“Okay, that’ll do. How about her?”
“A woman either being wronged or caught wronging another. In either case, unhinged.”
“Also he poked her with his crop.”
“No,” Wolfe disagreed. “Except in immediate and urgent retaliation, no woman ever retorts to physical violence from a man in kind. It would not be womanly. She devises subtleties.” He got to his feet. “I’m sleepy.” He started for the door.
Following, I told his back, “I know one thing, I would collect from every damn one of them in advance. I can’t imagine why Cramer wanted to see them again, even Talbott, after a whole week with them. Why don’t he throw in and draw five new cards? He’s sore as a pup. Shall we phone him?”
“No.” We were in the hall. Wolfe, heading for the elevator to ascend to his room on the second floor, turned. “What did he want?”
“He didn’t say, but I can guess. He’s at a dead stop in pitch-dark in the middle of a six corners, and he came to see if you’ve got a road map.”
I made for the stairs, since the elevator is only four by six, and with all of Wolfe inside, it would already be cramped.
VII
“Forty trump,” Orrie Cather said at 10:55 Wednesday morning.