“No one sent for you!” he said. “What gives you the right to be here, mister policeman? Walking around as if you own the place?” Vimes paused, his heart singing. He savored the moment. He’d like to take this moment and press it carefully in a big book, so that when he was old he could take it out occasionally and remember it. He reached into his breastplate and pulled out the lawyer’s letter. “Well, if you would like the most fundamental reason,” he said, “it is because I rather think I do.”
