Wolfe shook his head. “Not without Major Goodwin. I use his memory. Also for years I’ve found his presence an irritant which stimulates my cells. What about Ryder? Wasn’t it an accident?”
“I suppose it was. What do you think?”
“I haven’t thought. Nowhere to start. Could it have been an accident? If he took it from the drawer and it dropped on the floor?”
“No,” Fife declared. “Out of the question. Anyway, it was somewhere above the desk when it exploded. The desk top was smashed downward. And that pin is joltproof. It requires a sharp firm lateral pull.”
“Then it wasn’t an accident,” Wolfe said placidly. “Suicide remains, and so does— By the way, what about that woman in his anteroom? That female in uniform. Where was she?”
“Not there. Out to lunch.”
“Indeed.” Wolfe’s brows went up. “At four o’clock?”
“So she told Tinkham. He spoke with her when she returned. She’s waiting outside now. I sent for her.”
“Get her in here. And may I—?”
“Certainly.” Fife lifted his phone and spoke in it.