Jensen was paying no attention to us. His eyes stuck to Wolfe. He asked, not with any venom, just asking, “Which do you prefer?” Evidently he had decided to give us an exhibition of self-control.
Wolfe returned his gaze. “I should think,” he said dryly, “that you would rather stay here. As you probably know, Mr. Cramer is not fond of you, and he is somewhat heavy-handed. Not that he can be kept out of it indefinitely, but the immediate question is where do you want to wait for the report on the gun and bullets, here or at police headquarters? It is likely to be several hours. I suggest that you will be more comfortable here.” Wolfe glanced at the clock; it said twenty to seven. “There Will of course be something to eat.”
Jensen said, “I want to use the phone.”
Wolfe shook his head. “No, sir. Shall I call Mr. Cramer?”
“No.”
“Good. That’s sensible. Miss Geer?”
She wasn’t conversing. Wolfe waited patiently for four seconds.
“Shall I phone the police, Miss Geer?”
Her head went from side to side in a negative, the way she had moved toward the door, as if someone or something was doing it for her.
Wolfe heaved a sigh. “Archie, take them to the front room and stay there till I send for you. Fritz will answer the bell. I am aware that it will be tiresome, but there’s no help for it.”