I won’t say that I already knew things I didn’t know, but I already had stirrings above the ears and, besides, I didn’t want Wolfe to bust a lung, so I went that way and found him standing with Hewitt a few paces to the rear of the throng.
“Hold everything,” I muttered to him.
“Confound you—”
“I said hold everything.” I cantered off to the phone booths at the front of the room, parted with a nickel and dialed a number and got connected with Extension 19, gave my name and asked for Inspector Cramer. His voice came:
“What do you want?”
“Me? Nothing. I’m helping with the chores. Wolfe and I are up at the Flower Show—”
“I’m busy!”
“Okay. Now you’re busier. Rucker and Dill’s exhibit, third floor, Flower Show. Man murdered. Shot through the top of the head. Lying there on the grass guarded by one bull-necked bull who will never be an inspector. That’s all.”
“Wait a min—”
“Can’t. I’m busy.”