by Rex Stout
“I realize,” I said, “that you’re up against it. Even if you push the fee to the limit, say another hundred grand, it still might not be enough to last the whole year, and around Labor Day, or at least Thanksgiving, you might have to take on a job, so you need to squeeze out every nickel you can. But she has been a marvelous client, and you should have some consideration for her, and indirectly for me too in case I decide to marry her. She has a lot of other expenses besides you, and now she’ll have another one, now that she’s going to supply a high-priced lawyer to defend Sarah Dacos. Have a heart.”
“As you know, Miss Dacos has confessed.”
“So she’ll need a lawyer even more. I feel very strongly about this. I invited her to lunch. I am almost prepared to say that if she is billed for it I will feel that I must tell her privately that it was on the house. She may want—”
The doorbell rang. I got up and went to the hall and saw a character on the stoop I had never seen before, but I had seen plenty of pictures of him. I stepped back in and said, “Well, well. The big fish.”
He frowned at me, then got it, and did something he never does. He left his chair and came. We stood side by side, looking. The caller put a finger to the button, and the doorbell rang.
“No appointment,” I said. “Shall I take him to the front room to wait a while?”
“No. I have nothing for him. Let him get a sore finger.” He turned and went back in to his desk.
I stepped in. “He probably came all the way from Washington just to see you. Quite an honor.”
“Pfui. Come and finish this.”
I returned to my chair. “As I was saying, I may have to tell her privately …”
The doorbell rang.
