“You goddamn balloon,” Cramer sputtered helplessly. It was the first and only time I ever heard him cuss in the presence of ladies.
I unwrapped myself from him and stepped back. He shook himself and barked at Wolfe:
“Are you going to just sit there? Are we going to just sit here? Isn’t there — can’t you call someone—”
“I’ll try,” Wolfe said placidly. He lifted the osmundine fork and thumped the floor with it, five times, at regular intervals.
Lewis Hewitt murmured, believe it or not, apparently to Theodore, “I was in the dramatic club at college.”
Chapter 10
All right, I’ll buy you a medal,” Inspector Cramer said in utter disgust.
Five hours had passed. It was six thirty that evening, and the three of us were in the office. I was at my desk, Cramer was in the red leather chair, and Wolfe was seated behind his own desk, leaning back with his fingertips touching on top of his digestive domain. He looked a little creasy around the eyes, which were almost open.
Cramer went on sputtering: “Dill was a murderer, and he’s dead, and you killed him. You maneuvered him into the potting room with a fake phone call, and he took the bait and bolted the door to the fumigating room and opened the valve. And then why didn’t he walk out and go home? How did you know he wouldn’t do that?”
“Pfui,” Wolfe said lazily. He grunted. “Without waiting four minutes to make sure the ciphogene had worked? And leaving the door bolted, and the valve open? Mr. Dill was a fool, but not that big a fool. After a few minutes he would have closed the valve and opened the door, held his nose long enough to take a look at us and make sure we were finished, and departed, leaving the door closed but not bolted to give it the appearance of an accident. And probably leaving the valve a bit loose so it would leak a little.” Wolfe grunted again. “No. That wasn’t where the thin ice was. It was next thing to a certainty that Mr. Dill wouldn’t decamp without having a look inside at us.”