The Rubber Band/The Red Box 2-In-1 by Rex Stout Page A

doing the best we can. In the kitchen is a man named Fred Durkin, whom you have seen. Within his capacity, he is worthy of your trust and mine. I would suggest—”
    “I don’t want any Durkin.” Walsh was on his feet again. “I don’t want anything from you at all. I’ll just be going.”
    “But Mr. Walsh.” Wolfe wiggled a finger at him. “Believe me, it will not pay to be headstrong. I am not by nature an alarmist, but there are certain features of this affair—”
    “So I notice.” Walsh stepped up to the desk. “The features is what I don’t like about it.” He looked at Clara Fox, then at me, then at Wolfe, letting us know what the features were. “I may be past me prime, but I’m not in a box yet. What kind of a shenanigan would ye like to try on an old man, huh? I’m to go out and hide, am I? Do I get to ask a question or two?”
    “That’s three.” Wolfe sighed. “Go ahead.”
    Walsh whirled on me. “You, Goodwin’s your name? Was it you that answered the phone yesterday, the call that came for Harlan Scovil?”
    “No.” I grinned at him. “I wasn’t here.”
    “Where was you?”
    “At the office of the Seaboard Products Corporation, where Miss Fox works.”
    “Ha! Was you indeed. You wasn’t here. I suppose it couldn’t have been you that phoned here to Harlan.”
    “Sure it could have, but it wasn’t. Listen, Mr. Walsh—”
    “I’ve listened enough. I’ve been listening to this Clara Fox for a year and looking at her pretty face, and I had no reason to doubt her maybe, and this is what’s come out of it, I’ve helped lead my old friend Harlan Scovil into an ambush to his death. My old friend Harlan.” He stopped abruptly, and shut his lips tight, and looked around at us while a big fat tear suddenly popped out of each of his eyes and rolled ondown, leaving a mark across his wrinkles. He went on, “I ate a meal with you. A meal and three drinks. Maybe I’d like to puke it up some day. Or maybe you’re all square shooters, I don’t know, but I know somebody ain’t, and I’m going to find out who it is. What’s this about them being after Miss Fox for stealing money? I can find out about that too. And if I want anything collected from this English Marquis nobleman, I can collect it myself. Goodnight to ye all.” He turned and headed for the door.
    Wolfe snapped, “Get him, Archie.”
    Remembering the gun on his hip, I went and folded myself around him and locked him. He let out a snarl and tried some twisting and unloosed a couple of kicks at my shins, but in four seconds he had sense enough to see it was no go. He quivered a little and then stood quiet, but I kept him tight. He said:
    “It’s me now, is it?”
    Wolfe spoke across the room at him. “You called me an idiot, Mr. Walsh. I return the compliment. What is worse, you are hotheaded. But you are an old man, so there is humanity’s debt to you. You may go where you please, but I must warn you that every step you take may be a dangerous step. Furthermore, when you talk, every word may be dangerous not only to you but to Miss Fox and Miss Lindquist. I strongly advise you to adopt the precautions—”
    “I’ll do me own precautions.”
    “Mike!” Clara Fox came, her hand out. “Mike, you can’t be thinking … what Mr. Wolfe says is right. Don’t desert us now. Turn him loose, Mr. Goodwin. Shake hands, Mike.”
    He shook his head. “Did you see him grab me, and all I was doing was walking out on me own feet? I hate the damn detectives and always have, and what was he doing at your office? And if you’re my enemy, Clara Fox, God help you, and if not then you can be my friend. Not now. When he turns me loose I’ll be going.”
    Wolfe said, “Release him, Archie. Goodnight, Mr. Walsh.”
    I let my muscles go and stepped back. Mike Walsh put a hand up to feel his ribs, turned to look at me, and then to Wolfe. He said:
    “But I’m no idiot. Show me that back way.”
    Clara Fox begged him, “Don’t