"We've been waiting for you, Mr Driscoll-"
"I'm sorry," the plump one stammered, edging around. "Very sorry. unh. this is Mr Thompson, my lawyer-Mr Miltan. "
As the grey-haired one extended a hand for the shake he conceded the point without reservation or qualification. "I am Mr Driscoll's counsel. I thought it best to come personally-this regrettable affair-extremely regrettable. Will you kindly introduce me to Miss Tormic? If you will be so good. "
That was done by Miltan, who looked a little bewildered. The lawyer's bow was courteous and respectful, as was his verbal acknowledgement; Neya stood motionless and silent. He turned. "These people-are these the persons whom Mr Driscoll-before whom he accused Miss Tormic-"
Miltan nodded. "We've been waiting for him, to-"
"I know. We're late. My client was reluctant to come, and I had to persuade him that his presence was necessary. Miss Tormic, what I have to say is addressed primarily to you, but these others should hear it-in fact, they must hear it, in justice to you. First for the facts. When Mr Driscoll left his home yesterday morning he had in his pocket a pillbox containing diamonds which he intended to take to a jeweller to be set in a bracelet. From his office he phoned the jeweller and discussed the matter. His secretary took the box of diamonds to arrange for their delivery. They are at the jeweller's now. Here, later, Mr Driscoll, lamentably and inexcusably, but innocently, forgot that his secretary-"
A clatter of comment from all corners interrupted him. He smiled at Neya, but got nothing in return. Driscoll had a handkerchief out, wiping his brow, trying to find a place to look without meeting a pair of eyes. Miltan sputtered:
"Do you mean to say that this infamous-this irresponsible-?"
"Please!" The lawyer had a hand up. "Please let me finish. Mr Driscoll's lapse of memory was inexcusable. But he was honestly convinced that he had seen Miss Tormic with his coat-"
"It was my coat," Ludlow snapped. "Of the same pattern. I have it on."
"I see. Well. That explains that. Was it in the same locker?"
"The one adjoining." Ludlow was severe. "But Mr Driscoll should know that before making a grave accusation-"
"Certainly he should." The lawyer conceded everything again. "Even the coincidence of the coats is no excuse for him. That's why I insisted on his coming, to make his apology to Miss Tormic in the presence of all of you. His reluctance is understandable. He is extremely embarrassed and humiliated." He eyed his client. "Well?"
Driscoll, gripping his handkerchief, faced Neya Tormic. "I apologize," he mumbled. "I'm damn sorry." The mumble became abruptly and surprisingly an outraged roar: "Of course I'm sorry, damn it!"
Someone giggled. Nikola Miltan said grimly, "You certainly should be sorry. It might have been disastrous, both for Miss Tormic and for me."
"I know it. I've said I'm sorry, and I am."
The lawyer put in smoothly and sweetly, "I hope, Miss Tormic. may we hope for an expression from you-of forgiveness? Of-er-quittance?" He took an envelope from his pocket. "In fact, I thought it would be as well for you to have Mr Driscoll's written apology to support his oral one, so I brought it along"-he got a paper from the envelope-"and I brought also a quittance, just an informal sentence or two, which I'm sure you will want to sign for him in return-"
"Just a minute." It was me entering on my cue. "I represent Miss Tormic."
The way he went on guard like lightning, facially, was a treat. He demanded, "Who are you, sir? A lawyer?"
"Nope, I'm not a lawyer, but I speak English and I represent Miss Tormic, and we're not before a court. She isn't signing anything."
"But, my dear sir, why not? Merely an informal-"
"That's the trouble, it's too informal. For instance, what if Miltan here gets sore about this fracas, though it's not her fault, and she loses her job? Or what if this thing had been turned loose around town and she can't catch up with it? Nothing doing on the quittance."
"I have no intention," Miltan put in, "of dismissing Miss Tormic. But I agree that it is not necessary for her to sign anything. I am quite sure she will have no desire to make trouble for Mr Driscoll." He looked at her.
She spoke for the first time: "No, certainly." She sounded darned unconcerned for a girl who had just escaped being thrown in the hoosegow as a sneak thief. Almost indifferent, as if her mind was on something else: "I will make no trouble."
The lawyer pounced on her. "Then, Miss Tormic, if you feel that way, surely you have no objection to signing-"
"Damn it, let her alone!" It was his own client tripping him up. Driscoll glared at him. "Damn a lawyer anyway! If I'd had the nerve to face it, I'd have done just as well if I'd come alone!" He confronted Miltan. "Now I've apologized! I'm sorry! I'm damn sorry! I like this place. I've been overweight for years. I'm damn near fat! I've monkeyed around with exercises and health farms and damn fool games throwing a ball and riding a horse as tall as a skyscraper, and the first thing I've ever done to sweat that is any fun is what I do here! I may be a rotten fencer, but I like it! I don't care whether Miss Tormic signs a paper or not. I want to be friends with Miltan!" He whirled. "Miss Lovchen! I want to be friends with you! Miss Tormic is your friend and I acted like a damn fool. I am a damn fool. Will you fence with me or won't you? I mean right now!"
Somebody snickered. People moved. The lawyer looked dignified. Carla said, "I work for Mr Miltan. I'll follow his instructions." Miltan said something conciliatory and diplomatic, and it was apparent that Mr Driscoll wasn't going to be deprived of his fun. I faded into the background. The chinless wonder, whose name I hadn't got, a blond guy with thin lips and an aggressive nose who stood and walked like a soldier, went up to Neya with a thin smile and said something evidently meant to be agreeable, and was followed by Donald Barrett for a similar performance. Mrs Miltan crossed to her and patted her on the shoulder, and then she was approached by Percy Ludlow. They spoke together a minute, and she left him and headed for me.
I grinned at her. "Well, a pretty good show. I hope you didn't mind my horning in. Nero Wolfe never lets a client sign anything except a cheque drawn to his order."
"I don't mind. I say good-bye. I am going to fence with Mr Ludlow. Thank you for coming."
"Your eyes glitter."
"My eyes? They always glitter."
"Any message for your father?"
"I think-not now. No."
"You ought to run down and say hallo to him."
"I will some day. Au revoir, then."
"So-long."
Turning to go, she bumped into the lawyer and he apologized profusely. That accomplished, he addressed me:
"Could I have your name, sir?"
I told him.
He repeated it. "Archie Goodwin. Thank you. If I may ask, in what capacity do you represent Miss Tormic?"
I was exasperated. "Look here," I said, "I am willing to stipulate that a lawyer has a right to live, and I'm aware that even when he's dead no worm will enter his coffin because if it did he'd make it sign some kind of a paper. I suppose if you don't get that thing signed you'll have a tantrum. Give it to me."
From the envelope, which he was still clutching in his hand, he extracted the document and handed it over. A glance showed me that his two informal sentences were, in fact, five legal-sized paragraphs. I got out my pen and with a quick flourish signed on the dotted line at the bottom: "Queen Victoria."
"There," I said, and shoved it at him and moved off before he could react, considering how dignity slows a man up.
The room was about empty. Miltan's wife was over by a desk, talking with Belinda Reade. Carla Lovchen, along with the others, had disappeared, presumably to let the rich fat man enjoy some fun. He must have been a pip of a swordsman, I reflected, as I got my hat and coat from the rack and meandered to the hall and out the street door to the sidewalk.