“I don’t believe it.” Dill’s voice indicated that nothing was going to make him believe it. “With the care we take. I am convinced it was done deliberately and maliciously, to ruin my exhibit. And I’m going to know who it was. I’ll pay you a thousand dollars to find out for me.”
Wolfe abandoned the ship. Not physically, but mentally. His face went bland and blank. “I don’t believe I could undertake it, Mr. Dill.”
“Why not? You’re a detective, aren’t you? Isn’t that your business?”
“It is.”
“This is a job for a detective. Isn’t it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you wouldn’t walk across the continent to take a swim in the Pacific Ocean. The effort and expense are out of proportion to the object sought. You say you have no evidence. Do you suspect anyone in particular?”
“No. But I absolutely intend—”
I butted in. I said to Wolfe, “I’ve got to go and judge some brussels sprouts,” and I beat it.