“Yeah,” Cramer said, “glad to.” He was up too. “But you’ll enjoy your partridges alone. Huddleston and Goodwin are going with me.” His glance took us in. “Let’s go.”
Wolfe looked displeased. “I have already cleared away the brush for you. If you insist on seeing them this evening, they can call at your office — say at ten o’clock?”
“No. They’re coming now.”
Wolfe’s chin went up. His mouth opened and then closed again. It was an interesting sight, especially for me, knowing as I do how hard he is to flabbergast, next to impossible, but I can’t truthfully say I enjoyed it, because of who was doing it. So I spoke up:
“I’m staying for the partridges. And I may or may not show up at ten o’clock, depending—”
“To hell with you,” Cramer rumbled. “I’ll deal with you later. We’ll go, Mr. Huddleston.”
Wolfe took a step, and his voice was as close to trembling with rage as it ever got. “Mr. Huddleston is my invited guest!”
“I’ve uninvited him. Come, Mr. Huddleston.”
Wolfe turned to Daniel. He was controlling himself under insufferable provocation. “Mr. Huddleston. I have invited you to my table. You are under no compulsion, legal or moral, to accompany this man on demand. He struts and blusters. Later Mr. Goodwin will drive you—”
But Daniel said firmly, “I guess I’ll go along with him, Mr. Wolfe. After the days I’ve spent trying to get them started on this...”