Trouble In Triplicate by Rex Stout

not budging, looked at me, which struck me as childish under the circumstances, but not caring to make a point of it I followed Wolfe, and Fabian followed me. When he had passed through I closed the door, and saw at a glance that the connecting door to the office was already shut. They were both soundproofed. Figured by pounds, Wolfe would have made more than two of Fabian.
    Figured by survival potential, it was anybody's guess. Wolfe didn't seem to be concerned with either calculation. He only said, 'It is a part of your legend, sir, that you never go anywhere unarmed. Are you armed now?'
    As far as I could see there wasn't the slightest change in the expression of Fabian's eyes, but a little crease showed between his eyebrows, as if he wasn't sure he had heard right. Then apparently he decided he had, because the crease disappeared.
    'Yeah,' he said. 'Any objections?'
    'None at all. But-I'm not calling you a liar-but I would be better satisfied if I saw proof. Where is your weapon'Easily available?'
    'Yeah.'
    'Would you mind showing it to me?'
    'Comedy,' Fabian said. The crease had appeared again. 'I could have had it out and in again twenty times. I came to get some proof from you. You and this Goodwin-'
    'Excuse me.' Wolfe was crisp and cool. 'We'll go in the office and sit down. The people in there are a lawyer, Mr. Schwartz, a law student, Mr. Schane, and a man who works for me, Mr. Panzer.' He had stepped to the connecting door and was opening it. 'This way, sir.' I followed him, preceding Fabian in accordance with the underworld's Emily Post. Wolfe stood in the middle of the office and pronounced names, but there was no handshaking. Fabian got the scene with a slow take, his head doing the arc from right to left, and then picked a chair backed up against a section of the bookshelves. Schwartz was in the red leather chair, and Morton Schane was off to my right, on the couch in the corner made by the wall of the lavatory that had been built in. Saul Panzer, in a chair with its back to the wall, was six feet the other side of Schwartz.
    Wolfe, from behind his desk, looked around at us, then leveled off at Fabian. He spoke casually. 'I must apologize, sir, for appropriating a few moments of your time. I realize it is your time, since you made an appointment to come here, and therefore you should have first say. But this will only take me-'
    The damn doorbell rang. Wolfe went right on, but darted a glance at me when he saw I was staying put. I met the glance deadpan. Without consulting him about it, I had told Fritz to attend to the door if the bell rang, not intending to do any trotting in and out under the circumstances. I suppose I should have told him to keep the door bolted, which he never did when I was there unless so instructed, but subconsciously I must have figured that with Fabian already inside it wouldn't matter who else came. The result was that unwelcome noises came from the hall, including voices, one of which was Fritz's yelling for me.
    'Archie! ARCHIE!'
    I was up and on my way, but the gate-crasher must have galloped right through Fritz, for I was still ten feet short of the door to the hall when he entered the office. At sight of him I locked my brakes and held my breath. What was flashing through my mind was nothing you could call a thought, but just a pair of facts. One was Fabian. The other was Thumbs Meeker. I backed up so fast I bumped into the corner of Wolfe's desk, and hung there, looking. Fabian was on his feet and was furnishing the proof Wolfe had asked for. It was in his hand, with his elbow against his hip and his forearm extended. Schwartz had left the red leather chair and was kneeling on the floor behind it.
    As far as Meeker and Fabian were concerned, they were the only two there. Their gazes had met and held. Fabian's gun was steady and pointed, the same as his eyes, but no blast came. Meeker's hands hung at his sides.
    'You'd better lift 'em,' Fabian said, no less hoarse and no more.