The Rubber Band

"Yes, I know." Wolfe sighed. "But you can't very well lock me up, for then I wouldn't be free to unravel this tangle for my client- and for you. I said, barely possible." He sat up straight, abruptly. "Barely possible, sir! Confound all of you! You marquises that need protection, you hyenas of finance, you upholders of the power to persecute and defame! And don't mistake this outburst as a display of moral indignation; it is merely the practical protest of a man of business who finds his business interfered with by ignorance and stupidity. I expect to collect a fee from my client. Miss Fox. To do that I need to prosecute a claim for her, for a legal debt, I need to clear her from the false accusation of larceny, and I fear I need to discover who murdered Harlan Scovil. Those are legitimate needs, and I shall pursue them. If you want to protect your precious marquis, for God's sake do so! Surround him with a ring of iron and steel, or immerse him in antiseptic jelly! But don't annoy me when I'm trying to work! It is past one o'clock, and I must be up shortly after six, and Mr. Goodwin and I have things to do. I have every right to advise Miss Fox to avoid unfriendly molestation. If you want her, search for her. I have said that I will answer no question regarding her whereabouts, but I will tell you this much: if you undertake to invade these premises with a search warrant, you won't find her here."

Wolfe's half a glass of bear was flat, but he didn't mind that. He reached for it and swallowed it. Then he took the handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped his lips. "Well, sir?"

Cramer put his cigar stub in the tray, rubbed the palms of his hands together for a while, pulled at the lobe of his ear, and stood up- He looked down at Wolfe.

"I like you, you know. You know damn well I do. But this thing is to some extent out of my hands. The Commissioner was talking on the telephone this evening with the Department of Justice. That's the kind of a layout it is. They might really send and get you. That's a friendly warning."

"Thank you, sir. You're going? Mr. Goodwin will let you out."