Kid stuff.
I got out a book on toxicology, and I suppose to an ignorant pnlooker I would have appeared to be a studious fellow buried in research, but as a matter of fact I was a caged tiger.
I wanted to get in a lick somewhere, so much that it made my stomach ache.
I wanted to all the more, because I had scored a couple of muffs on the case, once when I had failed to bring Gebert away from that gang of gorillas up at Glennanne, and once when I had beat it from 73rd Street three minutes before Perren Gebert got his right there on the spot
It was the humor I was in that made me not any too hospitable when, around ten o'clock, Fritz brought me the card of a visitor and I saw it was Mathias R.
Frisbie.
I told Fritz to show him in.
I had heard of this Frisbie, an Assistant District Attorney, but had never seen him. I observed, when he entered, that I hadn't missed much.
He was the window-dummy type-high collar, clothes pressed very nice, and embalmed stiff and cold. The only thing you could tell from his eyes was that his self-esteem almost hurt him.
He told me he wanted to see Nero Wolfe.
I told him that Mr. Wolfe would be engaged, as always in the morning, until eleven o'clock.
He said it was urgent and important business and he required to see him at once.
I grinned at him:
“Wait here a minute.”
I moseyed up three flights of stairs to the plant rooms and found Wolfe with Theodore, experimenting with a new method of pollenizing for hybrid seeds.
He nodded to admit I was there.
I said,
“The drastic action is downstairs.
Name of Frisbie.
The guy that handled the Clara Fox larceny for Muir, remember?
He wishes you to drop everything immediately and hurry down.”
Wolfe didn't speak.
I waited half a minute and then asked pleasantly,
“Shall I tell him you're stricken dumb?”
Wolfe grunted.
He said without turning,
“And you were glad to see him.
Even an Assistant District Attorney, and even that one.
Don't deny it.
It gave you an excuse to pester me.
Very well, you've pestered me.
Go.”
“No message?”
“None.
Go.”
I ambled back downstairs.
I thought Frisbie might like to have a few moments to himself, so I stopped in the kitchen for a little chat with Fritz regarding the prospects for lunch and other interesting topics.
When I wandered into the office Frisbie was sitting down, frowning, with his elbows on the arms of his chair and his fingertips all meeting each other, properly matched.
I said,
“Oh, yes. Mr. Frisbie. Since you say you must talk with Mr. Wolfe himself, can I get you a book or something? The morning paper?
He will be down at eleven.” Frisbie's fingertips parted. He demanded,
“He's here, isn't her
“Certainly.
He's never anywhere else.”
“Then-I won't wait an hour.
I was warned to expect this.
I won't tolerate it.” I shrugged.
“Okay.
I'll make it as easy as I can for you.
Do you want to look at the morning paper while you're not tolerating it?”