“I have,” Wolfe said brusquely. “I assure you.”
“About orchids? That seems hardly—”
“Not orchids. Murder. I know who shot that man.”
Hewitt’s eyes opened wide. “You know who shot him?”
“I do.”
“But my dear Mr. Wolfe.” Hewitt was displeased but courteous. “That is scarcely a matter to discuss confidentially with me. The proper authorities—”
“I prefer to discuss it with you first. I suggest that we keep our voices as low as possible. It’s quite possible that a policeman has his ear at the door—”
“Bosh! This melodramatic—”
“Please, Mr. Hewitt. Don’t sneer at melodrama; that’s only a point of view. I wish to give you a fresh point of view on the death of Harry Gould. The shot was fired by my assistant, Mr. Goodwin. — Please let me finish. First to establish the fact. Archie?”
I had sat down. The fat bum had taken my dagger away from me. I looked at him and said bitterly, “What if I let you down?”