I disconnected and told Cramer, “Miss Tracy is up helping with the orchids and will be available when wanted. Excuse me.” I found Hewitt’s Long Island number and requested it, and finally got him via two butlers and a secretary, and put him through to Wolfe. Then I swiveled around and crossed my legs and clasped my hands back of my head.
“Okay, Inspector. I’m disengaged for the moment. What shall we talk about?”
“Murder.”
“Fine. Any particular murder?”
Cramer took a cigar from his pocket and put it in his mouth and took it out again. He was controlling himself. “I hand it to you,” he said. “For barefaced lying I’d play you on the nose. Up there yesterday. You didn’t know anyone or anything. But—” He put the cigar back in his mouth. “But you’ve been hanging around there all week. Every day. And then a man gets murdered and there you are. You and Nero Wolfe.”
I nodded sympathetically. “I admit it looks sinister. But as I told you yesterday, Wolfe sent me there to look at orchids.”
“There were no orchids in the Rucker and Dill exhibit.”
“No, but there was — you know what there was. You’ve seen her. And I’m only a man after all—”
“All right, clown it. Yesterday afternoon about twenty minutes past four you were seen by young Updegraff, with Wolfe and Lewis Hewitt, in the corridor back of the Rucker and Dill exhibit. What were you doing there?”
“Well.” I hesitated. “If I told you I was pulling the string that fired the shot that killed Harry Gould, would you believe me?”