Fer-De-Lance

"Sure you need it." Larry had got up too and was brushing grass from the seat of his trousers. "But you won’t get it. Where’s your hat, in the house?"

I nodded. "We can get it when you go in to telephone. Look here, it’s like this. I’ve got to ask you to phone Manuel Kimball, and the Robertsons, and the Green Meadow Club. That’s all I have on my mind at present, but there may be more later. I’ve got to go around and see people and find out things, and the easier you make it for me the easier it will be for you. Nero Wolfe knew enough, and told the police enough, to make them dig up your father’s body. That was a good deal, but he didn’t tell them everything. Do you want to force me to go to the District Attorney and spill enough more beans so that he will give me a ticket that will let me in wherever I want to go? He’s sore at us now because he knows we’re holding out on him. I’d just as soon go and make a friend of him, I don’t mind, I like to make friends. You folks certainly don’t. If this strikes you as some more blackmail, Mr. Barstow, I’ll just get my hat and call it a day as far as you’re concerned."

It was a crime, but I had to do it. The trouble with those two, especially the brother, was that they were so used to being safe and independent and dignified all their lives that they kept forgetting how scared they were and had to be reminded. But they were plenty scared when it came to the point, and if I had cared to make them a present of all my ideas that afternoon I would have had to admit that it looked to me as if they had reason to be scared.

They gave in, of course. We went into the house together, and Sarah Barstow telephoned the Robertsons and her brother phoned the club and Manuel Kimball. I had decided that there wasn’t a chance in a million that I would get anything out of any of the servants, particularly if they had been trained by that tall skinny butler, so as soon as the telephoning was over I got my panama from the hall and beat it.

Larry Barstow went with me out to the side terrace, I suppose to make sure that I didn’t sneak hack in and listen at keyholes. Just as we came to the steps a car rolled along the drive and stopped in front of us. A man got out, anol I had the pleasure of a good grin as I saw it was H. H. Corbett, the dick from Anderson’s office who had tried to crash the gate at Wolfe’s house the morning I was acting as doorman. I passed him a cheerful salute and was going on, but he called to me: "Hey, you!"