The Doorbell Rang (The Rex Stout Library)

I returned to the front, slid the bolt, and swung the door open, and he entered. As I was shutting the door he told me I was Archie Goodwin, and I conceded it, took care of his coat and hat, and led him to the office. Three steps in he stopped to glance around, aimed the glance at Wolfe, and demanded, "Did you get my name?"

Wolfe nodded. "Mr Quayle."

He advanced to the desk. "I am a friend of Miss Marian Hinckley. I want to know what kind of a game you're playing. I want an explanation."

"Bah," Wolfe said.

"Don't bah me! What are you up to?"

"This is ridiculous," Wolfe said. "I like eyes at a level. If you can only blather at me, Mr Goodwin will put you out. If you will take that chair, change your tone, and give me an acceptable reason why I should account to you, I may listen."

Quayle opened his mouth and shut it again. He turned his head to look at me, there on my feet, apparently to see if I was man enough. I would have liked it just as well if he had decided I wasn't, for after that night and day I would have welcomed an excuse to twist another arm. But he vetoed it, went to the red leather chair and sat, and scowled at Wolfe. "I know about you," he said. Not so blathery, but not at all sociable. "I know how you operate. If you want to hook Mrs Althaus for some change, that's her lookout, but you're not going to drag Miss Hinckley in. I don't intend-"

"Archie," Wolfe snapped. "Put him out. Fritz will open the door." He pushed a button.

I stepped to about arm's length from the red leather chair and stood looking down at the hero. Fritz came, and Wolfe told him to hold the front door open, and he went.

Quayle's situation was bad. With me standing there in front of him, if he started to leave the chair I could get about any hold I wanted while he was coming up. But my situation was bad too. Removing a 180-pound man from a padded armchair is a problem, and he had savvy enough to stay put, leaning back. But his feet weren't pulled in enough. I started my hands for his shoulders, then dived and got his ankles and yanked and kept going, and had him in the hall, on his back, before he could even try to counter, and then the damn fool tried to turn to get hand leverage on the floor. At the front door I braked when Fritz got his arms and held them down.

"There's snow on the stoop," I said. "If I let you up and give you your hat and coat, just walk out. I know more tricks than you do. Right?"

"Yes. You goddam goon."