Rex Stout - Nero Wolfe 02 by The League of Frightened Men Page B

and Gaines in, at ten minutes past nine. Of course they all knew each other, but it couldn’t be said they were getting much gaiety out of it, not even Mike Ayers, who was going around with an empty glass in his hand, scowling. The others were mostly sitting with their funeral manners on. I went to Wolfe’s desk and gave Fritz’s button three short pokes. In a couple of minutes I heard the faint hum of the elevator.
    The door of the office opened and everybody turned their heads. Wolfe came in; Fritz pulled the door to behind him. He waddled halfway to his desk, stopped, turned, and said, “Good evening, gentlemen.” He went to his chair, got the edge of the seat up against the back of his knees and his grip on the arms, and lowered himself.
    Mike Ayers demanded my attention by waving his glass at me and calling, “Hey! A eunuch
and
a camel!”
    Wolfe raised his head a little and said in one of his best tones, “Are you suggesting those additions to Mr. Chapin’s catalogue of his internal menagerie?”
    “Huh? Oh. I’m suggesting—”
    George Pratt said, “Shut up, Mike,” and Farrell the architect grabbed him and pulled him into a chair.
    I had handed Wolfe a list showing those who were present, and he had glanced over it. He looked up and spoke. “I am glad to see that Mr. Cabot and Mr. Adler are here. Both, I believe, attorneys. Their knowledge and their trained minds will restrain us from vulgar errors. I note also the presence of Mr. Michael Ayers, a journalist. He is one of your number, so I merely remark that the risk of publicity, should you wish to avoid it—”
    Mike Ayers growled, “I’m not a journalist, I’m a newshound. I interviewed Einstein—”
    “How drunk are you?”
    “Hell, how do I know?”
    Wolfe’s brow lifted. “Gentlemen?”
    Farrell said, “Mike’s all right. Forget him. He’s all right.”
    Julius Adler the lawyer, about the build of a lead-pencil stub, looking like a necktie clerk except for his eyes and the way he was dressed, put in, “I would say yes. We realize that this is your house, Mr. Wolfe, and that Mr. Ayers is lit, but after all we don’t suppose that you invited us here to censor our private habits. You have something to say to us?”
    “Oh, yes …”
    “My name is Adler.”
    “Yes, Mr. Adler. Your remark illustrates what I knew would be the chief hindrance in my conversation with you gentlemen. I was aware that you would be antagonistic at the outset. You are all badly frightened, and a frightened man is hostile almost by reflex,as a defense. He suspects everything and everyone. I knew that you would regard me with suspicion.”
    “Nonsense.” It was Cabot, the other lawyer. “We are not frightened, and there is nothing to suspect you of. If you have anything to say to us, say it.”
    I said, “Mr. Nicholas Cabot.”
    Wolfe nodded. “If you aren’t frightened, Mr. Cabot, there is nothing to discuss. I mean that. You might as well go home.” Wolfe opened his eyes and let them move slowly across the eleven faces. “You see, gentlemen, I invited you here this evening only after making a number of assumptions. If any one of them is wrong, this meeting is a waste of time, yours and mine. The first assumption is that you are convinced that Mr. Paul Chapin has murdered two, possibly three, of your friends. The second, that you are apprehensive that unless something is done about it he will murder you. The third, that my abilities are equal to the task of removing your apprehension; and the fourth, that you will be willing to pay well for that service. Well?”
    They glanced at one another. Mike Ayers started to get up from his chair and Farrell pulled him back. Pratt muttered loud enough to reach Wolfe, “Good here.” Cabot said:
    “We are convinced that Paul Chapin is a dangerous enemy of society. That naturally concerns us. As to your abilities …”
    Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “Mr. Cabot. If it amuses you to maintain the fiction that you