepping back into the office, I stood until Wolfe caught my eye.
“The man about the chair,” I told him.
He frowned. “Tell him I’m—” He stopped, and the frown cleared. “No. I’ll see him. If you’ll excuse me a moment?” He pushed his chair back, made it to his feet, and came, detouring around Koven. I let him precede me into the hall and closed that door before joining him. He strode to the front, peered through the glass, and opened the door. The chain bolt stopped it at a crack of two inches.
Wolfe spoke through the crack. “Well, sir?”
Inspector Cramer’s voice was anything but friendly. “I’m coming in.”