“In a moment. Mr. Wolfe is peevish and might irritate you, so if you’ll remove yourself, on down to the sidewalk, I’ll let them out, and they are yours.”
“I’m coming in.”
“No. Don’t even think of it.”
“I want you too.”
“Yeah, I thought so. I’ll be along shortly. Twentieth Street?”
“Now. With me.”
“Again no. I have to ask Mr. Wolfe if there’s anything we wouldn’t want to bother you with, and if so what. Where do I go, Twentieth Street?”
“Yes, and not tomorrow.”
“Right. Glad to oblige. The subjects are here at my elbow, so if you’ll just descend the steps — and be careful, don’t fall.”
He muttered something I didn’t catch, turned, and started down. When he was at the bottom of the seven steps I removed the bolt, swung the door open, and told our former clients, “Okay. In return for the sandwiches and coffee, here’s a suggestion. Don’t answer a single damn question until you have got a lawyer and talked with him. Even if—”