Well, come on, who's in charge?
Who's responsible for this outrage?”
There was a cackle from the porch, a shadow in the corner.
“I've got a right to be here, ain't I, Archie?”
I peered at it.
“Oh, hi, Fred.
What are you doing out here in the cold?”
He ambled toward me.
“We didn't want to open the door, because this bunch of highbinders might take a notion-”
I snorted.
“Where would they get it from? – All right, nobody's in charge, is that it?
Fred, call Saul-”
“I'll take the responsibility!”
A little squirt had popped up and I saw his spectacles. He squealed,
“I'm the Assistant District Attorney of this county!
We have a legal right-”
I did some towering over him.
“You have a legal right to go home and go to bed.
Have you got a warrant or a subpoena or even a cigarette paper?”
“No, there wasn't time-”
“Then shut up.”
I turned to Rowcliff and the trooper.
“You think I'm being tough?
Not at all, I'm just indignant and I have a right to be. You've got a nerve, to come to a private house in the middle of the night and expect to go through it, without any evidence that there has ever been anything or anyone criminal in it.
What do you want, the red box?
It's Nero Wolfe's property, and if it's in there I'll get it and put it in my pocket and walk out with it, and don't try to play tag with me, because I'm sensitive about coming in contact with people.”
I brushed past them and mounted the porch, crossed to the door and rapped on it:
“Come here, Fred.
Saul!”
I heard his voice from inside:
“Hello, Archie! Okay?”
“Sure, okay.
Open the door!
Stand by, Fred.”
The gang had stood up and edged toward us a little.
I heard the lock turning; the door swung open and a lane of light ribboned the porch; Saul stood on the threshold with Orrie back of him.
Fred and I were there too.
I faced the throng:
“I hereby order you to leave these premises.
All of you.
In other words, beat it.
Now do as you damn please, but its on the record that you're here illegally, for future reference.
We resent your scuffing up the porch, but if you try coming in the house we'll resent that a lot worse.
Back up, Saul. Come on, Fred.”
We went in.
Saul closed the door and locked it.
I looked around.
Knowing that the joint belonged to McNair, I halfway expected to see some more decorators' delights, but it was rustic.
Nice big chairs and seats with cushions and a big heavy wooden table, and a blaze crackling in a wide fireplace at one end.
I turned to Fred Durkin: