“What has Wolfe got now?” he demanded, coming up the steps to me.
“A dozen zygopetalum,” I told him coldly, “a dozen renanthera, a dozen odontoglossum—”
“Let me by,” he said rudely.
I did so.
What I should have done, to drive it in that I was now a delivery boy and not a detective, was to go on helping Theodore get the orchids upstairs, and I set my teeth and started to do that, but it wasn’t long before Wolfe’s bellow came from the office. “Archie!”
I went on in. Cramer was in the red leather chair with an unlighted cigar tilted toward the ceiling by the grip of his teeth. Wolfe, his tightened lips showing that he was enjoying a quiet subdued rage, was frowning at him.
“I’m doing important work,” I said curtly.
“It can wait. Get Mr. Skinner on the phone. If he has left his office, get him at home.”
I would have gone to much greater lengths if Cramer hadn’t been there. As it was, all I did was snort as I crossed to my desk and sat down and started to dial.
“Cut it!” Cramer barked savagely.