The Squirt and the Monkey

Начало книги

I was doing two things at once. With my hands I was getting my armpit holster and the Marley .32 from a drawer of my desk, and with my tongue I was giving Nero Wolfe a lecture on economics.

“The most you can hope to soak him,” I stated, “is five hundred bucks. Deduct a C for twenty per cent for overhead and another C for expenses incurred, that leaves three hundred. Eighty-five per cent for income tax will leave you with forty-five bucks clear for the wear and tear on your brain and my legs, not to mention the risk. That wouldn’t buy—”

“Risk of what?” He muttered that only to be courteous, to show that he had heard what I said, though actually he wasn’t listening. Seated behind his desk, he was scowling, not at me but at the crossword puzzle in the London Times.

“Complications,” I said darkly. “You heard him explain it. Playing games with a gun is sappy.” I was contorted, buckling the strap of the holster. That done, I picked up my coat. “Since you’re listed in the red book as a detective, and since I draw pay, such as it is, as your licensed assistant, I’m all for detecting for people on request. But this bozo wants to do it himself, using our firearm as a prop.” I felt my tie to see if it was straight. I didn’t cross to the large mirror on the far wall of the office for a look, because whenever I did so in Wolfe’s presence he snorted. “We might just as well,” I declared, “send it up to him by messenger.”

Читать дальше →