Рекс Стаут - Please Pass the Guilt

Wolfe was on his stool at the center table with a beer glass in his hand. “You win,” I said. “He had it and we got it.”

“Where is he?”

“In the hall.”

You wouldn’t believe how easy and smooth he can remove his seventh of a ton off of a stool. I followed him down the hall. Meer was still huddled on the bench and still shaking. Wolfe stood and looked down at him for a good ten seconds, told Fred, “Stay here,” went back down the hall and opened the office door and entered, and I followed. Browning, in the red leather chair, asked, “Did he come? The doorbell rang five min—”

“Shut up,” Wolfe snapped, and crossed to his desk and sat and glared at them. “Yes,” he said, “he came. When he came Saturday, day before yesterday, he was in his own car, but he didn’t leave his brief case in it. He kept it with him, and he kept it in his lap as he sat where you are now. When I decided today to ask him to come, later, I thought it likely that he would bring the brief case, and if so there would be a bomb in it, since he would know you two were here. It was only a conjecture, but well-grounded, and it has been verified. He came, and he had the brief case, and it is now in my basement under a pile of mattresses. On your way out, you will pass him in the hall — prostrated, wretched, defeated. Pass him, just pass him. He is no longer yours. I am now—”

“But my god, what—”

“ Shut up! I am now going to call Mr. Cramer and ask him to come and bring with him men who know how to deal with bombs. If you don’t want to encounter him, leave at once. Go.”

He turned to me. “Get him, Archie.”

I swiveled and dialed.